As Vilkar walked towards the gate of the zombie town, he could see a platoon of zombie guards in the distance. They were clad in rusted armor and held weapons made from the scraps of metal they could find. Vilkar knew he had to be careful not to attract their attention, as the guards were always on the lookout for any living humans who might try to enter the town.

He walked slowly and carefully, keeping to the shadows and trying to make as little noise as possible. He could see the guards up ahead, milling about outside the gate. They were groaning and shuffling as if they were bored and had nothing better to do. But Vilkar knew better than to underestimate them.

As he approached, he could hear their rasping breaths and the sound of their rusted weapons scraping against the ground. He took a deep breath and prepared himself for what might come next. He knew that if he was caught, he would be at disadvantage.

Vilkar crept closer to the gate, keeping his eyes on the guards. They seemed oblivious to his presence, so he continued towards the gate. As he got closer, he could see that the gate was made of thick metal bars, with spikes jutting out from the top.

As Vilkar approached the zombie platoon guarding the gate, he realized that sneaking past them unnoticed would be difficult. The zombies seemed to be on high alert, scanning their surroundings and occasionally exchanging guttural grunts to communicate with each other. Vilkar knew he had to be careful if he wanted to get through.

Taking a deep breath, Vilkar moved quietly behind the zombie guards, careful not to make any sudden movements or noises. He moved as silently as he could, relying on the shadows of the buildings to keep him hidden. Slowly but surely, he made his way closer to the gate.

As Vilkar crept up behind the platoon of zombie guards, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He had to time his attack perfectly if he was going to take them by surprise.

As he approached, he noticed that the zombies were not very alert, probably due to their undead nature. Vilkar took advantage of this and slowly raised his warhammer coating it with hellfire, ready to strike.

With a sudden burst of speed, Vilkar charged forward and brought his warhammer down on the head of the closest zombie guard. The impact sent a shockwave through Vilkar's arm, but he managed to maintain his grip on the weapon.

The other zombies turned to face him, their eyes glowing with a hunger for flesh. Vilkar knew he had to act fast. He swung his warhammer in a wide arc, striking one zombie in the chest and sending it stumbling backward.

Another zombie lunged at him, but Vilkar dodged to the side and brought his warhammer down on its head, crushing it like an overripe melon.

The rest of the platoon closed in on him, but Vilkar was ready for them. He used his warhammer to deflect their clumsy attacks, then struck back with brutal force, breaking bones and sending zombie limbs flying.

Despite their numbers, the zombies were no match for Vilkar's skill and determination. He fought with a ferocity that seemed to surprise even the undead soldiers, and soon the ground was littered with their broken bodies.

As the last zombie fell to the ground, Vilkar stood panting and covered in sweat. He looked around at the carnage he had wrought, feeling a sense of satisfaction that he had protected himself and his hard-earned loot.

As the last of the zombies felt their bodies started to melt until a pull of dark sludge remained from which zombies wearing knight armor exited.

Vilkar approached the death knight, his warhammer at the ready. The death knight was a formidable opponent, clad in dark, heavy armor and wielding a wicked sword wreathed in black flame. Vilkar knew he would have to be quick and precise to defeat him.

The death knight charged forward, swinging his sword in a wide arc. Vilkar dodged to the side and brought his warhammer down in a powerful strike, but the death knight parried with his weapon. The force of the blow sent Vilkar stumbling back, but he regained his footing quickly and readied himself for the next attack.

The death knight unleashed a flurry of blows, each one more deadly than the last. Vilkar managed to deflect several with his weapon, but he knew he couldn't keep it up forever. He needed to find an opening.

Suddenly, the death knight let out a deafening roar and charged forward with renewed vigor. Vilkar held his ground and waited for the right moment. As the death knight closed in, Vilkar sidestepped and swung his warhammer with all his might, and flames that were enveloping his weapon was spreading on Death Knight with every strick but somehow he was able to withstand them much better than other.

'It should be the armor those pieces that I found previously had good resistance to such things.' Vilkar thought.

The blow struck the death knight squarely in the chest, sending him stumbling back. Vilkar followed up with a series of quick strikes, each one landing with a satisfying crunch. The death knight tried to counterattack, but Vilkar was too quick, dodging and weaving around the strikes with ease.

Finally, with a final, mighty blow, Vilkar struck the death knight down. The dark armor cracked and shattered, and the black flame surrounding the sword flickered and died. The death knight fell to the ground, defeated.

Vilkar stood panting, his warhammer still raised. He had emerged victorious and from seeing that Death Knight's shield remained he gained more loot.

After Vilkar defeated the Death Knight, he noticed a teleport platform had appeared behind the enemy. The platform seemed to have been hidden or inactive until the Death Knight was defeated.

"Ah, here it is." The second layer was also different with its semy checkpoints that people could take after defeating the boss at certain places. One was at the gate, the second was after the outer part of the city.

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Vilkar went to his loot and dragged it onto the teleportation platform.

Without hesitation, Vilkar stepped onto the platform and felt a sudden jolt of energy course through his body. He closed his eyes and braced himself as the teleportation magic took hold. When he opened his eyes again, he found himself back at the dungeon entrance.

Vilkar breathed in the fresh air as he dragged his loot out of the dungeon. People were once again staring at him but he paid them no attention.

As Vilkar steps out of the dungeon, he adjusts the rope around his heavy treasure, feeling the weight of the loot he had acquired in the dungeon. The sun would soon set, and the sky was painted in a deep shade of red. He started walking towards his tent.

After walking for a few minutes, Vilkar sees the faint glow of his tent in the distance. The glow becomes more prominent as he approaches, and he can see the silhouette of his home against the night sky.

As Vilkar reaches his tent, he takes a deep breath and enters. The interior of the tent is dimly lit, and the air inside is as fresh as the outside.

When he drags all of his loot into the tent he starts to put the items that he found in the dungeon on shelves and write what they are under them.

After he is done with it he takes the remaining gold and takes it into his safe where he pours it all out on the ground.

While looking at all of the gold he collected, he could not help himself but laugh. But after a few moments, he starts to count every single coin.

One by one, and from the time to time he writes on the paper how much he counted so he wouldn't get lost.

"Let's see... 220 gold coins from wooden chests and 951 gold coins from iron chests, lastly 126 from that pile that I found... that makes it together 1297 gold coins, Hahaha" Vilkar laughed as he took the gold and started to throw it over himself.

"And now it is time to put the gold curse on them..."

"When it is done it is time to open Golden Hand trading company so people of Malka city-state could come and enjoy my services."

He carried the doll to the center of the room and carefully placed her on the ground. He stepped back and looked at her, her white hair and eyes standing out against the dim light. The doll's features seemed to come alive in the flickering light. He stood there for a moment, silently contemplating the doll.

Vilkar then took out his devil grimoire, after reading parts of it he went to prepare all of the necessary items that he would need.

When he was done he stood before the door.

Vilkar sat cross-legged on the ground, the doll positioned before him. He lit a circle of candles around them, their flickering light casting dancing shadows across the walls of his tent. He closed his eyes and began to chant in a language unknown to mortal ears as it was the language of Devils, the sound of his voice deep and rhythmic.

As he chanted, he took a small dagger from his belt and made a small cut on his palm. He held his hand over the doll and let a few drops of his blood fall onto it. He continued to chant, his voice growing louder and more intense with each passing moment.

Suddenly, the doll's eyes began to glow with a pale white light. Vilkar's chanting reached a crescendo, and the doll rose up from the ground, hovering in the air before him.

With a final burst of energy, Vilkar's chanting came to a sudden halt, and the doll fell back down to the ground. But something was different. The doll's joints began to move, and it began to walk toward Vilkar.

He watched with fascination as the doll moved towards him, its movements are jerky and unnatural. But it was alive, imbued with some of his own essences.

Vilkar smiled, knowing that he now had a powerful tool at his disposal. He commanded the doll to sit down, and it complied. He knew that it would take time to train the doll and teach it how to act as a shopkeeper, but he was patient.

As he looked at the doll, he knew that it would be a valuable addition to his team and that it would help him in his adventures to come.

But he was far from done. Why stop now when it is the ideal time to take the first steps of becoming invincible?

Vilkar took a deep breath and focused his mind on the task at hand. He lit the candles around the doll once again and placed his hands on it. He began to recite the ancient incantation, speaking the words with precision and clarity.

As he spoke, he poured his energy into the doll, imbuing it with power and strength. The doll began to glow with a faint golden light, and Vilkar knew that the ritual was working.

He continued to speak the incantation, his voice rising in intensity as he poured more and more energy into the doll. The room began to vibrate with power, and Vilkar could feel the energy coursing through him.

Finally, he finished the incantation, and the doll was fully empowered. It sprang to life, its eyes gleaming with intelligence and power. Vilkar stepped back, watching as the doll stood up and stretched, its movements fluid and graceful.

He smiled, pleased with his work. He knew that the doll was now able to defend herself and the shop and that she would be a valuable asset in the days to come.

But even that was not enough Vilkar let his energy float to the grimoire making it levitate in the air. Its pages started to glow as he spoke incantation, but this time it was different.

Very air was filled with powers of depravity and vileness. Every breath he took was filled with a taste of cruelty and wrongness.

Vilkar's voice became deeper and darker as he continued with his incantations. Soon very lights in the room started to shift and in the shadows, one could see shapes of being that existed in between what, what could be, and what should not be.

Their dark and twisted form gained strength and in return, Vilkar's voice gained a new edge, new authority as they acknowledged his existence and cast their sight on him.

The air around him started to crack with dark energy as the walls around him shook as if in protest. Suddenly space around him turned blood red and blood started to pour from the walls.

Those shapes in the shadows started to move in a circular motion around Vilkar witnessing his actions in dark delight.

Soon the blood from the walls and light started to combine in a singular point before Vilkar. He achieved singularity of blood, darkness, and desire.

Now it was time to put his essence into it, his greed and pride. It would become part of him, his extension and domain. It would become the seed of hell which he would be sovereign eternal.

His ruler and the doll his first servant. His first creation was born from his essence.

Vilkar's mouth widened as he watched the reality around him begin to crack and distort. The once-solid ground beneath his feet seemed to turn to liquid, swirling and shifting like a mirage in the desert. The air around him shimmered and swirled, taking on colors and shapes that were not of this world.

As he watched, a group of shadowy figures appeared in the distance, chanting in a language that he didn't understand. They seemed to be the source of the strange energy that was twisting and warping the world around him.

While he did not exactly understand he knew what they spoke. They acknowledged him and his seed of hell. Vilkar felt all of the chaos around him freeze and in an infinitely small split-off second fused together creating a crimson gem that levitated before Vilkar.

He did not breathe as he raised his hand and took the gem. It felt warm to touch and while he held it he felt a chorus of bloodthirsty screams pass through him as if a sea of blood was flowing through his heart as if a liquid flame had replaced his own blood.

But none of it had made him feel any discomfort. All that he felt was raw power and hunger to consume, "heh heh, you are hungry, aren't you." Vilkar chuckled and said in a satisfied tone.

When he shifted his gaze from the seed he looked at the doll that stood a few steps before him.

"Eve." That was all that he said.

"Yes, my lord." She said in return in a such soft voice that it send shivers across Vilkar's neck.

"Soon we will open the shop and you will help me as its shopkeeper," Vilkar said while smiling with joy.

"Your wish is my command," Doll answered