Content advisory: This chapter contains depictions of racism.

Clink. Clink.

With a scarf covering his neck, a man led hundreds of players in neatly formed rows, flooding the area with the sounds of metal being dragged. Nearby, numerous players acted as spectators and cheered them. 

“Iron Guild! Iron Guild!”

“Show them the power of America!” 

“U.S.A!”

When the scarf-wearing man paused to wave at the crowd, it cheered even louder in excitement.

‘Not bad.’ Rogers Han thought with a smirk. He was a promising player, a world-class guild’s branch manager, and so on—why wouldn’t he have the smirk?

‘Ahh… When was the last time I felt this good? Everything changed when that idiot almost killed me.’ 

Inside the Maze of Heryond, he let his guard down for a second, which almost cost him his life. Had he known something like that would happen, he would’ve killed his prey much quicker. After all, who knew taking your time torturing your hostage could be deadly? 

Once Rogers was rescued, he drank several great potion bottles, but for some reason, his wound refused to heal fully; he still had a horrid scar on his neck. 

Tremble…

Rogers shivered in anticipation: He was so close to getting his revenge. While many cheered him on, some insulted Rogers Han, an Asian player. 

“Ugh! Damn that monkey!”

“Does...