Graybourne’s streets lay quiet in the early morning haze. The echoes of yesterday’s battle still haunted every shattered window and cracked cobblestone, and the air bore the faint tang of blood mixed with smoke. In a narrow back-alley behind the guild hall, Jest—known to the world as Lance Seraphis—stood with his team gathered around him. His scythes hung at his side, their deep purple edges still flickering in the dawn’s light. Although the battle with Garret Valst, the Steel Dragon of Etheria, had been won, the scars it left were more than just physical. The price of power had been steep, and now the curse Tyrial had warned him about pulsed like a dark heartbeat in his veins.

Marina Vale, the battle-hardened combat healer, clenched her fists and eyed Jest with concern. Kestrel Shaw, the nimble ranger with wind affinity, shifted uneasily while Rook Ironheart, the stoic earth mage, and Thorn, the young and ambitious buffer, exchanged glances. They had fought by his side, and now, in this silent moment, uncertainty hung in the air.

Jest cleared his throat. “I have to leave now,” he began, his voice low and steady despite the turmoil inside. “There are things I must do—truths I need to uncover. I won’t say more; the blood contract forbids us from discussing these matters outside our circle. You must never speak of it to anyone.”

Marina’s eyes flashed with worry. “You’re saying… we can’t warn others?”

“Exactly,” Jest replied, his gaze meeting each of theirs in turn. “Our mission, and the curse that binds my bloodline, must remain our secret. I’m leaving not because I’m afraid to face you again, but because there is a greater enemy out there—one that requires me to grow stronger. I need to understand these powers, and I need to break this curse before it destroys everything.”

A heavy silence fell. They knew the rules well—words spoken beyond the circle would summon dire consequences. Finally, Jest reached into a worn leather satchel and pulled out four small, shimmering orbs. Each orb pulsed with a unique energy that matched the essence of one of their conquered dungeons.

“Before I go, I want each of you to have a piece of our strength,” he said. “Marina, take this.” He held out the first orb; its glow was a cool, crystalline blue. “It will summon a Crystal Barrier Warden from the depths of the Crystal Caverns. It will amplify your barrier magic and protect you when you’re on the front lines.”

Marina accepted the orb with trembling hands, a determined fire lighting her eyes. “I won’t let you down, Jest.”

Turning to Kestrel, Jest tossed him a swirling green orb. “For you, a Storm Wing from the Howling Depths. It will sharpen your wind magic and give you the speed to outpace any foe.”

Kestrel grinned broadly as he caught the orb. “I’ll make sure our arrows fly true.”

Jest then approached Rook. With a measured gesture, he handed him a heavy, metallic orb that pulsed with earthy energy. “Rook, this is a Titan Fang Construct. Let it enhance your earth magic and fortify your defenses. Stay unyielding, just like the mountains.”

Rook nodded slowly, accepting the gift with a solemn vow. Finally, Jest looked at Thorn. “And for you—a Mystic Leech Spirit. It will boost your enhancement magic, channeling raw energy into every strike. Use it to sharpen your instincts.”

Thorn’s usually shy expression hardened into a confident smile. “I’ll honor this gift, Jest.”

After a long moment of silence, Jest spoke again, his voice carrying both hope and resolve. “I trust each of you to grow stronger in my absence. I’ll return when I’ve discovered what must be done to break this curse. And when I do, you must be ready to fight alongside me.”

Their eyes met, and one by one, they nodded in solemn agreement. With one final look, Jest turned and walked away into the pale light of dawn, his figure receding down the battered streets of Graybourne.

Kali’s voice, soft and commanding, broke the silence as she met his gaze. “You’ve done well, Jest. But you are painfully weak.”

Jest’s eyes narrowed, and he shifted his weight, gripping the haft of his scythe. “Weak? I survived the battle with the Steel Dragon, didn’t I?”

Her smile was both amused and scornful. “Survival is not strength. Today, you barely scraped by. If you continue on this path, the moment a true monster comes for you, you’ll be finished.”

Jest crossed his arms, defiance flashing in his eyes. “And what do you propose?”

Kali’s gaze was unyielding. “You need to grow—fast. The key is to seek out an ancient beast. One that remembers the true Dungeon King. My sources tell me that such creatures once served my ancestors, and they still exist today in isolated dungeons. They have the knowledge and power that can unlock your potential.”

He frowned. “And where am I to find one of these ancient beasts?”

“There are legends,” she said, stepping closer so that the soft light caught the shimmer of her purple hair, “of at least three or four of them scattered across this continent. But the truth is muddled by time; many have been lost, hidden away or destroyed.”

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Jest’s eyes glinted. “I’ve already encountered one—the Jester King. He said to go to the laughing mirror dungeons in Myrica."

Kali sighed... "They are in a war at the moment so Myrica is closed until further notice."

Kali’s gaze softened momentarily, then hardened. “Then you must seek another. I know of a few candidates: Kytus, the Blue Flame Cerberus, said to roam the volcanic wastelands to the east; Kezar, the Blind Ogre, an ancient warlord who sees with instinct rather than sight; and Hope, the Werewolf of the Blue Moon Clan—a leader among her kin whose strength and wisdom are unmatched.”

Jest let out a slow breath, a bitter smile playing on his lips. “So, my options are a hellhound of fire, a blind warlord, or a werewolf with a whole clan behind her?”

Kali nodded. “Precisely. But you must choose wisely. Your next steps will determine not only your survival but your ability to break the curse that has haunted my line—and now, yours.”

Kali extended her hand, and despite his guarded nature, he grasped it firmly. “Then we leave together,” she declared. “I will accompany you from now on. Our destinies are intertwined—my power, my knowledge, and my loyalty will be yours until you have grown strong enough to break this curse.”

Jest let out a slow sigh. “Very well. But remember: every step we take, every dungeon we conquer, brings us closer to destruction.”

As they prepared to depart, the moon hung low over Graybourne, casting silver shadows over the ruined streets. The team slowly dispersed with heavy hearts, leaving Jest and Kali alone to plan the next phase of their journey.

After days of relentless battles and rapid training, Jest and Kali reached a crossroads. A rugged plateau stretched before them, the landscape divided by three ancient pathways, each rumored to lead to one of the legendary dungeon beasts. Kali unfurled a tattered map, its ink faded, but the markings are still legible.

“Kytus, the Blue Flame Cerberus, roams the volcanic wastelands to the east,” Kali said, tapping one area on the map. “They say his domain is a furnace of raw power—if you can subdue him, your strength will multiply tenfold.”

Kezar, the Blind Ogre, was marked to the north. “He is said to dwell among forgotten ruins, relying solely on instinct. His loyalty is hard won, but once earned, his power is immense.”

“And then there’s Hope, the Werewolf of the Blue Moon Clan,” Kali continued, tracing a path to a dense forest bordered by a silver river. “She is a natural leader among her pack. If you can gain her respect, she will lend you the strength of her entire clan.”

He looked up at Kali. “Between a hellhound, a blind warlord, and a werewolf... which do you think will serve me best?”

Kali’s golden eyes sparkled in the dim light. “The Blue Flame Cerberus demands fire and chaos. The Blind Ogre is a brute force—a relentless guardian, but perhaps too raw for your refined abilities. The Werewolf… she is cunning, resourceful, and leads a clan that can be molded into an army. I lean toward Hope, if you’re ready to risk the unknown.”

Jest nodded slowly. “Then we head to the forest.”

The plateau before them split into three distinct paths, each radiating its own energy. To the east, where Kytus dwelled, the very air shimmered with heat. Volcanic peaks pierced the horizon, their tops wreathed in blue flame.

"Kytus is raw power," Kali explained. "The Blue Flame Cerberus hasn't just survived since the old days - he's grown stronger. Each head commands a different aspect of flame, and his domain is a forge that reshapes reality itself."

The northern path, leading to Kezar, was marked by massive, weathered stones. Ancient runes pulsed faintly on their surfaces, warning or welcoming - it was impossible to tell which.

"The Blind Ogre sees through the earth itself," Kali continued. "His territory is a maze of power lines and ley nodes. Every step is a test, every breath measured. He judges worth not by sight, but by the resonance of one's soul with the deep places."

But it was the western path that drew Lance's attention. Here, silver light seemed to dance between the trees, and the very air carried hints of ancient power. Something about it called to his transformed dungeons, as if recognizing a kindred essence.

"Hope's domain," Kali nodded, seeing his interest. "The Blue Moon Clan doesn't just survive in their territory - they rule it. Every beast, every tree, every shadow answers to them. Their magic isn't just about strength - it's about understanding the fundamental nature of power itself."

As they prepared for the next leg of their journey, Jest’s thoughts turned to the blood contract that now bound her. “Kali,” he asked quietly, “are there others bound by this same contract?”

Kali’s gaze grew distant for a moment. “Yes, there are. In total, seven clans are bound by this pact. But I only know of two in detail: the Noctus of Myrica—the vampire kin whose existence is shrouded in eternal night—and the Frostborn Yetis of the Frost Mist Mountains in Snowmore. The rest… remain lost in the mists of time. My father never told me everything.”

Jest’s jaw tightened. “Six other clans. That means there’s potential for allies… or enemies.”

“Indeed,” Kali replied softly. “And their motives may not always align with ours. But for now, focus on the path ahead. Every dungeon you conquer, every ancient beast you command, brings you closer to breaking the curse on our bloodline.”

Kali’s smile was both enigmatic and reassuring. “Then let us leave. Our journey begins now, and time waits for no one.”

The next week proved Lance's growing power. They swept through dungeons with ruthless efficiency, Kali's spatial magic allowing them to cover vast distances between conquests. Ten F-rank dungeons fell before them, each one transformed by Lance's communion with their statues.

[Territory Update]

F-Rank Dungeon Conquered: Bramble Pit

Status: Transformed to D-Rank

New Classification: Shadow Bramble

Note: Territory claimed through statue communion

Each statue responded differently to his touch, but the result was always the same - the dungeon's essence twisted, evolved, shadows seeping into their very foundations. What were once simple monster dens became proper domains under his control.

Two D-rank dungeons proved more interesting:

[Territory Update]

D-Rank Dungeon Conquered: Storm's Edge

Status: Transformed to C-Rank

New Classification: Shadow Storm

Note: Enhanced monster spawns detected

"Your efficiency is impressive," Kali noted as they emerged from the last dungeon. "But there's always a price."

As if summoned by her words, Moga appeared, his form coalesing from shadows. "Indeed there is." His golden rings glinted as he extended his hand. "Time to pay up, little king."

"How much?" Lance asked.

"One thousand dungeon points." Moga's grin widened. "A bargain, considering how many territories you've claimed."

Lance felt the points drain from his reserves. Moga's rings flashed as they absorbed the payment, converting the energy into something else.

"Darachma," Kali explained, seeing Lance's curiosity. "The currency of gods. Moga trades in it - power made manifest."

"Smart girl," Moga chuckled. "Keep conquering, keep paying, and maybe you'll have enough saved when you really need it." He vanished, leaving only his laughter behind.

Well, if I keep focusing on these smaller dungeons, I'll get those points back in no time.

I'll be getting 475 dungeon points a day now. So I won't have any issues with your payment.

Moga chuckled, "My little King, you have to start somewhere. I'd used your points to increase the rank of your dungeons and then increase the rank of your beasts next.

Jest looked at Moga, "I'll think about it, Moga." Jest turned away, adjusting his scythes on his back. The God of Dungeons' laughter echoed as he faded back into shadow, his golden rings gleaming one last time before disappearing completely.

"We should move," Kali said, her purple hair catching the last rays of sunlight. "Hope's territory is still days away, and the paths grow more dangerous after dark."

Jest nodded, and they began their journey westward, toward the silver-lit forests where the Blue Moon Clan made their domain. The conquered dungeons pulsed behind them, their shadows stretching long in the evening light, newly transformed by his power.

But they weren't the only ones watching their departure.

High above, partially concealed by ancient branches, a figure stood motionless. Piercing blue eyes tracked their movement, cold and calculating. The watcher's hand tightened on the hilt of a blade that seemed to drink in the very light around it, its edge promising something far deadlier than mere steel.

The figure remained still until Jest and Kali disappeared into the gathering dusk. Then, like mist dissipating in morning sun, the watcher vanished, leaving only the whisper of steel against steel and the lingering sensation of ancient power.

The game was changing, and not all players had revealed themselves.