The swordsman meditated in the trees near the dirt road, the first light of the sun peeking through the shadows and stretching across the forest floor. The air was cool and quiet, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves. He sat cross-legged, still and focused, though tension simmered beneath his calm exterior.

A sudden gust of wind stirred the branches, scattering a few birds from their perches and pulling him from his thoughts. His eyes opened just as a group of winged beasts descended into the clearing ahead, their riders guiding them to a rough landing. The swordsman grimaced at the sight, his jaw tightening as the scene unfolded.

He had known this encounter was a possibility, but fate had turned possibility into certainty. Rising slowly to his feet, he kept his gaze locked on the figures in front of him. There was no mistaking them. Even before his eyes confirmed it, the heavy presence in the air made it clear: Eryndor Thorne.

The outline of Camp Thorne Dungeon stood faintly behind the group, a bitter reminder of why the swordsman was hesitant to travel here. This was Eryndor’s turf. He cursed his luck. The door he had been waiting for could appear at any moment now. If there was one positive thing he could say about the man before him, it was that Thorne was always on time. But that was the only thing.

How could he say anything else about the man who killed his wife?

“Well, well, well,” Thorne said, stepping down from his massive drake with a casual air. He patted the creature’s nose as though it were a favored hound and strolled closer. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here. Didn’t know you were even alive, to be honest.”

The swordsman said nothing, his body coiled with tension. The odds weren’t in his favor—not by a long shot. Facing Thorne alone was bad enough, but the mercenaries, drake, and wyverns tipped the scale into impossible territory. Yet, even knowing he had no chance of winning, he was at the very least confident in his ability to escape. He unsheathed his blade and held it firmly.

It wasn’t the time to settle this, but he needed to be ready just in case.

“Who’s that, boss?” one of the mercenaries asked, his voice casual but curious.

Thorne didn’t take his eyes off the swordsman. “Someone who should’ve stayed dead,” he said, his tone carrying a weight that silenced the mercenary.

Finally, the swordsman spoke, his voice low and sharp. “One day, I’ll rip off that mask of yours—or bury you with it.”

Thorne’s response was as careless as ever. “I’d love to settle our score once and for all, but I think we’d draw too much attention out here.” He glanced over his shoulder at Camp Thorne Dungeon, a small smirk curling his lips. They weren’t in a heavily trafficked area, but the road to the dungeon town wasn’t deserted either. A passing merchant or patrol could stumble upon them at any moment, complicating matters. Not to mention the scale of their fight would be substantial. It wouldn’t surprise him if it carried over to the town itself.

Before the standoff could stretch further, the air shimmered behind Thorne’s group. A doorway began to materialize, its edges glowing faintly as it solidified into existence.

“Right on time,” Thorne said with satisfaction, his smile widening.

He turned, approaching the door with three of his mercenaries while the last two remained behind. “You two,” he called to the ones staying, “get the beasts back and I’ll contact you when this is over.”

“Sure, boss,” one of the mercenaries said.

Thorne cast a final glance over his shoulder at the swordsman, his smile fading into a steely warning. “Oh, and don’t even think of trying anything. The two of you together couldn’t match him on your best day.”

The other mercenary, the larger one, gave a half-hearted nod. “Okay, boss,” he muttered in an unconvincing tone. The two mercenaries exchanged uneasy looks but didn’t argue.

Thorne and his companions placed their hands on the door. In a flash of light, they were gone, leaving the swordsman staring at the shimmering afterimage of their departure. He clenched his sword, forcing himself to stay rooted in place. He couldn’t chase after him now.

The larger mercenary strode toward the dungeon door with a confident swagger, placing a hand on it before chuckling out loud. He turned to the shorter mercenary and said, “Go on ahead without me,” as he casually drew two daggers from their sheaths.

The shorter one hesitated. “You heard what the man said. You sure you wanna do this?”

“Of course,” the larger mercenary said with a grin, twirling the daggers deftly. “He doesn’t seem so tough. I just wanna say hi is all. Besides, he’s not gonna be able to go in there.”

“You mean to stop me?” the swordsman said, his voice cold.

The mercenary shook his head. “Nah. Just saying you’ve got some time on your hands is all.”

Damn, the swordsman thought. Does this dungeon only allow one party at a time? He needed to check the dungeon for himself, but it looks like the mercenary is trying to get in his way.

The shorter mercenary gave an indifferent shrug. “Suit yourself,” he said before mounting his wyvern. With a quick kick off the ground, he took to the air. The rest of the group followed, the Drake included. Only one wyvern remained, perched a short distance away.

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The remaining mercenary said to the swordsman, “Try not to die so quickly. It wouldn’t be very fun at all.”

The swordsman didn’t respond. He preferred to let his blade do the talking.

The mercenary grinned, flipping a dagger in each hand as he licked his lips. Without warning, he surged forward, moving with blazing speed and closing the distance in an instant. To most, the speed would’ve been overwhelming. But to the swordsman? It was... slow.

The mercenary appeared in front of him with a flash, his daggers slashing toward vital spots. But the swordsman was unfazed. He brought his blade up with perfect timing, deflecting both daggers in a single motion.

The mercenary’s eyes widened in shock.

Before he could recover, the swordsman countered, slashing down with precise force. His blade sliced clean through the mercenary’s leather armor as though it were made of paper, drawing a deep gash.

The mercenary hit the ground hard, letting out a scream of pain. He clutched his side, blood seeping between his fingers as he stared up at the swordsman, who now loomed over him like an executioner.

The sound of a snapping twig from the woods interrupted the swordsman’s thoughts, pulling his focus away from the downed mercenary. His instincts flared, and with a swift use of his search ability, he locked onto a presence lurking nearby.

He turned toward the trees. “Show yourself,” he called, his tone even but firm.

There was no response.

“Look, I know you’re there,” the swordsman said, his voice sharpening. “Either come out on your own, or I’ll come look for you.”

After a few moments of silence, an unarmed man stepped cautiously out from the underbrush, his hands raised in surrender.

“I didn’t see anything,” the man said.

The swordsman frowned, assessing him quickly. The man’s military attire marked him as part of the Dungeoneers, which wasn’t surprising given their proximity to the base. However, his uniform lacked stripes or insignia, identifying him as a private. What’s a private doing all the way out here?

“Who are you?” the swordsman asked, ignoring the pained moans of the mercenary behind him.

Before the man could answer, another voice rang out, smooth and distinctly female. “Wait.”

The swordsman’s head snapped toward the sound, his eyes narrowing. He hadn’t detected her at all.

A woman stepped out from the shadows, moving with grace. Her chestnut hair glinted in the dappled light, framing hazel eyes that shone with an unsettling confidence. Slight freckles dusted her face, softening her beauty just enough to make her seem approachable—if one didn’t know better. She carried herself with the poise of someone used to being in control, every step assured as she walked forward.

He recognized her immediately. “You’re one of the Petal sisters,” he said, his voice carefully neutral.

The woman smiled faintly, inclining her head. “Zinnia, at your service.”

Break

After receiving their orders, Kaiden and Davick bid Sgt. Farron farewell. She wished them luck with a genuine smile before they parted ways. To Davick’s dismay, the two had set off to find Garin and Harlan rather than lingering for a longer chat with the sergeant. Their orders would take both of them to the capital, along with a few other fresh graduates from their platoon and others. Apparently, the capital was in need of Dungeoneers. The more people they had working the dungeons equated to more income after all.

Unfortunately, Garin and Harlan weren’t among those assigned to the capital. So, Kaiden and Davick spent the rest of the day celebrating with their friends in town, burning through much of their hard-earned coin. They’d pooled their resources to rent a room at an inn for the night—far better than trudging back to the barracks drunk and tired.

Kaiden woke at the crack of dawn, his body and mind clear thanks to Regeneration. It wasn’t just handy for recovering from injuries—it completely eliminated hangovers, too. It could even stop him from feeling the effects of alcohol unless he turned it off.

As the others slept off their exhaustion, Kaiden decided on a morning jog. If they were still sleeping when he got back, he’d try his healing abilities on them to see if it would fix their hangovers. He had a feeling it would. Still, it’s better for them to feel a little remorse for their actions, he thought with a faint chuckle escaping his lips.

Lacing up his boots, he stepped out into the quiet streets, stretching as the cool air greeted him. He had come to enjoy jogging immensely, making it part of his daily routine. He ran most mornings, except on training days with Sgt. Farron, when he knew he’d be getting more than enough exercise. Today, he decided to try something new and explore one of the side roads outside the town, a route he’d heard was quiet and rarely traveled.

The rhythmic sound of his boots hitting the dirt road was almost meditative as he settled into a steady pace. He followed the winding path, enjoying the serenity of the open air and the surrounding woods. Suddenly, movement in the sky caught his attention.

Kaiden stopped, shielding his eyes against the sunlight. A formation of winged beasts flew in from the east, their silhouettes cutting across the sky. His heart skipped a beat. General Thorne and the Wyvern Riders! They were flying low, perpendicular to the road, and seemed to be descending nearby.

Excitement mixed with caution as Kaiden darted into the tree line. He stayed close to the shadows, confident they hadn’t seen him. His pulse quickened as he watched the riders grow closer to the ground. Where are they going?

Curiosity won out over caution. Kaiden quickened his pace, careful to stay hidden. He wasn’t sure if he was stumbling into something he shouldn’t, but the opportunity to see the drake and the wyverns again up close was too tempting to pass up. Besides, he wasn’t sneaking into some forbidden area, he was just out for a morning jog.

The sound of powerful wings grew louder as Kaiden crept closer. He slowed, moving as quietly as he could through the underbrush for a few short minutes. By the time he arrived, the wyverns and the drake were already taking off, their immense forms kicking up gusts of wind as they ascended into the sky. The drake and all the wyverns were riderless now, except for one that remained grounded, its rider lingering nearby. Kaiden’s eyes scanned the road, but General Thorne was nowhere to be seen.

Then he saw it: a shimmering doorway suspended just above the ground, glowing faintly as it hovered over the dirt road. Two figures stood nearby, locked in a tense standoff. One was a burly man, clutching daggers and wearing dark leather armor—one of the wyvern riders for sure. The other stood tall and unwavering, a long sword resting at his side. His calm demeanor belied the dangerous energy radiating from him, his gaze fixed on the mercenary with quiet menace. Neither moved, and then the mercenary disappeared.

The following scene unfolded too quickly for Kaiden to fully comprehend. The mercenary appeared to vanish and reappear in front of the swordsman, only to be struck down in what felt like the blink of an eye. Awe washed over Kaiden as he involuntarily stepped back, the words “Holy—” slipping from his lips. His foot landed on a branch with a sharp snap.

The sound immediately drew the swordsman’s attention, his sharp gaze locking onto Kaiden’s direction.

“Show yourself.”

Shit! He’d been caught. By a snapping twig. How cliché!