Leonard stared at the Dungeon Core with weary eyes, watching as its writhing, fleshy roots desperately twisted and coiled, trying to shield themselves from Zekshire.

  The abomination circled him, awaiting its next command. But Leonard remained still, his gaze drifting upward to the murky sky, his expression unreadable.

  Then, he exhaled softly.

  "So that’s where you’re hiding, Prince Dantalian..."

  He turned his head to the left.

  From the shadow of a small house, a young boy stepped forward, no older than thirteen or fourteen. His short brown hair contrasted sharply with his unnatural purple skin, and his golden eyes gleamed with an unsettling sharpness. He was dressed in a white button-up shirt layered beneath a regal blue coat, embroidered with golden insignias of royalty. Matching the ensemble were white shorts and simple sandals, a strangely casual choice for someone of his status.

  With an easy wave, the boy spoke.

  "No wonder you're a Grandmaster. Geez, I really thought I had you this time, Leo."

  He approached Leonard with an air of casual amusement, his eyes briefly scanning him—taking in the tattered cloak, the dirtied and battered silver armor, the sheathed saber at his waist.

  Then, his gaze shifted to the monstrosity looming behind him. But rather than fear, his expression remained calm, almost curious.

  "What a horrific creature you’ve fused this time," he mused. "Tell me, who were the poor slaves you used for this one, hmm?"

  His golden eyes locked onto Leonard, waiting for an answer.

  Instead, he turned his attention back to the writhing core. His voice was cold, resolute.

  "Destroy it."

  Zekshire lunged.

  Its four massive legs crushed the core beneath its weight, grotesque maws opening all across its body to tear and rip through the pulsating flesh. The core screeched in its final moments, before the monstrosity exhaled a thick cloud of black smoke—smoke that twisted into searing flames.

  In mere moments, all that remained was a pile of dark ash.

  The young boy sighed, shaking his head.

  "So messy," he remarked. "But then again, messiness suits a messy, broken man."

  Leonard slowly turned to face him, his expression unreadable.

  Saying nothing, he raised a hand.

  In an instant, Zekshire unraveled—splitting back into its original forms. Cheshire and Zeke stood only briefly before vanishing into Leonard’s body, returning to the depths from which they came.

  "Why are you watching me, young prince?" Leonard asked, turning his gaze to Dantalian.

  As he spoke, he lowered his hood.

  A grotesque scar stretched across his left eye, a permanent reminder of past battles. His face was rough, dusted with small puffs of facial hair. Short, white hair framed his sharp features, and his hazelnut-colored eyes, once filled with wisdom and authority, now held only exhaustion.

  Dantalian let out a small laugh before spinning playfully in place, his coat twirling with him.

  twirling with him.

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  "I'm bored," he said, shrugging. "This city is disgusting, my parents are too strict, and absolutely nothing interesting ever happens. Then, I heard you were in town, so I thought—why not visit my former magic teacher?"

  His lips curled into a playful, almost mischievous grin.

  Dantalian had always been fond of Leonard, ever since he was a child. The man’s unparalleled physical strength, unshakable mental fortitude, and masterful understanding of magic—especially its subclass, Summoning—were things he had admired from a young age.

  Leonard was once the 50th Grandmaster of the Summoner’s Guild, a leader with an unyielding, cold demeanor. Yet, despite his stern nature, he treated his guild members like family, even when they annoyed him.

  But that man no longer existed.

  What remained was a tired, hollow figure—a man who would go to any lengths to destroy the Dungeons.

  "Leave me alone," Leonard said, his voice devoid of emotion. "The man you once admired is dead. All that's left is a husk filled with vengeance and hatred.

  He stepped past Dantalian, uninterested in prolonging the conversation.

  But before he could take another step, two sickles appeared at his throat—cold steel pressing lightly against his skin, close enough that the slightest movement could sever flesh.

  Leonard barely flinched.

  A muffled voice whispered in his ear, low and firm.

  "Don't even try."

  Unfamiliar. A bodyguard.

  His suspicion was confirmed when Dantalian strolled in front of him, smirking.

  "You're not going anywhere," the young prince declared. "From here on out, you're taking me with you on your journey to destroy these disgusting, filthy Dungeons."

  His expression twisted in distaste at the mere thought of them.

  Leonard’s eyes darkened.

  "I'm not taking on any more burdens."

  Two ominous swirls of mana flared to life in Leonard’s hands, crackling with power. Moments later, two massive wolves emerged—one black as the abyss, the other white as untouched snow. Both were the size of fully grown tigers, yet far more powerful.

  Scars marred their bodies, remnants of countless battles. The black wolf’s eyes gleamed like the cold light of the moon, while the white wolf’s burned with the intensity of the sun.

  Without hesitation, they lunged.

  The bodyguard gripping Leonard barely had time to react before he was torn to the ground.

  Thud!

  Bones snapped, flesh ripped. The wolves feasted in a frenzied blur of teeth and blood.

  Dantalian let out a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms in mock annoyance.

  "You can't use Skoll and Hati—that’s cheating."

  Leonard turned to him, his expression unreadable. Without warning, he grabbed the young prince by the collar, dragging him forward.

  "If you want to live, never follow me."

  His voice was cold, final. Then, he tossed Dantalian aside and resumed walking.

  But he barely made it two steps before frantic footsteps rushed toward him.

  Leonard turned—just in time to catch both of Dantalian’s feet slamming into his stomach.

  Bam!

  The impact sent him stumbling back a step.

  Dantalian landed gracefully, clenching his fists as he shouted, "Sir Desmond taught me that! So why don’t you just let me come with you? I promise I’m stronger now! And look at you—you look homeless! You’re filthy and exhausted! Why don’t you stop being stubborn and go to an inn and get some damn rest?!"

  Leonard slowly straightened, brushing the dust from his cloak. His lips parted as if to respond.

  "You only managed to hit me because I’m ti—"

  He stopped.

  A realization sank in.

  Dantalian was right.

  It had been one week and three days since he last slept. The only thing keeping him upright was his mana, and even that was wearing thin.

  "If you want to destroy the Dungeons, you need rest. And you need allies to help you." Dantalian said, arms crossed as he stepped closer.

  Allies...

  Leonard hadn’t thought of that word in a long time. Not since the massacre. Not since the bloodbath that turned the once-thriving city of Kraft into ruins.

  His cold, emotionless mask cracked. His hazelnut eyes darkened with something raw—something violent.

  Then, in an instant, his glare locked onto Dantalian, filled with unrestrained fury.

  "Don't ever mention anything about allies in front of me again."

  His voice was low, seething.

  A suffocating aura erupted from him, thick with malice. Shadows twisted at his feet, and in that moment, the visages of all his summons materialized around him—phantom-like, monstrous, suffocating.

  Dantalian felt a chill run down his spine.

  Fear gripped him.

  Yet, he stood his ground.

  Summoning every ounce of royal authority he had, Dantalian straightened his posture and declared, "You need rest. As the 117th prince of the Valencian Blood of the Kingdom of Xelencia, I command you—go to the inn. Now!"

  For a moment, Leonard said nothing.

  Then, he exhaled slowly, his aura retracting like a fading storm. Closing his eyes, he let out a long sigh before finally speaking.

  "Fine..." His voice was calm, but there was a warning in his tone.

  "But make no mistake—this was your choice."

  "Good, let's go!" Dantalian said, a grin spreading across his face as he fell into step beside Leonard.

  Leonard reached into his cloak, pulling out a skull-faced mask and securing it over his mouth. Then, without a word, he lifted his hood back into place.

  Dantalian smirked at the sight, tilting his head. "Oh my... the great Summoner of Kraft, reduced to nothing but an edgelord."

  He snickered, clearly entertained.

  Leonard, as always, ignored him.

  The two walked in silence toward the city center, their footsteps echoing against the cobblestone streets. Overhead, the dark, misty clouds began to shift, parting just enough to let streaks of sunlight filter through.

  Leonard exhaled slowly, a rare moment of ease settling over him.

  Not because of the sun.

  But because, for all his arrogance and annoyance, Dantalian was something he hadn't realized he needed.

  By the time they reached the inn, the scent of baked bread and simmering stew lingered in the air.

  The moment they stepped inside, a blur of blonde shot past them, nearly knocking Dantalian over.

  "Oi!"

  Before he could react, a furious voice rang out.

  "Damn brat! Get back here!"

  An older woman stormed after the girl, panting as she wiped the sweat from her forehead. Realizing she had guests, she quickly straightened, forcing a warm, practiced smile as she tried to maintain some semblance of hospitality.

  "Welcome to Kirivala’s Central Inn! One room for—wait, young prince?!"

  Her eyes widened in shock before she immediately scrambled behind the counter. With hurried hands, she grabbed a key and all but shoved it into Dantalian’s palm.

  "You may have our best room! Here!"

  And just like that, she was gone, disappearing into the kitchen, pots and pans clanging as she began preparing something.

  Leonard watched the scene unfold with mild disinterest before glancing at Dantalian.

  "You need a disguise," he muttered.

  Dantalian only grinned as they ascended the stairs, making their way to their room.