Of course, there was another voice within the Beastkin Star Domain.

The destruction of the Elf Empire was inevitable; the arrogant pure-blooded elves did not respect any gods...

After all, just one year after the Elf Empire finished modifying the planetary climate, the Abyss directly launched an endless expedition against the Beastkin Star Domain!

It's hard to say if there was any particular connection between these two events...

And "climate," within the Star Realm, has always been within the purview of the gods' authority...

For example, "Thunder and Storms," "Spring and Procreation," "Summer and Growth," "Autumn and Harvest," "Winter and Desolation"...

There's also the "Sun that symbolizes everything," and the "Moonlight that symbolizes tranquility"...

In the endless Star Realm, the sun and moon hanging high in the starry sky have already become symbols of authority...

This rhetoric of "the gods allowed the Abyss to destroy the elves" grew louder and louder the longer the Elf Empire remained destroyed...

And those saying these things were mostly green-skinned orcs, the race that had been suppressed most brutally by the Elf Empire in the past...

It's hard to judge whether they were speaking the truth about the Elf Empire's destruction...

Or if, having been suppressed by the Elf Empire for so long, they began deliberate slander many years after its destruction...

Federal Calendar 7708, December 6th, early morning.

Just after Cook P. Jones led the group away from the street where the Bounty Hunters Guild was located.

The Bounty Hunters Guild—an organization of superhumans mostly composed of various bloody and violent individuals—finally opened its tightly shut doors and resumed operations...

Returning to the state of bustling activity it had before the drunken dwarves caused trouble.

As if tonight's farce was just an insignificant little interlude....

At this moment, on the top floor of this seven-story building, inside a quaint and elegantly decorated office.

A white-haired old man was leisurely sitting by the window, savoring a cup of fine liquor with exceptional color and taste.

He looked in the direction where Cook P. Jones, Loren, and the others had left and gently shook his head.

"To dare secretly resell the liquor meant for the dwarves' sacrificial festival to the Bounty Hunters Guild..."

"One batch of liquor, daring to make money from two parties! Hah!"

"Should I say, as expected of someone from the Goblin Merchant Guild?"

"Pity, to die just like that. Merchants always die for profit, truly ironic..."

This white-haired old man, after elegantly taking a sip of his drink, commented with regret on the goblin merchant who had caused tonight's farce.

After a while.

The white-haired old man took another gulp of the strong liquor. Unexpectedly, the tone of his words suddenly shifted...

"Hey, I must say, this batch of strong liquor is really quite good!"

"I must say, if it were me, I'd do the same!"

"Liquor of this caliber, could those dwarves who only know how to forge iron even appreciate it properly?"

As is well known, among the superhumans in the City of Hekahn who are even slightly well-informed.

This branch chief of the City of Hekahn's Bounty Hunters Guild is also known as an old drunkard obsessed with alcohol...

"Competing with dwarves for fine wine" is not something he's doing for the first time...

It's hard to say.

Whether that unscrupulous goblin merchant's "one good sold to two parties" operation was influenced by this piece of news...

Soon.

The strong liquor in the white-haired old man's glass was finished.

He leisurely walked to the liquor cabinet behind his desk, took down another bottle of the strong liquor sold to him by that deceased goblin merchant, gently opened it, and refilled his glass...

After taking a blissful sip, he returned and sat down behind his desk.

"Slacking off is over, time to get down to real work..."

After sighing this statement, the white-haired old man slowly took out a specially made white communicator from his chest pocket and dialed a mysterious number.

A good while later.

The special communicator in his hand was finally answered, and a somewhat weary female voice sounded:

"Old drunkard, what is it?"

This white-haired old man was not at all surprised by the extremely brief and direct inquiry from the female voice in the communicator, nor did he find it impolite.

He knew the other party's workload was far greater than that of a slacker like himself...

Feeling a pang of sympathy for her in his heart, the white-haired old man then spoke softly:

"Three things, my dear First Secretary."

"First, the Las Loren you asked me to keep an eye on has arrived at the City of Hekahn in the Beastkin Star Domain."

"However, he did not enter the Bounty Hunters Guild. After watching a bit of a spectacle, he left directly..."

"Second, that little one named Cook P. Jones has achieved the Legendary tier. Make a note of it."

"And tonight, he also handled a minor trouble for the Bounty Hunters Guild..."

"Third, Las Loren and Cook P. Jones seem to be on very good terms."

"After resolving an unexpected farce, they left together. It seems they won't be settling down in the City of Hekahn..."

After reporting everything he witnessed tonight to the other party, the white-haired old man placed the special communicator on the desk, picked up the glass beside it, and continued to leisurely savor his drink...

"I understand. Thank you for your hard work, old drunkard."

The tone from the communicator was still weary, even mechanically comforting this slacking-off drunkard branch chief.

"Hahaha, Secretary, if you have nothing else, you can hang up."

"Hearing how tired you sound, please don't work yourself to death..."

"You can clock out. Be kinder to yourself..."

"The Bounty Hunters Guild and the Interstellar Hunter Association, these two behemoths, are not yours alone to carry..."

"If a demigod-level powerhouse like you were to die from overwork, other factions would mock our Chief relentlessly..."

The happily tipsy white-haired old man began comforting the other party in return.

Hearing this, the communicator fell silent for a moment.

"Thank you, old drunkard. You're still so considerate..."

"It's fine. I'll just handle a few more matters reported by other branch chiefs, then I'll clock out."

"Goodnight, old drunkard. When I find a successor, I'll come drink with you right away..."

The white-haired old man, savoring his fine wine, instinctively shook his head upon hearing the reply, as if he didn't have much faith in the other party's ability to find a successor...

However, in the end, he only said, "You make sure to rest," before silently ending the call...

Shaking his head, he put away the communicator from the desk, found a comfortable position, leisurely leaned back into the wide chair behind him, gazed at the night scenery outside the window, and unconsciously sighed:

"Find a successor?"

"Still dreaming, my dear Secretary..."

"Demigod-level powerhouses of ordinary origins are not easy to find..."

"Not to mention, they also need to be wholeheartedly devoted to the Association and the Guild..."

"The reason I can comfortably muddle along to this day isn't because of my strength, but because of my accurate judgment of things..."

"Secretary, it seems we won't be meeting for a long, long time."

"Hahahaha, what a regrettable thing indeed..."

After shaking his head and sighing, the white-haired old man leaned back in his chair and lost himself in drunken oblivion once more.