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westcorphotels > The Death Mage Who Doesn’t Want a Fourth Time > Volume N/A - CH 210
Rock, an adventurer based in the city of Morksi, was busy hunting that day with the same D-class adventurer party that he was always with, the Iron Boulder Brigade.

Rock and his companions had been regularly visiting this Devil’s Nest since their adventurer school days; it was a familiar hunting ground for them.

“Alright, let’s go home after we bring down a few more monsters,” he said.

“Yeah,” agreed one of his companions. “We want to sell the ingredients before sunset.”

The value of materials sold to the Adventurers’ Guild didn’t change based on the time of day. However, the Guild employees certainly appreciated receiving meat and other food ingredients before the time of day when wholesalers would fill their stocks.

“Since I have a debt to the Guild, I have to show them that I’m earning good money,” Rock added.

“It’s just so unlucky that your old man got so badly injured right after you bought your new weapon,” said another. “Rock, apparently there’s going to be a beautiful Dark Elf giving a sermon at the Communal Church. How about you go and pray the bad luck away?”

Rock gave a grim frown. “Hey, are you trying to say that my old man’s injury was punishment for not being devout enough? You know I pray to the gods in gratitude every time I hunt monsters.”

“You should pray to gods other than the god of soldiers and the god of thunderclouds,” said his friend. “And according to the rumors, the Dark Elf is apparently a real beauty.”

“Not interested. If I have the time to attend something like that, I think it’s more worthwhile to go on a solo Goblin hunt –”

The party’s light conversation was interrupted by a loud, echoing howl coming from a short distance away.

“Did you hear that?!” He asked his companions.

“Yeah, it’s nearby… Over there!”

They braced themselves, picked up their belongings and headed towards the source of the sound.

They were greeted by the scene that they had imagined.

A gray-furred dog that was larger than a wolf. The fur around its mouth was stained with fresh, crimson blood. At its feet was a boy lying face-up, his neck covered in blood.

The boy’s eyes, which were turned towards Rock and his companions, were lifeless and empty.

“A Demon Dog… We were too late,” Rock muttered.

Demon Dogs were Rank 2 monsters, dogs that had been transformed by corrupted Mana. They were only about as physically strong as wolves or perhaps a little stronger, and they had no special abilities. Even rookie adventurers who had only recently become accustomed to battle could defeat them.

And since dogs rarely wandered into Devil’s Nests, such monsters were few in number.

But Demon Dogs were even more aggressive to humans than wolves, never mind ordinary dogs, and they did not falter even when wounded. Every year, rookie adventurers lost their lives to these beasts after letting down their guard.

And Demon Wolves would let out a howl of victory and joy after killing a hu

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