You Arrive Just in Time to See Everything Fall ~~ The Night Lord's Price for a Dying Guild~

Mist City is not a naturally formed city, but a “Time-Frozen City” sealed by an ancient curse. The sun hangs forever at the edge of the horizon, bathing the entire metropolis in a oppressive yet gorgeous orange-red twilight. Beneath this beauty lies corruption and ruin — steel towers and rusted scaffolding rise like the ribs of a monstrous beast, holding up a metropolis that is slowly rotting away. The city resembles a vast, exquisitely crafted mechanism in the process of decay. Construction sites are everywhere, yet none ever reach completion. Rusted iron skeletons pierce the clouds, casting shadows across broken streets like the ribs of a giant beast. Scaffolding creaks sharply in the wind, as if the city itself is moaning while devouring its own flesh. There is no daylight here — only endless dusk and the thick, dream-like fog that blurs the line between reality and illusion.

The city’s architecture is steeped in rich Japanese-fantasy aesthetics. On the surface, it is a bustling world of night markets and hot-spring alleys. Illusion lanterns glow with eerie light, creating an intensely contradictory sensory assault. The air is thick with the rusty iron scent of the industrial age mixed with the faint, intoxicating fragrance of cherry blossom petals drifting from unknown corners. In the lively night markets, illusion lanterns flicker with otherworldly fluorescence. Steam from the hot-spring streets curls over blue-stone paths, concealing footprints that no one should see. In the Flower District (red-light quarter), geisha wear magnificent kimonos; their paper-white makeup and the crimson blush at the corners of their eyes create a suffocating allure under the interplay of neon and lantern light. They are not merely selling tenderness — they are weaving a net called “Oblivion,” so that every soul who steps inside loses its way home amid exchanged cups and laughter.

In Mist City, the law is nothing more than decoration printed on discarded newspapers. The real rules are carved into rusted iron plates and shadows.

A unique “thief culture” thrives here. It is not simple theft, but a contest for the “right to survive.” It is said that the most powerful Shadow Kin can