The wind in the wasteland is always mixed with a smell of rust and dust.
The origin of the name Gray Rock Town is simple and crude - it is built on a huge gray rock and is one of the few "safe points" at the very edge of human civilization. It is more like a huge, dirty supply depot.
Mercenaries, scavengers and traders wearing various modified protective suits come and go here, trading monster cores brought out of the restricted area, electronic components from the old era, and most importantly - food and clean water.
At the entrance of the town, in front of a simple trading stall, several fleshy men were surrounding a thin figure.
"Let me tell you, boy, these rags of yours are too bad in color. F-class deformed dog cores? Even dogs won't eat these things." A man with a scar on his face, nicknamed "Wolf Blade", used a short knife in his hand to fiddle with several dim crystal cores on the stall, his tone full of mockery.
Several mercenaries around him laughed.
The young man behind the booth looked to be no more than nineteen years old, with a slim build and wearing a black tactical windbreaker that had been washed white but was still neat. His skin was pale and had not seen the sun all year round. His short hair was slightly long, covering half of his eyes. The other eye exposed was a deep dark gray, as calm as a pool of stagnant water.
