Town Dera
Town Dera was massive—larger than any settlement Alex had ever seen.
It was surrounded by towering wooden walls reinforced with stone, guarded by armored sentries whose eyes were as sharp as the blades they carried.
The gates were always watched, every traveler inspected before entering.
Inside, the town buzzed with life.
Marketplaces stretched across wide cobblestone streets, vendors shouting prices and displaying goods—armor, weapons, potions, and strange items from across the land.
Adventurers roamed, some clad in rugged leather, others gleaming in polished steel, all with determined eyes and restless energy.
The town was divided into clear zones:
A trading quarter, where commerce thrived.
A residential area, dotted with modest homes and bustling inns.
And the central administrative sector, where the city lord and his officials held court.
But none of these places carried as much weight as the northern district—the most heavily guarded part of Dera.
There stood the dungeon.
It was carved into a jagged cliffside that loomed just beyond the town's edge.
Its entrance sealed behind a massive, ancient iron gate.
Yet even through the bars, a faint glow pulsed from within.
Armed guards patrolled it day and night.
It was said to be one of the few places in the known world where leveling beyond Level 10 was possible.
Rumors told of beasts far stronger than anything in the wilds.
But access was tightly controlled.
The city lord—a man cloaked in secrecy and ambition—allowed no outsiders inside. Even residents required formal approval and inspection from his officials.
Still, one truth remained:
Town Dera existed because of the dungeon.
And its people lived in fear of the man who ruled it.
Inside the Dungeon of Dera
The air was thick with tension.
Deep within the dungeon, torchlight danced across ancient stone walls slick with moisture.
Smith Calgrave stood at the rear of a combat formation, observing 18 men fighting in perfect fluidity.
Smith was not the kind of man who needed to shout to be respected.
His presence alone commanded obedience.
Clad in dark silver armor with crimson inlays, his bulky frame radiated power. His gaze was sharp. Cold. Calculating.
"Formation Three. Don't let it touch the casters," he commanded, voice steady amidst the chaos.
The battle raged.
A grotesque creature—its molten eyes burning and limbs jagged with bone—moved with terrifying speed. Its claws dripped lava as it tore through the air.
Shields clashed. Spells exploded. Arrows flew through the darkness.
Smith's eyes never left the beast.
And when its guard dropped for a heartbeat—
He moved.
With a single, clean strike, he split the monster down the middle.
His blade sliced through flesh and bone alike.
The creature collapsed, shaking the chamber.
Its body disintegrated into ash, and silence followed.
Then came the gleam of rewards.
Still… disappointment flickered in Smith's eyes.
It wasn't here. Not this time.
His gaze drifted to the back of the chamber.
There, sitting casually in the shadows, sipping from a small bottle of wine, was a man whose aura dwarfed everyone in the room—including the monster they had just slain.
Fear was written in every eye that glanced his way.
Smith approached. "Lord… it didn't appear this time either."
The man smiled, unconcerned. "No worries. Next time, then."
Thorne Valrick.
The Lord of Town Dera.
A mystery to all.
He rarely showed himself in public. His second-in-command, Smith Calgrave, ran the town in his place.
Thorne had no qualities of a leader. No noble blood. No formal title.
But he had power—and in this world, that was everything.
He stood.
Everyone else followed, heading toward the exit that had appeared as the boss faded.
Moments later, the chamber was empty.
Only silence remained—
And the scorched marks of battle.