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A hell that was peaceful.
Red sand flew in all directions, and there was sharp wind that cut through rocks and occasionally devoured clouds in one go. If a living being was caught up in this, no traces of them would be left behind.
It was a land where death whirled every year.
Furthermore, even if this vortex was avoided, it still wasn’t a place for life. The dry land and intense sky couldn’t grow even a single weed. This was a graveyard for the life that roamed across it.
This was the Red Plateau.
It was a land that had been burned to death by the fire of Fafnir, who had descended with its main body thousands of years ago during the Age of Mythology.
Despite it all, there was a man who walked through this hell alone.
Step.
After several steps, he stopped moving, and his face was revealed through loose robes.
He had black hair and blue eyes. The man was over 40 but looked like he was in his mid-20s.
"Hmm?”
Theodore Miller, the supreme great magician of the magic empire, lowered his chin and looked down at the dried ground.
There wasn’t a single ant on the barren land.
The aftermath of Fafnir’s ‘Eraser’ had been drying up the ground for a thousand years.
That’s right, had.
This was only the case until a few years ago.
“...It is still...
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