The next day, Kaiden spoke with Davick on their way out. “Heading to the forge again?”

Davick grinned. “You know it. There’s no way I’m passing up a chance to work in there. The forges here are actually pretty decent. Maybe I’ll even forge a little gift for Sergeant Farron.”

Kaiden chuckled. “Pretty sure she wouldn’t want a gift from you, Private Two.”

“Of course, she would,” Davick shot back, unbothered. “She was thrilled when I volunteered for her.”

Kaiden raised a brow. “Uh, she was happy to kick you in the face, you mean.”

“That was my fault. I shouldn't have attacked her,” Davick laughed.

Kaiden gave him a look. “You’re turning into a full-blown masochist, you know that?”

Davick shrugged with a grin. “What can I say? Love hurts! But y’know I’d never actually court her. Just messing around.”

“Uh-huh, I’m not convinced, but okay.” Kaiden shook his head as Davick waved him off.

“So, what about you?” Davick asked.

“Gonna do some self-training,” Kaiden replied. “Catch you at dinner?”

“Absolutely,” Davick said, and with a parting nod, they exited the barracks and headed off in their own directions.

As Kaiden made his way toward the stump, his thoughts drifted back to the training they had yesterday. His mind whirled with the possibilities. Potions, dimensional bags, and a personal Inventory! Yes, Inventory. It was like something out of every RPG he’d played back on Earth. After Sergeant Farron’s demonstration on Davick, she’d gone on to explain that potions worked on contact—not ingestion—and could even go through armor, as long as it wasn’t magical. They were pure magic, after all, but anything enchanted or with a mana shield would block them.

But then she’d dropped a bombshell on him: dungeon divers gained access to a personal Inventory space after clearing their third dungeon. It was hard to say if this was common knowledge since he was too stunned to look around and gauge everyone else’s reaction. But it didn’t matter—this was news he couldn’t get over.

When someone cleared their third dungeon, they received a title that granted a small, personal dimensional space where they could store items, accessible only to them. This personal space was their Inventory. And the title could evolve, expanding the Inventory each time as they completed more dungeons, with the next level up being after ten dungeons. Even just the thought of that made Kaiden’s heart race. A personal Inventory was incredibly useful, even if the initial space would be small.

As amazing as they were, though, they didn’t replace the need for dimensional bags. A first-level Inventory was tiny compared to the bags, which could carry much more and could be shared with others.

Switching gears, Kaiden decided it was time to focus seriously on his training. He hadn’t leveled up any of his abilities, even though he’d been using them whenever he could. And while he was eager to try his class abilities, there’d been no real chance to use them yet. Besides, he’d been explicitly told to hold off until the dungeon, and he saw no reason not to comply.

When he reached the stump, he spotted a familiar face, and his spirits lifted. This’ll definitely make today’s training more interesting, he thought.

“Hey, Liana!” Kaiden said with a smile, walking over.

BREAK

The swordsman pressed his palm against the panel beside the massive stone doors, feeling mana flow from his hand until the runes along its edges pulsed with a soft glow. This is it, he thought. The final boss. The last stretch of this dungeon—and he couldn’t afford another letdown.

The last dungeon had been a bust; after many farming runs, he determined the artifact was already gone. Artifacts were unique objects that would never drop as loot more than once. There were theories that there were hidden objectives that you needed to accomplish in a dungeon to get the artifact. The first team to hit all the objectives would receive the artifact. Some theories said that there were no hidden objectives and it was all down to luck and drop rates—a percentage chance that the artifact would spawn on your dungeon run. No one knew the right answer, but people sure liked to think they did. Anyhow, in the last dungeon, the swordsman failed to get the artifact after many tries. It had most likely been snagged by Thorne.

This was the next dungeon on his list for another artifact that could prove useful. Not for himself necessarily, but if it kept Thorne from getting it, he’d gladly stow it in his Inventory to never see the light of day and that was useful enough. The massive doors began to grind open, and he quickly took out two potions—one red, one green—downing them both in a single gulp before crushing the vials in his fist. The motes of light drifted upward, absorbing into his palm.

This dungeon had been rough, he thought, bracing himself. He knew he’d need to be in top shape for whatever was inside. But he still had plenty left in him for this. The image of Shadowspire Cavern flickered in his mind, and with it, Thorne’s figure. The same figure that appeared outside this dungeon as well. He wasn’t sure why Thorne was at Shadowspire Cavern before, but seeing him here now, it was clear.

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Thorne was artifact hunting like himself.

The general had traveled in disguise, careful not to stand out, and surrounded himself with mercenaries from the Black Wyvern Riders—a notoriously ruthless group of mercenaries for hire. Of all their ranks, only about two dozen actually rode wyverns, marking them as the organization’s elite. These mercs did various jobs for those who could afford them, often joining dungeon dives to fill any role, serve as brute muscle, or even murder for hire. Only the wealthiest could afford the rates of the elites, and Thorne’s association with them was well-known although there were never any official records of working together. As the highest-ranking officer in the Dungeoneer Corps, Thorne had the freedom to do whatever he pleased. He left the Corps’ operations to others while he pursued personal endeavors, like hiring Wyvern Riders for his unofficial dungeon runs. The military was strictly prohibited from joining civilians in dungeon dives, but rules meant little to Thorne.

Even out of uniform, Thorne was instantly recognizable to the swordsman. His twin short swords—blades he never carried in uniform or at any Corps event—were unmistakable. This was the general’s other side. He traveled with a party of mercenaries to hunt artifacts. For someone like Thorne, with his rank and influence, they were more than just cover. They were key to concealing his hunt for artifacts. Even a general is beholden to a king, the swordsman thought. He knew the artifacts Thorne was trying to collect would be for personal use and not for the kingdom.

The swordsman moved deeper into the chamber, passing through the heavy stone doors. The room was cavernous and dim, with only a few torches along the walls barely illuminating the far side. As his eyes adjusted, he saw a hulking figure sitting, almost lazily, on a massive stone throne. The creature’s eyes opened slowly, glowing a fierce, unnatural red.

The swordsman gripped his blade tightly. Thorne, he thought darkly, you’ll get your reckoning. Just not today.

The swordsman turned his full focus to the mammoth creature in front of him: a Dark Minotaur. Its horns were twisted and thick, each one almost as long as a man’s arm, and its muscles bulged beneath jet-black skin stretched taut and crisscrossed with scars. Standing a towering fifteen feet tall, it gripped a spiked club resting beside its throne and lurched forward, dragging the weapon in slow arcs that etched deep grooves into the stone floor.

The swordsman drew his longer blade and launched himself toward the beast, moving with deadly speed. The Minotaur swung its club down hard, and the ground erupted in splintered stone, sending jagged chunks flying. The swordsman dodged in time to save himself from a fatal blow, using his blade to shield his head from the flying debris. A few stones broke through his flowing, dark robes—light armor designed for maximum movement, though offering little protection. The billowing pants and high-slit tunic allowed him to strike and dodge freely, but the rocks that ripped through the fabric reminded him of the armor’s limits.

Ignoring the stinging cuts, he countered, slashing across the creature’s leg, only to see his blade leave barely a scratch. The swordsman grimaced. "No physical attacks, then, huh?" he muttered aloud. Resheathing his longer blade, he drew his shorter sword, its edge immediately radiating a fierce, magical glow. His robes began to shimmer and shift, morphing into an imposing, heavy set of armor. The wide shoulder plates, reinforced breastplate, and metal guards across his arms and legs evoked an ancient style but with supernatural strength, granting him the protection he’d need against the Minotaur’s crushing blows. The swordsman uncorked a potion and downed it quickly, feeling its effects settle over him like a cloak of steel resolve.

As the Minotaur dislodged its club from the floor, the swordsman advanced again, moving slower in the heavier armor but better equipped to handle what was coming. The Minotaur swung its club in another devastating arc, and he dodged, but this time the stones that flew from the shattered ground bounced off his armor harmlessly. He closed in, his shorter blade raised and glowing brighter. Timing his attack as the Minotaur recoiled, he slashed at the beast's thick leg muscle, the blade sinking deep this time.

The Minotaur roared in fury, but the swordsman held his ground, not retreating. This was his chance, and he wasn't about to let it slip.

When the Minotaur staggered back, the swordsman pressed his advantage, slashing even deeper into the beast’s leg. By staying close, he’d limited the creature’s attack with the club, rendering it ineffective. The beast knew it too because suddenly, the Minotaur released its grip on the club and swung a massive fist down, aiming to crush its opponent where he stood. The swordsman rolled to the side, knowing that armor or not, he couldn’t risk testing its limits against a blow of that magnitude.

As he regained his footing, the Minotaur swung its other fist, forcing the swordsman to dodge around the beast’s opposite leg. He seized the opportunity, landing another deep slash across the Minotaur’s muscled thigh, drawing a roar of pain that brought the creature to one knee. He narrowly rolled clear as the beast dropped onto all fours, its massive head looming just above him. Face to face with the snarling creature, he could see its eyes ignite with an unnatural light as its horns began to glow.

In a heartbeat, he knew what was coming—those horns could fire energy beams that could vaporize him on the spot. Desperation surged through him, and he thrust his sword forward with everything he had, yelling as the blade extended to nearly ten feet and widened to three. It was his most powerful skill, a move he didn’t use lightly.

The Minotaur’s horns charged up, fractions of a second away from unleashing their deadly energy, but the swordsman’s attack landed first, the massive blade piercing through the creature’s forehead in a final, brutal strike. The light in its horns extinguished as the Minotaur’s body began to dissolve into wisps of pink mist, leaving behind only silence.

The swordsman slumped back, letting himself sink to the stone floor for a moment. "Way too close," he muttered, catching his breath. When he finally got to his feet, a new sight awaited him. The massive stone throne had disappeared, replaced by a chest—a well-deserved reward. He approached it with a mixture of relief and anticipation.

The swordsman opened the chest, and his grin widened as he saw a single, glowing black cube floating just above the bottom. No gold, no weapons, just this—exactly what he’d been hoping for. As he reached out to take it, a sudden voice broke into his mind, clear and urgent.

"Finally, I got through. Dungeon, right?" It was the familiar voice of his divinator, the one he'd paid a small fortune for.

“Yeah, of course I am,” he replied with a smirk. “But you already knew that.”

“It doesn’t matter,” the female voice replied quickly. “This next part’s huge. You need to leave now if you’re gonna make it.”

“What do you mean?” the swordsman asked. “First, I need—”

He was cut off by the divinator, who said urgently, “Ash, listen to me. This is the one you’ve been waiting for. It’s a D-O-D. Timed. And it’ll only be available for hours—maybe minutes. I can’t see much more.”

“You sure?” Ash replied, his expression sharpening.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “Looking at your location, you need to leave today to get there in time.”

“Very well,” he said.