It was the last week of basic training, and Sergeant Kellan was pushing them harder than ever. Today marked the final day of physical training before they embarked on a grueling three-day excursion—the ultimate test. They’d be marching with full gear, engaging in mock battles, camping out, and then marching back, simulating the rigors of war against another platoon coming from the opposite side.

After finishing a round of pushups, Kellan ordered the platoon back into formation. Before beginning the familiar formation run back to the barracks, he addressed them.

"In a few days, you will all be soldiers," he said, his voice stern but not yelling for once. He began pacing in front of the line, scrutinizing each recruit as he spoke. "After training here, most of you will split up—some will attend secondary training, while others will join a regiment right away."

Kaiden stood rigid as Kellan passed him, sizing them all up. Where's this going?

"Once you're out there, you'll get to use your abilities all you want. But the reason we've forbidden you from using them during basic training is because we’re building you up. Hell, some of you will even unlock classes and gain more abilities."

The sergeant’s words hung in the air, and for a brief moment, Kaiden's mind wandered back to a recent conversation he had with the others about classes. Legendary classes, in particular. He had learned that classes were divided into tiers—common, uncommon, rare, and legendary, with legendary being the rarest and most powerful. People who possessed legendary classes were renowned, almost mythical figures, and the stats and abilities granted by these classes made their wielders superhuman. Kaiden remembered feeling a wave of disappointment when he realized just how rare the Samurai class was, making his chances of ever meeting one in person nearly impossible.

His thoughts snapped back to reality when Kellan continued, his tone commanding their full attention.

“...but that doesn't mean you can start using your abilities now—especially not during my training!" His voice rose to a thunderous roar as he suddenly wheeled around and got in the face of a recruit who had seemingly been caught. Without warning, Kellan punched him hard in the stomach, doubling the recruit over.

The platoon collectively held its breath, the tension in the air thick as Kellan turned and walked back to the front. "Now, double time. Run!" he barked.

The recruits didn’t hesitate. They launched into a run, leaving the wheezing recruit behind, clutching his stomach in the dirt.

Back in the barracks at the end of the day, Kaiden sat on his bunk, pulling off his boots, when Davick came over chuckling.

"I can’t believe Taren finally got caught on the last day of PT," Davick said, shaking his head in disbelief.

Kaiden grinned. "I guess it makes sense, though. You'd think if ever there was a chance to use your abilities and not get caught, it would be on the last day. I would've thought they’d stop checking by now."

Davick leaned against the bunk frame and asked, "So does that mean you used your Regeneration during PT today?"

Kaiden shook his head, laughing. "No way. I already told you—I only use it at night and while I sleep so I can wake up feeling refreshed. No cheating during the day."

Davick raised an eyebrow. "Have I ever told you I’m jealous of your ability?"

"Every day," Kaiden said with a smirk.

Davick grinned. "Well, I’m just glad he didn’t make us all run laps for that.."

Kaiden stretched, feeling the lingering soreness of the day, not having yet activated his ability. "Yeah, well, it is the last day and we really didn’t have time for anything extra."

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“No kidding. Half the platoon is even packed yet for battle.”

“For battle, really?” Kaiden teased.

“Come on, you know what I meant. The mock battle, the marching, camping—all that stuff.”

“Fine, fine. I’m just messing with you,” Kaiden chuckled. “Tomorrow’s gonna be interesting, to say the least.”

“It sure will,” Davick agreed.

BREAK

The swordsman sheathed his blade, his eyes fixated on the gleaming gold chest that sat atop the altar. Behind him, the body of the final boss—some grotesque, otherworldly creature—dissolved into pink mist, evaporating as though it had never existed. He approached the chest, muttering under his breath, "Please let it be here this time."

With a creak, the lid of the chest swung open, revealing its contents. His heart sank. More gold, a few potions, and some trinkets—valuable, yes, but not what he sought. He ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair and sighed deeply, the weight of frustration settling in.

"How many times have I beaten this damn dungeon already?" he muttered aloud. He’d lost count, to be honest. The divinators, those mystics who swore the item was hidden within these depths, were either frauds or terrible at their craft. Or maybe it was just rotten luck, and someone else had already claimed the item. Or worse, the drop rate was just that abysmal.

Still, it wasn’t a total loss. The treasure haul was decent—better than most days. Gold was gold, and he'd need it for supplies. But it wasn’t enough to shake the gnawing frustration in his gut. He turned away from the chest, glancing once more around the chamber. The altar, the mist, the dim, eerie glow of the dungeon's magic—it was all starting to feel like a tired routine. He needed a break.

As he headed toward the exit, the familiar stone corridors echoed under his footsteps. The air, thick with the stale scent of earth and old magic, made him eager to be back in the open. At least for a while. Tomorrow, he’d be back for another dive. He always was.

He emerged from the dungeon into the cool night air, taking a moment to breathe deeply before making his way toward the inn. It wasn’t far, and the thought of a hot meal and maybe a drink or two tugged him forward. The streets were quiet as he walked, the only sound the soft shuffle of his boots against the cobblestone.

The inn came into view, its warm light spilling onto the street. The swordsman pushed through the door, the familiar scent of ale, roasted meat, and burning wood welcoming him. The noise inside was subdued compared to most nights, with a few patrons hunched over tables, nursing drinks or quietly chatting. He crossed the room with purpose and made his way to the bar, the innkeeper giving him a nod of recognition.

"Back again, huh?" the innkeeper said, wiping down the counter.

"Yeah," the swordsman replied, sliding into his usual seat. "Same as always."

The innkeeper poured him a drink without another word, and the swordsman took it gratefully, letting the warmth of the alcohol settle his nerves. His thoughts were already on the next dungeon dive when he overheard voices from behind him. Drunk. Loud. And talking about something that made him pause mid-sip.

"It's true, I tell ya!" one of the men slurred.

"Nonsense," the other shot back. "There's no way he was alone."

The swordsman glanced over his shoulder, his eyes falling on the two dungeon divers slumped over a nearby table. The first, a scruffy man with a tangled beard and wild hair, looked barely able to keep himself upright, yet his voice was animated, full of conviction. The second, shorter and with a shaven head, waved his tankard dismissively but was clearly listening.

"I'm telling you," the bearded one persisted. "Many people have been talking about a lone swordsman entering the dungeon by himself!"

The shaven-headed man squinted, disbelief etched across his face. "I don't believe it. His party must've been waiting inside already."

"Nope," the bearded man shook his head emphatically. "The Art of Four explicitly states that all party members must enter together. No exceptions."

The other man frowned, gulping down the rest of his drink. "So he really was solo?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you," the bearded one said, his words slurring together. "He went in alone. From the west entrance no less!"

The stocky man’s eyes widened. "What!? I've heard of people diving a dungeon solo, sure, but the west entrance? That door’s—"

"Diamond," the bearded man finished, nodding gravely. "Only for the toughest out there."

There was a pause before the stocky man muttered, almost reverently, "He must be a Legendary class holder..."

The swordsman’s grip tightened on his drink. Shit, he thought. He’d been careful, or so he’d believed. But it seemed rumors had spread faster than he anticipated. He was drawing more attention than he wanted. Soloing a dungeon, especially a Diamond one, wasn't something that went unnoticed, not in a town built around dungeon-diving culture.

His thoughts churned as the men continued babbling behind him, but he'd heard enough. He'd do one more dive and move on. He decided not to stick around any longer. There were other dungeons on his list—other whispers of rare items he needed to track down.

He tossed a few coins on the counter, stood up, and slipped upstairs to his room, wondering what tomorrow would bring.