[VARRICK'S POV]

Varrick Lythren, the Head of the black market, leaned back in his chair, the soft thud of the door closing lingering in the air. The kid's report played over and over in his mind—a hidden dungeon, ancient magic, and the promise of a treasure like no other.

The boy’s nervousness had been undeniable, but there was something deliberate in his delivery. Ash had done his part well, but Varrick couldn’t shake the feeling that something crucial had been left unsaid.

He tapped his fingers rhythmically on the desk, his gaze fixed on the flickering lantern light. His thoughts were sharp, methodical, each one more calculated than the last. With a flick of his hand, he summoned his subordinate, Grint.

Grint scurried in, giving a small bow. "Yes, boss?"

Varrick' s eyes narrowed, his voice low but unwavering. "Follow the boy. I want to know where he goes, who he talks to, and if necessary, what socks he wears to bed. And find out who’s pulling his strings."

Grint hesitated. "S-Socks, boss?"

Varrick sighed heavily. "It’s a figure of speech, Grint. Just follow him. Quietly."

"Y-yes, boss," Grint stammered, quickly exiting the room.

***

[GRINT"S POV]

Grint leaned against the cool stone wall of the black market headquarters, the sounds of the bustling city fading as the door clicked shut behind him.

His orders had been simple: follow Ash. Easy enough, right? But the boy had slipped away like smoke, vanishing into the crowd before Grint could even react. Now, he had no choice but to follow, praying that he wouldn’t be caught.

Ash was easy to spot—his nervous energy practically pulsed from him. But Grint had learned long ago not to underestimate anyone who had managed to catch Varrick’ s attention.

He waited a beat, then pushed off the wall, slipping into the shadows of the street. Keeping a careful distance, he followed Ash, blending into the chaos of the city’s streets. The crowds made it easy to disappear, but it also meant that keeping eyes on the boy was harder than expected.

Ash darted between groups of people, moving with a fluidity that kept him just out of reach. His eyes flicked over his shoulder constantly, as if he could sense Grint’s gaze on him. Grint had to stay quick but unnoticed—no room for mistakes.

He was good at this. Varrick had made sure of that. But even so, the chase had a bite to it, a rush of adrenaline that kept his heart pounding.

Before long, Ash entered a small store, crowded with children running around and patrons haggling over trinkets. The noise was thick, a perfect cover for Ash’s movements.

"Damn it."

Grint cursed softly and pushed forward, glancing through the window. The store was packed—no sign of Ash. He stepped inside, slipping through the crowd, his eyes scanning every corner for the boy.

But he found Nothing,

The shelves were crammed with goods, but Ash had vanished, as if he’d never been there.

A cold twinge of panic struck Grint’s chest. How had he done it? How had he vanished so quickly?

Pushing past the crowd, his heart raced as he made his way to the counter. A small bell above the door tinkled, but there was no sign of Ash. His gaze flicked toward the back of the shop, where a door stood slightly ajar.

Grint’s pulse quickened. He didn’t need to check twice. Without thinking, he bolted toward the backroom.

Empty.

The door leading to the alley stood wide open, the faint chill of night creeping in. Ash was gone.

Grint stood frozen for a moment, dumbfounded. He had been so close, sure that the nervous kid would be an easy mark, but Ash had vanished into the shadows, leaving nothing but the echo of his footsteps.

Frustration bubbled up in Grint’s chest, mixing with the bitter sting of embarrassment. He had failed the mission.

With a deep sigh, Grint turned back into the shop, trying to shake off the bitter taste of defeat. The crowd buzzed around him, oblivious to his mistake. He had no choice but to return to Varrick empty-handed.

And he knew exactly how that would go. When he faced Varrick, there would be no sympathy for losing track of a kid—not in this business. It was a cutthroat world, and Grint’s failure would cost him more than just his pride.

A few hours later

Grint returned, looking as if he’d been through a hurricane.

"Boss! I, uh... I lost him."

Varrick froze mid-tap, his expression unreadable beneath the mask. Slowly, he turned to face Grint, the quiet in the room growing oppressive.

"You lost him?" Varrick' s voice was as calm as ever, but the coldness of it sent a chill through the air, almost worse than a shout.

"Y-Yes, boss. He disappeared into the crowd! Like a shadow, I swear!"

Varrick rubbed his temples, exhaling slowly as if the weight of the world had suddenly rested on his shoulders. "Grint... let me ask you a question. How does one lose a shadow, when they are literally trained to follow shadows?"

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

"I—Sorry, boss!"

Varrick leaned back in his chair, letting out a long, deliberate sigh. "Alright. Let’s assume for a moment that the kid was clever enough to escape. It doesn’t matter."

Grint’s confusion deepened, his brow furrowing. "You’re... letting me off the hook?"

Varrick’ s lips curled into a small, cryptic smile, though his eyes remained hard. "Consider it a... change of focus. The kid isn’t our immediate concern for now. The Hidden dungeon is."

Grint opened his mouth to protest, but something in Varrick’ s gaze silenced him. The boss wasn’t angry—he was intrigued, like a predator studying new prey.

"So, what’s the next move, boss?" Grint asked cautiously.

Varrick straightened in his chair, his tone suddenly sharp. "Assemble a team. Search every old tree in that forest.

Every. Single. One.

If a tree so much as whispers out of place, I want to know about it. I need to know if this information is true, and if it is... I want to know who is Giving this information and Why ? I want the answers, Grint. Do you understand?"

"Y-Yes, boss," Grint stammered, gulping nervously, and quickly made his way out of the room.

Four days later…

A breathless runner arrived at Varrick’ s office, his voice trembling with excitement. "Sir! We found something!"

Varrick’ s eyes gleamed behind his mask, his lips curling into a smile. "Finally. What is it?"

The runner caught his breath, eager to deliver the news. "There’s an old tree, deep in the forest. It’s... strange. There’s energy coming out of it. Unusual energy."

Varrick’ s smile widened, a cold gleam in his eyes. "Tell the team to hold position. I’ll handle this personally."

***

At the Forest

Varrick reached the forest in record time, his movements sharp and precise. Even for an S-ranker like him, his speed was extraordinary. His team stood at a respectful distance, their expressions a mix of awe and unease as they gestured toward the glowing, ancient tree.

The tree itself was a towering behemoth, its roots winding deep into the earth like the grasp of a titan. A faint, pulsing glow seeped from a fissure in its bark, casting long, eerie shadows across the forest floor. The air felt thick with the weight of something old, something powerful.

Varrick Lythren, head of the black market, stepped into the clearing, his gaze locked on the glowing fissure. His shadow-infused blade rested lightly in his hand, its soft hum harmonizing with the charged atmosphere. Behind him, his men remained still, weapons drawn, their unease masked by forced bravado.

“Now this,” Varrick murmured, tilting his head slightly, “is an opportunity.”

He moved closer, his sharp eyes scanning the unnatural glow. “An ancient dungeon. A one-time affair. And with a rune, no less…” His voice trailed off as he reached out and brushed the glowing bark with his fingers and injected a little bit of mana.

A slow smirk spread across his lips.

"This is it."

Before he could inspect further, the silence of the forest was broken by the unmistakable sound of footsteps.

Varrick’ s eyes snapped toward the source, his smirk fading as a familiar figure emerged from the tree line.

Edrim Tallow, City Lord of Iron-hold, stood tall in his crimson robes, faint runes glowing from the fabric. He was flanked by a group of armored guards and mages, their tension palpable in the air.

“Varrick,” Edrim said coldly, halting just outside the reach of the fissure’s glow. His gaze shifted between Varrick and the glowing tree.

“I should’ve known you’d be sniffing around something like this.”

“Edrim,” Varrick replied smoothly, his smirk returning. “I’d say it’s a pleasure, but we both know it’s not. Come to spoil my fun, have you?”

Edrim’s jaw tightened. "This dungeon isn’t yours to plunder, Varrick. It belongs to the people of Iron hold."

"Does it?" Varrick said, his head tilting slightly. "Because from where I’m standing, it looks like it belongs to whoever gets there first. And if I recall, that’s me."

One of Edrim’s mages stepped forward, staff crackling with magical energy. "Lord Tallow, shall we—"

Edrim held up a hand, silencing them. His eyes never left Varrick. "This dungeon contains a rune, doesn’t it?"

Varrick’ s smirk widened, the recognition clear. "Well, well, you’re sharper than the council gives you credit for. Yes, it does. And we both know what that means, don’t we?"

"Enough to start a war over—a Rune no one even knows how to use. ," Edrim said grimly. "And if it falls into the hands of the black market, it means nothing but Chaos and unchecked greed."

Varrick chuckled, the sound low and dangerous. "Chaos, Edrim? Such a dramatic word. I prefer ‘opportunity for Lots of Money'. Runes Fetches loads of Money in Auction."

The air between them thickened, crackling with unspoken threats. Edrim’s guards shifted nervously, their hands resting on their weapons, while Varrick’ s team lingered in the shadows, their presence heavy despite their silence.

Edrim broke the tense silence. "You can’t seriously think you’ll get away with this. Iron hold's forces will hunt you down if you try to claim that rune."

Varrick’ s tone turned cold. "And you think Iron hold can keep it safe? Let’s not pretend your council wouldn’t sell it to the highest bidder if they thought it’d line their pockets. At least with me, it’ll be… well managed."

"By ‘well managed,’ you mean sold to the highest criminal enterprise?" Edrim shot back.

"Details," Varrick replied with a shrug.

Just then, the ancient tree groaned, the glowing fissure widening as the dungeon seemed to react to their presence. Both men froze, their attention drawn to the sudden shift in energy.

"Whatever your intentions, Varrick," Edrim said, drawing a Sword from his side, "this ends here."

Varrick ’s smirk vanished, replaced by a steely glare. His own blade, infused with shadow magic, was already in his hand. "You’re welcome to try, old friend. But if you think you can stop me, you’re sorely mistaken."

The two men locked eyes, their silent battle of wills mirrored in the standoff between their teams. Then, the ground shook violently, and the tree’s glow flared brighter than ever.

"Looks like the dungeon has other plans," Varrick muttered, steadying himself.

Edrim’s voice was sharp as steel. "This isn’t over, Varrick. Stand down, or I’ll make sure you regret stepping foot in this forest."

"Funny," Varrick replied with a wicked grin. "I was about to say the same to you."

As the ancient tree split open further, revealing a spiraling staircase descending into darkness, both men steeled themselves. The inevitable clash was coming—and only one would walk away with the rune hidden within.

***

One Week Earlier

Beneath the cloak of night, Ash knelt before the ancient tree, his hands resting lightly on the earth. The air around him seemed to hum with a palpable energy, the old power of the tree responding to his presence. His breathing was steady, calm, despite the charged atmosphere that crackled in the air.

Focusing intently, Ash began to channel his mana, weaving it in a pattern that resonated with the tree. His fingertips brushed against the bark, sending pulses of energy flowing through it.

The mana responded, sinking deep into the ancient roots, and for a moment, the tree seemed to shudder in recognition.

“Just a little more...” Ash whispered to himself, his focus unwavering. The flow of mana was deliberate, a calculated rhythm that synchronized with the subtle beat of the tree’s life force.

A faint glow began to spread from the fissure in the tree’s bark, like the slow opening of an eye that had been closed for centuries.

The ground trembled, barely perceptible, as the spiraling staircase started to form, the dungeon’s entrance awakening after eons of slumber.

Ash stood and stopped supplying mana, his work was now done. A sly grin pulled at his lips. “That should do it,” he murmured.

As he turned to disappear into the shadows, the tree began to quiet once more. The entrance to the dungeon, now formed, sealed itself as the tree returned to its dormant state.

No one would be able to access it unless they came close enough to stir the tree again, allowing its ancient power to awaken once more.

Now the dungeon Will open to anyone who comes close enough to the tree.

Ash vanished, leaving no trace behind but the faint, pulsing glow that slowly dimmed as the night closed in.

***