Life in North America, you call this an autopsy officer?!

The process was excruciating; it was about injecting some liquid into your brain, and then the liquid would gradually corrode your skull, solidify, and finally become your new skull.

The sensation of the surrounding nerves would drive you mad, but there was nothing you could do.

In any case, through sheer strength, I became the organization’s Gold Hunter in a few years.

I hadn’t intended that, but I wanted to survive.

To survive and return to the small town.

Listening to Reinhardt’s endless prattling, Brian wasn’t in a hurry.

He asked offhandedly, "What’s the organization called?"

"Doomsday Sect," Reinhardt replied mechanically.

An invisible scent enveloped the surroundings.

He didn’t realize that he had unknowingly fallen under the influence of the "Heavenly Grass" hallucinogenic components emitted from Brian’s body.