Renewed Hope & Trying to Level Up

"Tell me, what do you know about being a Dungeon Master?"

Jade's voice carried a rare seriousness, her silver eyes locking onto his. North wanted to look away, but he didn’t. Instead, he forced himself to meet her gaze, his mind sorting through everything he knew, pulling knowledge from different corners of his memory.

Finally, he spoke. "They have a Dungeon Boundary and can control Dungeon Bugs."

Jade leaned back, planting both arms on the ground, her legs swinging lazily over the valley cliff. "That’s it?" Her tone held a mix of amusement.

North straightened, taking a more serious posture. He understood something important was happening here—this was a rare opportunity to learn. "Yeah," he admitted, his voice steady. "I’m not privileged like someone."

Jade’s lips curled, and a soft giggle escaped her. "Hehe. Then let me give you a demonstration."

By the time she spoke, the Stone Skin Beetle that had been in her palm was gone. North barely had time to process where it went before Jade lightly dusted the sleeve of his shirt. And suddenly, all the dirt, mud, and dust on his clothes simply fell away, drifting to the ground like fine sand.

His ragged shirt, worn and faded, now looked as fresh as new linen.

North’s eyes widened in shock. It was as if she had performed magic. "What did you just do?" he looked at her with disbelief.

Jade smirked, clearly pleased by his reaction. "Nothing much," she said with a small shrug.

Then, she tilted her head, her silver eyes glinting in the afternoon light. "It was just a simple Rank 1 Self-Cleaning Bug."

North was still in shock, his fingers running over the now spotless fabric of his sleeve, trying to process what had just happened.

Jade watched him with amusement before adding, "Your mom might have something similar. Have you never noticed?"

North’s brows furrowed at the question. "What do you mean?"

"It might not be the same," Jade continued, "but perhaps related to cooking, heating, or cleaning."

North thought back, recalling small, subtle things from his home. His mother never seemed to struggle with heating food, nor did she ever scrub clothes endlessly like some of the poorer families did. Could she have been using Dungeon Bugs all this time?

"Dungeon Bugs come in every shape and kind," Jade explained, flicking the cloth once before letting it rest on her palm. "Some are meant for fighting, others for daily tasks. They can warm your tea, clean your clothes, sharpen your skills—some can even make you faster, stronger, or let you manipulate elements. Then there are rare ones... the kind that allow you to regrow lost limbs, soar through the clouds, or even sink into the earth like a shadow."

North listened carefully, her words painting an entirely new perspective in his mind. He had always thought of Dungeon Bugs as weapons, tools of power wielded by Dungeon Masters. But he had never considered that they could be used for simple, everyday tasks.

"If they can do all that," North muttered, glancing at the small scrap of cloth in her hand, "why doesn’t everyone use them?"

Jade smirked, tilting her head. "Because they’re rare. And the best ones?" She raised an eyebrow. "They don’t come cheap."

"They also have ranks," Jade continued. "Just like Dungeon Masters have ranks from one to nine, Dungeon Bugs are also categorized based on their abilities. This Self-Cleaning Bug, for example, is a simple Rank 1."

She flicked her wrist, and the small piece of white cloth shifted slightly, its edges shimmering faintly in the light before settling again.

North, who had been staring at it intently, finally voiced the question that had been gnawing at him.

"That doesn’t look like a bug," he said, his expression shifting into one of confusion. "The beetle from earlier, that looked like an insect. But this? It’s just a piece of cloth."

His eyes narrowed slightly, "So why do you still call it a bug?"

Jade leaned in slightly, her voice lowering just enough to make him unconsciously do the same. "Dungeon Bugs don’t always look like insects." She lifted the piece of cloth between two fingers, letting the wind catch its edges slightly. "When a Dungeon Master bonds with a bug, it changes."

North’s eyes darkened with thought, his mind struggling to process what she was saying.

"Changes how?"

"It depends on the bug," she said simply. "Some keep their original form, others turn into something completely different."

She ran a finger along the soft surface of the cloth, and as she did, its color shifted slightly, becoming more translucent, like woven threads of silk.

"Some turn into weapons," she continued. "Some into armor, some into tools, some into things like this."

North stared at the cloth, realization sinking in. It wasn’t just a fabric scrap. It was alive. His thoughts spun in every direction. He had always wondered how Dungeon Masters carried their bugs without them flying away or dying. He had assumed they kept them in boxes, jars, or even cages. But this? This was something else entirely. He had spent years longing for a second chance, dreaming of ways to reclaim what he had lost. Yet, he had never truly understood what he had lost.

Jade, watching his expression shift from confusion to deep thought, smirked. "That’s why I call it a bug." She flicked the cloth one last time before tucking it away into her sleeve.

North exhaled slowly, his gaze lingering where the strange piece of fabric had vanished. It was intriguing, mysterious even, but his mind quickly snapped back to something more important—something he hadn’t forgotten.

He squinted as he turned back to Jade. "So, why are you here? And what do you want from me?"

Jade tilted her head, "What do you think?" she countered.

North shifted uncomfortably, not enjoying this little game. "Well…" he hesitated, rubbing his arm awkwardly. "I’m kinda useless unless you want me to write poems for you. I’m not really good at anything. I might have become a Dungeon Master if everything had gone right, but even that’s not possible anymore."

Jade visibly shivered, shaking her entire body dramatically. "Ugh! You’re depressing to talk to."

Her voice carried genuine irritation, as if his words had physically drained her energy. But then, she brushed it off with a sigh and got to the point. "Anyway, I want your help."

North's brows furrowed deeper, his confusion growing tenfold. "For what?"

"I want to leave this village."

For a moment, North thought he had misheard her. His entire body tensed, his mind struggling to process what she had just said. Leave? She wanted to leave the village? His gaze snapped to hers, searching for a hint of mockery or jest, but she looked dead serious.

"As you know, I’m not really from here," Jade continued, her voice measured. "My uncle dropped me off when I was little."

She waved her hand dismissively, as if brushing aside a trivial matter. "But let’s not talk about that. What’s important is this—I don’t belong here. And I don’t want to stay here all my life."

Her silver eyes gleamed with determination. "I want to leave these mountains."

North stared at her, still trying to understand whether she was being serious or just saying things for effect. But then, she dropped the real bombshell. "And I want you to come with me."

North's mouth fell open. His jaw hung so low he might as well have dislocated it. After a moment of processing, he snorted, then outright laughed. "You haven’t changed a bit from when you were little."

He wiped an imaginary tear from the corner of his eye, still grinning as if he had just heard the most ridiculous joke of his life. Then, after a pause, his grin fell slightly. "No—actually, I think you’ve become more unhinged."

Jade’s expression soured instantly. She pouted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Unhinged?" she muttered, clearly offended. "What do you mean unhinged? I’m perfectly rational!"

"Oh, sure." North nodded sarcastically.

Jade’s patience thinned instantly. "Are you agreeing or not?" she asked impatiently.

North laughed again, shaking his head. "Why would I sign my own death certificate with my own hand?"

He tapped his forehead with his index finger, as if checking for an imaginary label. "Do you see the word ‘fool’ written here?"

Jade poked his head. "Not yet, but I could write it for you."

North ignored her and continued. "Do you even realize how dangerous it is to cross these mountains?"

He pointed toward the vast expanse of treacherous cliffs and endless ridges stretching as far as the eye could see. "Except for trained warriors and the clan chief, no one dares to go beyond our village’s territory. Not more than ten kilometers, at least. There are countless dangerous beast and monsters hidden inside those even the clan chief itself didn’t want to fight."

He folded his arms. "And let’s not forget—there are no proper routes, no roads, nothing. You’d be walking into unknown territory. Who’s going to climb these mountains and pave a path ahead? Us?"

North gestured between the two of them, his disbelief clear in his voice. "That’s insane. Even if I’m weak, I’m not stupid enough to have such daring thoughts. I’m somewhat content with my pitiful life."

Jade clicked her tongue, shaking her head as if she found his words pathetic. "Of course, I’m not asking you to do it for free." She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. "I have a deal."

North’s ears perked up instantly, but not out of excitement—only curiosity.

His interest wasn’t in her so-called grand plan, her escape, or whatever madness she was plotting. It was her knowledge. "What kind of deal?" he asked cautiously.

Jade smiled, but it wasn’t her usual smug or teasing grin. It was something deeper—something knowing. "I might have a way to break your curse of never becoming a Dungeon Master."

She spoke slowly, deliberately, her silver eyes locked onto his. "And I can give you a new chance."

North visibly recoiled from her words. For the first time in this conversation, his casual demeanor shattered. His heart skipped a beat, his breath caught in his throat. "What did you just say?" His voice came out sharper than he intended, the words laced with something dangerously close to hope.

Jade looked away, ignoring him. "You heard me once. I’m not repeating myself."

She was steady, confident—like someone who knew she held the upper hand. North exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. His mind was telling him this was nonsense, but his heart wasn’t so sure. He had spent four years drowning in regret, being reminded at every corner that he was a failure—someone who had lost his only chance at becoming a Dungeon Master. But now, Jade sat there, claiming that everything he had believed for years might be false. It was too much. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like the way it shook the foundation of his misery, the way it threatened to pull him out of the hole he had sunk into.

"Do you somehow think you know more than the elders?"

Jade rolled her eyes so hard, North thought they might just get stuck. "What do these backwater elders calling themselves Dungeon Masters even know?" she scoffed, flipping her hair back dramatically.

"My father…"

She stopped herself half sentence.

A flicker of something guarded flashed in her eyes before she smoothly corrected herself.

"I once heard my father say—Hope Bugs are just the easiest way to form a Dungeon Boundary, but not the only way."

Hope Bugs were… the easiest? What the hell was that supposed to mean? North confusion deepened.

Jade continued, her voice taking on a more thoughtful tone. "There can be countless ways to form a Dungeon Boundary, just like there are countless Dungeon Bugs."

She leaned back on her palms, tilting her face toward the sky, as if pondering something beyond their little world. "Why is it that Hope Bugs help us form a Dungeon Boundary so easily?"

She let the question hang in the air, waiting to see if North had an answer. But he didn’t. Because he had never even thought to question it before.

"I once asked…" she said, her voice softer now, but still filled with certainty. "My father told me that Hope is like a beacon. Its job is to guide us, so naturally, as humans, we follow the most efficient and simplest method."

Then, she turned to face him, her silver eyes locking onto his. "But as humans, should we really allow ourselves to be confined to one path? Should we let ourselves be stuck on a single ideal?"

Her words carried weight, as if she had spent a long time thinking about this, doubting it, challenging it. And now, she had dropped that challenge right in front of him. North didn’t respond. He couldn’t. Because the more she spoke, the more uncomfortable he became. He had spent years resenting his fate, mourning the loss of his Dungeon Boundary. He had spent years believing he was doomed, that he would never step onto the path of a Dungeon Master again.

Because that’s what the elders told him.

That’s what the entire clan believed.

But what if they were wrong?

North forced himself to steady his breath, though his mind was racing wildly. The possibility that he could still become a Dungeon Master had sent a rush of excitement through him. He wasn’t sure if it was hope or just another trap of wishful thinking. Either way, he needed to know more.

"So you're saying I still might have a chance?" His voice was calmer now, measured, but his fingers twitched against his knee.

Jade's silver eyes locked onto his, unwavering. "Yes."

Her confidence should have reassured him, but instead, it only made his stomach twist harder. "You might have lost your chance with Hope, but there are still some ways to become a Dungeon Master."

North’s didn't know if he wanted to jump to his feet and shout in triumph or scream at her for teasing him with something so uncertain. He swallowed the storm of emotions brewing inside him and asked the only question that mattered. "How?" His voice cracked slightly at the edges. It carried everything—his desperation, his impatience, his buried frustration from years of being told that he would never have another chance.

But Jade? She just shrugged. "I don’t know."

North’s world nearly tipped over the cliff. "What?" He stared at her, his expression frozen, his mind going utterly blank.

Jade, in contrast, looked completely unbothered. She crossed her arms, looking far too comfortable for someone who had just dangled his dream in front of him and then snatched it away.

"My father never explained it to me," she said, flicking her silver hair away from her face. "He always said I was too young to have such talks with him. Once I grow up, he’d tell me everything."

North barely heard her. The words rang hollow in his ears.

Jade continued, her tone turning more thoughtful. "Though, he did say one thing."

She let her fingers trace invisible shapes in the dirt beside her. "In the end, if a person keeps working on themselves, one day they’ll reach a point where their ability and hard work are enough to transform into a Dungeon Boundary itself."

She paused, letting the weight of the words settle between them. "That's all I know."

North felt like the air had been punched out of his lungs. His heart had soared for a moment, thinking she had an actual method, something real—something concrete. But instead, she handed him a vague, cryptic riddle that made less sense the more he thought about it.

His excitement sputtered out like a dying candle. "That doesn’t make any sense."

His voice was hollow, tinged with frustration. He ran a hand through his hair, gripping at the strands before letting go. "How is someone supposed to ‘transform’ a Dungeon Boundary?"

His brows knitted together, irritation flickering in his eyes. "That sounds like nonsense."

Jade just watched him, waiting. She didn’t look offended or annoyed by his reaction—if anything, she almost looked like she expected it. "You don’t believe me?" she asked after a moment, tilting her head slightly.

North let out a short, humorless laugh. "I want to."

His fingers curled against his palm, his nails pressing into the skin. "I really do."

But how could he? How could he believe something that had no explanation, no proof?

Jade leaned back on her hands, her gaze drifting toward the sky. "Maybe it’s not about understanding it now."

Her silver eyes flickered as she turned back to him. And then she smirked. "Maybe it’s about having the guts to try anyway."

North felt something stir deep in his chest, a spark of something he hadn’t felt in a long time. And damn her, because she was getting to him.

"So, what do you have in mind?" It was the last flicker of hope in his heart, grasping onto the chance that maybe—just maybe—she had something real to offer.

But Jade just shook her head. "Your answer first."

North rolled his eyes. She really wasn’t letting go of this stupid idea, was she? Still, he knew there were ways to leave the village—the traveling merchants, the large caravans that moved between mountains, selling and collecting supplies. Maybe they could follow them, slip away unnoticed. But the real reason she had come to him, It wasn’t because he was special. It was because he was desperate.

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"I know what you're thinking."

Jade raised an eyebrow, but North pressed on.

"You want me to be your fodder if we face death. So you can push me in front and save yourself."

Jade’s face twitched slightly, but North wasn’t done.

"And as for why you chose me—out of anyone in the village, even someone like Heo, who you're actually friends with—it’s because you think that if you indebt me with something, I’ll be more likely to throw my life away for you than anyone else."

He shook his head, playfully, mockingly, his lips curling. "I never knew you were so cunning."

For once, Jade was caught off guard. Her expression flickered—shock, then quick recovery. She crossed her arms, her voice defensive, annoyed. "So what?" she snapped. "Was I wrong to think like that?"

North scoffed, shaking his head. "You weren’t wrong."

His voice was calm, almost amused. "But I’m also not stupid, though I might look like one."

He lifted his hand, tracing lazy circles in the dirt, his expression contemplative. Then, he looked up at her, "But I’ll make you a deal."

Jade’s ears perked up, intrigued. North’s lips curled slightly, his voice steady, deliberate. "If I successfully form a Dungeon Boundary because of you, I’ll owe you three chances at my life."

Jade blinked. "Three?"

North nodded. "Three times, if we ever get into danger, I’ll be willing to throw myself in front of death for you. Willingly."

His eyes darkened slightly. "But after those three times? We go our separate ways. No debts. No attachments. Like we never knew each other. Strangers!"

He leaned back, arms crossed. "A life sacrificed for a life given."

Jade chewed on that for a minute. Then suddenly grinned, her silver eyes lighting up like she'd won something.

"Deal."

She extended her hand, waiting. North sighed, staring at it for a moment. Then, with a slow smile, he reached out and shook her hand. Their fingers clasped tightly, sealing a contract that neither of them could predict the outcome of. When they let go, Jade stretched like a cat, looking way too pleased with herself.

North stared at her, "So… what should we do now?"

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Tall shadows stretched across the mountain valley as North and Jade stood at the cliff's edge, their newly hatched plan hanging between them like mist. The afternoon Sun spilled over the ancient peaks like liquid gold pouring, a reminder of how much time they'd spent arguing over this crazy scheme.

Finally, North watched Jade's retreating figure as they finally parted ways, his mind still churning over their agreement. He'd help her escape these mountains - fair enough. But her plan to help him form a new boundary? That part left him cursing under his breath. He wasn’t sure whether he had just signed up for his salvation or a slow, miserable death. Jade’s thoughts were as bizarre as her plan, both sounding equally ridiculous and impossible, but North had long since stopped expecting normalcy from her. Still, despite how absolutely absurd it all sounded, the idea of forming a Dungeon Boundary again was enough for him to swallow his doubts and push forward.

Even if this plan ended in utter failure, it was still more than what the clan or elders ever gave him.

And he would rather die trying than live with nothing.

As they had stood on the mountain valley cliff, the wind ruffling Jade’s pretty clothes, she had said it with absolute confidence—

"We’ll simply have to try everything."

North had blinked at her, frowning. "What do you mean by ‘try everything’?"

Jade, completely unfazed by his skepticism, had simply crossed her arms. "It means you’ll have to learn new skills—to master them, or better yet, to reach perfection."

That was the moment when North truly started doubting her sanity. He had given her a long, deadpan stare, but before he could call her out on her nonsense, she had continued—

"I think what my father meant to say back then wasn’t just about learning and becoming good at a profession. But ultimately understanding—what does it mean to be that?"

North had raised an eyebrow, still unconvinced. "What are you even talking about?"

Jade had simply sighed, as if she was explaining something incredibly simple to an idiot. "For example, is blacksmithing just about forging metal?"

North had opened his mouth to say yes, but she cut him off before he could answer. "Don’t you think there’s more to it?

“For example. Most people think it's just about hammering metal into shape. But there's so much more beneath the surface. It's about understanding how temperature changes the very nature of metal, how each strike sends ripples through the material like waves through a pond. When you really think about it, maybe it's all about the art of transformation - breaking down barriers between what is and what could be."

She had stepped closer, her voice lowering slightly, as if sharing some profound secret. "Beyond just swinging a hammer wildly, there's a deeper truth. That's what you need to grasp - the essence of it all. The fundamental nature of change itself."

North had stood there, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The way she spoke, the sheer conviction in her voice—she actually believed this nonsense. And yet…Something about her words dug into his mind like a thorn that refused to be plucked out.

The essence of things.

What the hell did that even mean? Did she mean he had to become so skilled at something that it became a part of him? Or was she talking about something deeper, something beyond skill itself? Either way, North was highly skeptical. But at this point, what did he have to lose? If nothing else, it was a direction.

And he hadn’t had one of those in a long, long time.

Standing atop that mountain valley cliff, the wind whipping through their hair, he had smirked slightly and proposed an idea. "Then why don’t I try to understand the essence of poetry first?"

Jade had arched an eyebrow, arms crossed. And North had lifted his chin slightly, confidence flickering back into his voice. "After all, I’ve been writing since I was four. And I’d say there’s no one better than me at writing in the village—or the entire clan, for that matter."

Jade had snorted, unimpressed. "You can try," she allowed. "It might even be better and faster."

For a moment, North had thought she was agreeing with him. But then she smirked, and his stomach immediately dropped. "But I’m not even sure if you understand the first letter of poetry."

North’s brows twitched. "Excuse me?"

Jade smirk widened as she tilted her head. "I mean, sure, you string words together nicely. But do you really know what poetry is? Do you understand its essence? Or are you just another fool playing with pretty words?"

That had stung. North had genuinely scowled, glaring at her. "Of course, I understand it."

Jade had simply shrugged, completely unconvinced. "Then prove it."

Her silver eyes sparkled with challenge, and North had half a mind to shove her off the damn cliff. But the problem was—she had a point. Was he really the best in the village? Or had he simply been the best among people who didn’t care about poetry in the first place? But why does being best even matter when it came to understanding the essence of poetry? He clenched his jaw, filing that thought away for later. Still, as much as Jade had agreed to let him start with poetry, she wasn’t about to let him get comfortable.

She had folded her arms, tapping her fingers lightly against her elbow. "Still, you can’t push away the things I want you to try."

North had exhaled sharply, already expecting that condition. Of course, she wouldn’t make this easy for him. Then, she had lifted four fingers.

"I’ll wait four years at best."

North’s gaze had snapped to hers, sharp. "Four years?"

Jade nodded. "Four years," she repeated firmly. "By then, I'll have reached Rank 4 Dungeon Master. My strength will be strong enough to protect myself both in the mountains and beyond. And in that time, if you still haven’t formed your Dungeon Boundary and advanced past minimum Rank 2, I’ll look for someone else."

Her voice was steady, unwavering. She was giving him time, but not infinite patience. North had frowned slightly, considering. Four years. To most people, that was a long time. But to someone trying to achieve the impossible? It was nothing.

Still, North had gritted his teeth and agreed.

"Fine. Four years."

----------------------------------------

From the day onward, everything changed in North’s life.

His parents, at first, couldn’t believe their eyes. Fern had nearly dropped a pot of boiling water, and his father had stared at him like he had suddenly grown three heads.

"You woke up early?" his mother had asked, cautiously feeling his forehead, as if expecting to find a fever.

"I always wake up early," North had muttered, dodging her hands.

"Not willingly," his father had corrected, adjusting his glasses as if trying to confirm he wasn’t hallucinating.

His mother had simply narrowed her eyes, her voice lowering. "Did you get possessed by the Granny Ghost from behind the mountains?" Then she muttered to herself mindlessly, "I knew there was something wrong with that place. I should have stopped you from going their earlier."

North had scoffed, slinging his worn-out poetry notebook over his shoulder. "I’m not possessed," he had said, stepping out the door before she could pry further.

The truth was, he had a plan. While the newly promoted Dungeon Master students headed toward the school for their lessons, North took a different path. He marched straight to the blacksmith’s forge—his poetry notebook clutched tightly in one hand. His goal was simple: he was going to learn how to swing a hammer. The blacksmith’s shop stood like a beast of iron and stone, thick black smoke curling from its chimney, the scent of burning coal and molten metal stinging the air. Inside, the sound of hammers striking anvils echoed in steady, rhythmic beats—like a heartbeat of steel and fire.

North stood at the door, hesitating only for a second, before stepping inside. The forge’s master, a broad-shouldered, heavyset man with a thick beard and a face like carved stone, barely spared him a glance.

North cleared his throat, straightening his posture. "Master Blacksmith, I want to learn how to swing a hammer."

Silence. The blacksmith continued hammering away at the heated blade in front of him, completely ignoring him.

North bit his lip, but didn’t back down. He had expected resistance. This wasn’t just any forge—it was the clan’s blacksmith shop. And the man in front of him was a Rank 2 Dungeon Blacksmith. From what North had heard, he never taught anyone who didn’t meet his strict conditions—No lazy students. No one without a Dungeon Boundary.

North failed on both accounts. But that wasn’t even the worst of it. The blacksmith finally lifted his head, resting his hammer against the anvil, and gave North a long, hard look.

A look that screamed disappointment. "You’re the useless brat, aren’t you?"

The words hit like a slap, but North didn’t flinch. He had spent years being called useless. He simply tightened his grip on his notebook and straightened his back. "I won’t be useless for long."

The blacksmith let out a low grunt, unimpressed. Then, just as North was about to plead his case further, a voice interrupted. A servant from the chief’s manor stepped into the forge, looking mildly annoyed as he dusted the soot from his robes. "Master Blacksmith, the young lady has sent a message."**

The blacksmith’s thick eyebrows twitched at that. "What message?" he grunted.

The servant glanced at North, then back at the blacksmith. "She requests that you teach him."

The room went silent. North felt his breath hitch, thinking how Jade even had accomplished this. The blacksmith turned, his thick, muscled arms crossing over his chest. "And if I refuse?"

The servant gave a pointed look. "Then you’ll owe her a favor."

The blacksmith scowled. That was all it took. With a frustrated grunt, he wiped his soot-covered hands on his apron and finally looked North over properly, scanning every inch—his thin frame, his soft hands, his lack of muscle.

Then, finally, he spoke. "Whatever you learn will depend on your talent."

And just like that, North was allowed inside. The forge roared with heat, casting a deep red glow over the tools and unfinished weapons scattered across the room. The air was thick with the scent of burning coal, hot metal, and sweat.

North took a deep breath, steeling himself. The blacksmith wasted no time. Without looking at him, he gestured toward the cluttered, dust-covered shelves at the back of the forge.

"Your first job is to sort and clean everything."

North blinked. For a moment, he thought he had misheard. "Clean?"

The blacksmith didn’t even spare him a glance. "You think you’ll be swinging a hammer on your first day?"

His voice was gruff, impatient. "If you can’t even handle a simple task, how do you expect to handle the real work?"

North gritted his teeth, swallowing down his irritation. It wasn’t what he wanted, but he had expected something like this. Still, his resolve was unshaken. With a silent nod, he grabbed a cloth and a broom and got to work.

But, Just five minutes inside the forge had turned him into a sweating mess, his skin burning like he'd been thrown into a pot of boiling water. There were four other people in the workshop. Two were young, around his age, their arms scarred with old burns, their fingers blackened with soot—clear signs they had been here far longer than he had. Another was a man in his late thirties, his muscles corded like iron, moving with the kind of efficiency that only came from years of mastering one’s craft. And then there was the oldest among them, a man whose hair had turned silver, but his movements were still sharp, practiced—a man who had spent a lifetime shaping steel.

Yet, none of them seemed affected by the blistering heat. They worked unbothered, unflinching, moving through the suffocating air as if it were nothing more than a gentle summer breeze.

North, on the other hand, his breath hitched, his vision blurred with heat, and within minutes, he couldn't take it. Gasping, he staggered toward the door, pushing past the thick air, and finally.

Fresh air.

He bent over, hands on his knees, sucking in deep gulps of air, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Behind him, laughter rumbled from the forge. Mocking, knowing. The sound burned almost as much as the heat had. He turned slightly to see the three men watching him, their faces amused, entertained.

One of the younger boys leaned against his anvil, smirking.

“Hah, the poet thought he could play with fire.”

The older man wiped the sweat from his brow, shaking his head with a grin.

"They always run the first day."

North stared down at his hands - soft hands meant for holding brushes and turning pages, now blackened with soot and grime. Small cuts from wayward metal shards dotted his palms, tiny beads of blood welling up like crimson poetry. He sighed deeply, the mountain breeze cooling his flushed face.

Just yesterday, he'd been standing on clifftops composing verses about the heavens above and the earth below, contemplating the ever-changing nature of the human heart. Now here he was, sweeping metal shavings in this man-made inferno.

North exhaled slowly, letting the air fill his lungs, before turning back toward the forge. The heat would still be unbearable. His hands would still bleed and blister. But he had a Dungeon Boundary to form. He had no choice but to endure. And so, without a word, he stepped back inside, letting the flames swallow him once more. The blacksmith raised a brow but said nothing. The others watched in silence. North picked up the broom again, ignoring the throbbing in his fingers, the sweat dripping into his eyes, the ache that had already begun to settle in his bones.

Patience.

Steadiness.

And above all—

He needed to learn.

Faster. Smarter. Without hesitation.

Because this was only the beginning.

…

…

…

The forge had spat him back out, its heat too much for his frail body to endure for more than two hours a day. His lungs still felt coated in smoke, his arms ached from scrubbing grime, and his fingers throbbed from the small cuts he had gathered like war wounds.

But North didn’t go home. There was no time for rest.

His feet carried him through the winding village paths, past stone houses with smoking chimneys, past the laughter of children chasing each other with wooden swords, past the market stalls where merchants bartered over sacks of rice and dried meat. His destination was a quieter part of the village—where most people didn’t bother to go. A small, timeworn house sat at the edge of the settlement, near the foot of a gentle hill, its walls made of earth-colored stone, its roof covered in moss. A faint scent of wet clay lingered in the air, mingling with the crisp breeze rolling down from the mountains.

North stood before the wooden door, raising a hand hesitantly. The wood was rough beneath his knuckles as he knocked. There was a pause. Then, slow, shuffling footsteps approached from within. The door creaked open, revealing a figure bent with age, a man whose back had long since surrendered to time, his face a map of deep wrinkles.

His eyes—though cloudy—held a sharpness that had not dulled with age.

North straightened his posture, his hands instinctively tightening into fists. He expected resistance. He had expected to be sent away, told that he had no talent, that there was no place for someone like him in this craft.

But the old man merely tilted his head, his gaze sweeping over North with quiet consideration.

"You’re the poet boy, aren’t you?"

North hesitated, then nodded. The old potter’s lips twitched. "And now you want to learn pottery?"

His voice was gravelly, but there was no mockery in it. North exhaled, steeling himself. "Yes."

The old man hummed, his eyes narrowing slightly as if searching for something unseen. Then, to North’s shock, he simply stepped aside, gesturing toward the open doorway. "Well, come in then."

The workshop was small, but every inch of it was filled with life. Rows of clay pots, vases, and unfinished sculptures lined the walls, some cracked from age, others still fresh and damp. The scent of earth and water clung to the air, thick and grounding, a stark contrast to the sharp heat of the forge. In the center of the room sat a potter’s wheel, its wooden base worn smooth from years of use. A large, shallow basin filled with murky water stood beside it, the surface rippling slightly as a single drop fell from the potter’s wrinkled fingers.

North lingered by the doorway, uncertain. There was no one else here, except for the old potter to learn the craft.

The old man moved with unhurried grace, settling himself onto a stool with the ease of someone who had spent a lifetime molding clay beneath his hands.

He patted the seat beside him. "Sit."

North hesitated, then obeyed. The old potter studied him for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "Not many young people are interested in this craft anymore."

His voice was calm, but there was something else underneath it—a quiet kind of sadness. North watched as the old man reached for a lump of clay, pressing it firmly onto the wheel. "Good to see someone still willing."

Then, without another word, he set the wheel spinning. North watched, transfixed, as the potter’s hands moved with measured precision, his fingers shaping the clay as if guiding it toward its destined form. The soft squelch of wet earth filled the silence, the rhythm steady, soothing. It was different from the forge. There was no fire, no violence, no clashing of metal—only the quiet patience of hands molding earth. North’s chest felt oddly light. He had come here expecting a struggle—but instead, he had been welcomed.

…

By the time the sun crossed the half day mark, painting the sky in soft gold, North finally dusted the dried clay from his hands and looked toward the potter master. His muscles ached, his fingers felt stiff from the constant kneading, and his back protested after hours of sitting hunched over the potter’s wheel. Still, there was something oddly satisfying about seeing the misshapen lumps of clay he had touched—the slow transformation from formless earth into something tangible, something real.

But he had limits. His body reminded him of that with every sore muscle, every bead of sweat clinging to his skin.

North let out a breath, wiping his hands against his pants. "Master, I can only do three hours a day."

The old potter glanced up, his lined face betraying no disappointment, only understanding. His hands, still coated in wet clay, paused mid-motion. "That’s fine," he said, his voice carrying no resentment.

If anything, there was something almost content in the way he spoke, as if having someone to pass time with, even for a short while, was more than enough. "Few even last an hour."

North exhaled a short, tired chuckle. "I can see why."

The potter merely smirked, then went back to his work, shaping the clay between his fingers as if it were an extension of himself. North, despite the exhaustion settling in his bones, felt a flicker of something unfamiliar—something close to peace.

But there was no time to savor it. He had more doors to knock on.

…

The scent hit him first.

Thick. Metallic. Sharp with the iron tang of blood.

The moment he stepped into the butcher’s shop, he felt something twist in his stomach—a deep, unsettling churn that nearly sent bile creeping up his throat. Carcasses hung from rusted hooks, swaying slightly in the evening draft. The walls, once white, were permanently stained with deep brown streaks—evidence of years spent in the trade of cutting flesh and bone.

A burly man stood behind the wooden counter, his massive arms slick with sweat, his apron splattered with fresh blood as he lifted a cleaver and brought it down in one swift motion.

THUD.

The heavy knife sank into the thick neck of a still alive cow, splitting it with ease using his Dungeon Master strength. North, standing at the entrance, swallowed hard. His fingers twitched at his sides, his body tense as his mind screamed at him to leave, to turn back. But he didn't. He forced himself to step forward.

The butcher finally looked up, his eyes squinting in curiosity at the boy standing before him.

North straightened his back, his voice steady despite the churning in his gut. "I want to learn how to cut."

The butcher raised a thick brow, then let out a deep, rumbling laugh. "You sure?"

North nodded, clenching his fists to keep his resolve from slipping.

The butcher wiped his hands on his apron, then gestured toward the bloodstained table. "Watch first. If you don’t run, we’ll talk."

And so, North stood stone-still, forcing himself to watch. Every slice, every hack, every time the blade carved through muscle, through sinew, through bone—he watched.

…

By the time the sky darkened, the once-blue expanse now heavy with clouds, North dragged his aching body toward the mountain valley cliff—the same place he and Jade had met the day before. His limbs felt as heavy as stones, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. His skin still smelled of soot from the forge, of clay from the potter’s wheel, of blood from the butcher’s shop. He wanted to collapse then and there. And the moment he saw Jade, standing at the edge of the valley, waiting for him—he did.

His knees buckled, and he fell onto the dirt, groaning as he stretched his sore limbs.

Jade stood over him, arms crossed, silver eyes dancing with amusement. "So, how was your day?" The smirk in her voice was unmistakable.

"Don't ask." North didn't even bother lifting his head.

The words rasped out of his throat, dry and hoarse from the forge's heat, his hands numb from molding clay and cutting meat. His body felt like a corpse that had been dragged behind a merchant's cart for ten miles. The worst part wasn't even the physical exhaustion. He'd watched all four masters like a hawk today, studying their movements, their techniques, the way they handled their tools. But he hadn't sensed even a hint of this "essence" Jade kept talking about.

No special insight.

No deeper understanding.

Then—

"Get up," Jade demanded, her foot tapping impatiently against the dirt path. "I can only spare time to teach you techniques once a week, and I'm not wasting daylight because you're tired." Her silver eyes narrowed as she looked down at his collapsed body. "You need to learn how to fight properly."

North sucked in a sharp breath of cold mountain air, wincing as his muscles protested even that small movement.

The day had already drained him completely - his arms felt like lead weights, his back was on fire, and even his eyelids seemed to weigh a ton. And now, just when he thought it couldn't get worse, Jade wanted to use him as a practice dummy disguised as teaching.

As if the only thing his day had been missing was a thorough beating from the youngest prodigy. Perfect.

Still, he pushed himself onto his knees, lifting his head just enough to glare at her.

"You're actually serious about this, huh?"

Jade’s lips curled into a smirk.

"Of course."

She cracked her knuckles, the sound loud and deliberate.

North winced. He had seen her fight before—quick, ruthless, efficient. Jade never held back.

He exhaled slowly, tilting his head back.

The sky above had darkened, thick clouds swallowing the last traces of sunlight.

A part of him wanted to refuse—to say he’d had enough for one day. But deep down, he knew, this was what he needed. This was part of the path he had chosen. So, swallowing his complaints, he forced himself to stand.

Jade’s grin widened.

"Good. Let’s begin."