The swordsman sat in the far corner of a dimly lit tavern, the air thick with the stench of sweat, stale ale, and smoke. Shadows danced across the uneven wooden walls, flickering from the few lanterns that hung above grimy tables scattered throughout the room. The place was packed with travelers and dungeon divers, their gear caked in dirt and dust from the long road, some already half-drunk and telling stories of near-death experiences. The swordsman leaned back in his chair, his twin blades resting against the edge of the table. His hood shadowed his face, masking his presence. He wasn’t here to stand out, just to gather what he needed.

The bartender, a heavyset man with a weathered face and graying hair that fell in limp strands around his shoulders, moved behind the bar with the casual indifference of someone who had seen it all. His hands, large and rough, lazily cleaned a glass with a dirty rag, though it looked like he was only spreading the grime further.

The swordsman raised his empty mug slightly. "Refill," he said, his voice low, though it carried with enough weight to cut through the chatter of the room.

The bartender’s gaze flicked to him, and with a grunt, he set the glass down and ambled over with a large jug of ale. He poured the dark liquid into the mug, foam spilling slightly over the rim. The swordsman nodded his thanks, then tapped the mug lightly against the bar.

"I need information," the swordsman said quietly. His voice was measured, as if testing the waters.

The bartender arched an eyebrow but didn’t stop pouring. "What kinda information?"

"Shadowspire Cavern," the swordsman replied, taking a slow sip from his drink.

The bartender’s brow furrowed, but he gave a nod. "Edge of town, east side. You’ll know it when you see it." He set the jug down and leaned against the counter. "Ain’t hard to miss."

The swordsman leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning the room, then asked, "I heard General Thorne was in town."

The change in the bartender's demeanor was immediate. What little humor had been in his eyes vanished, replaced with something colder, darker. His posture stiffened, and he stared at the swordsman with hard suspicion. "Who told you that?"

The swordsman met the bartender’s gaze, not flinching. "Does it matter?"

"It does if you’re askin’ about General Thorne," the bartender shot back, lowering his voice. His eyes darted around the room as if making sure no one was listening. "Why do you want to know?"

The swordsman didn't answer right away. He merely took another drink, letting the silence between them stretch.

The bartender crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. "Look, stranger, that’s not somethin’ you just go poking around about. So I’ll ask again: who told you he was in town?"

The swordsman was silent for a moment while he thought about his next words. All around them, the tavern continued to buzz with the constant chatter of travelers and dungeon divers swapping stories of their latest ventures. Many towns were like this, tied to the life-blood of dungeons. Built around giant dungeons, they were sustained by the inflow of adventurers and merchants alike, a constant tide of coin and trade, goods flowing in and out. Shadowspire Cavern was one of the many dungeons placed within the Outlands—a place ruled by no military. The Church presided over the Outlands, not governing them like a king or ruler, but serving as the leading authority no one dared to challenge. Seen as the direct voice of Oros, the god of Aterra, the Church’s influence ensured that order was maintained.

The swordsman finally met the bartender’s scowl. "Your reaction says a lot, y’know."

"That so?" The bartender's face darkened even further, his hand tightening on the rag as though readying for a confrontation. "Maybe you should stop askin' questions while you’re ahead."

The swordsman stared at the bartender. He was sure of two things now. First, General Thorne was definitely in town—or at least had been recently. Second, Thorne didn’t want anyone knowing about it. For what reason, the swordsman wasn't sure yet, but something didn’t sit right. He didn't feel like pushing the bartender further, though. Drawing attention wasn’t part of the plan.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"Appreciate the ale," he said coolly, tossing a few coins onto the counter. He rose from his seat and slipped out of the tavern, weaving his way through the crowded street.

Soon a realization dawned on him—he was being followed. Good. Maybe he could learn something from them.

He turned down an empty alley and stopped halfway, waiting for his pursuers to catch up. Two men stepped forward from the street, both of them grizzled and rough-looking. One was short and stocky with a long, knotted beard and arms as thick as barrels. The other was lankier, with sharp features and piercing eyes, a tattoo or brand on the side of his face. Both carried the weight of men used to dangerous work.

The swordsman turned to face them, his expression calm, but his hand rested easily on the hilt of his sword. The two men just stared back in silence, seemingly sizing him up.

"Okay, fine," the swordsman said, breaking the stalemate with a sigh. "Guess I’ll go first. Why’re you following me?"

The shorter man grunted, his gaze unblinking. "Who’re you working for?"

The swordsman sighed again, shaking his head. "We’re never gonna get anywhere if we keep asking questions, are we?"

The lanky one spoke this time, his voice low and dangerous. "Who sent you?"

The swordsman’s eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on the hilt of his sword. "Idiots. The both of you."

The stocky man brandished a large knife the size of a short sword from under his cloak, while the lankier one’s hand began to glow with a faint yellow-orange light—fire magic, most likely. The swordsman smirked, thinking to himself that this might be a bit of fun after all. With a smooth motion, he drew one of his swords from the sheath on his lower back.

“I’ll make him talk,” the stocky man growled, charging forward with surprising speed for his size.

The swordsman moved effortlessly, parrying the knife strike once, twice, then a third time in quick succession. His opponent wasn’t entirely unskilled, but he wasn’t a challenge either. With a quick strike of his fist, the swordsman knocked the man to the ground, sending his knife clattering to the alley floor.

Just as the stocky thug hit the dirt, a fireball shot toward the swordsman. He snorted in contempt, easily deflecting the flames with his sword.

"Guess this won’t be much fun after all," he thought. These guys couldn’t even handle a Silver Dungeon.

In the blink of an eye, he dashed forward, his sword a blur. The hilt slammed into the mage’s abdomen, knocking the wind out of him. The lanky man crumpled, gasping for breath as the swordsman dragged him over to his unconscious companion and tossed him on the ground.

"Now, some answers." The swordsman’s voice was calm, but his eyes bore into the mage’s as he waited for a response.

“I-I don’t know anything, I swear!” the mage wheezed, clutching his stomach. “Some merc paid us to report to anyone asking about General Thorne. That’s all I know, I swear!”

The swordsman raised an eyebrow. "So why follow me? Did they pay you extra for that?"

The thug shook his head furiously, sweat dripping down his face. "No! W-we just thought we could get some extra money outta ya and if we could get some answers too then we’d get more work. We didn’t realize you were so… strong."

The swordsman rolled his eyes. "Amateurs," he muttered under his breath. These idiots were far too weak to be of any real use to someone like Thorne. Of course, these fools hadn’t realized that anyone asking about the General wouldn’t be someone easily intimidated. How unlucky for them, thinking they could squeeze some coin out of him. Pathetic.

Still, the mage seemed to be telling the truth. There was no point in pressing him further. Killing them would be a waste of energy, and besides, the bartender had seen him. If these two ended up dead, the trail could easily lead back to him. There might even be others from the bar involved.

"Well, today’s your lucky day," the swordsman said, giving the mage a hard kick to the gut. The man gasped in pain, crumpling to the ground as the swordsman walked away without a second glance.

The person who paid them was probably some unimportant middleman. It was not worth investigating. He had come here for another reason and just happened to overhear something about Thorne being here. He didn’t have the time to waste on the General at the moment. He was not ready for their reunion quite yet.

The swordsman continued east swiftly, weaving through the bustling crowd with ease. He slipped between merchants hawking their wares, dodged carts creaking under the weight of goods, and passed through groups of dungeon divers swapping exaggerated tales of their exploits. He kept navigating through the crowd until he reached his destination: Shadowspire Cavern.

The entrance loomed before him, massive and imposing. The door itself was an awe-inspiring sight—its surface appeared to be a swirling mass of faceted crystals, reflecting light in countless directions like a perfect gemstone. The angular patterns caught the faintest sunlight, casting brilliant beams of refracted color onto the cavern’s stone surroundings. Its texture was cool and smooth to the touch, as though it had been carved from the rarest and most precious material in the world, gleaming with an otherworldly allure.

As he approached, a notification flashed across his vision:

You have one condition unmet: Party 1/4.

Do you wish to proceed and enter Shadowspire Cavern?

Warning: Entering a dungeon without a full party of four drastically increases danger. Proceed with caution.

He stared at the warning for a moment, unfazed. This wasn’t the first time he’d faced a dungeon alone. He mentally accepted the prompt, and with a deep, resonant rumble, the crystalline door began to open. The dark cavern stretched out before him, cold and uninviting. Without a second thought, the swordsman stepped inside, disappearing into the depths.