Zairon stepped into the outer gates of Emberrest Town with a bone sword strapped to his back, blood-stained boots, and a sparkle in his eye like someone about to rewrite history.
The guards looked at him.
Then looked away.
Smart.
Inside, the market bustled with noise—blacksmiths hammering, merchants shouting, people haggling over beast hides and monster cores.
Zairon strolled through like a war general returning home.
He stopped at a stall labeled "Buy Anything, No Questions" and dropped a sack full of bones, claws, and a few monster eyes on the counter.
The merchant blinked. "Uh… you—this is—these are freshly carved Bristlefang parts."
Zairon grinned. "With love."
[Sold: Bristlebone Materials]
[Credits Received: 3,500]
[Sold: Bristlebone Fangblade (Uncommon)]
[Credits Received: 5,000]
[Total Credits: 8,500]
He tossed the coins into his pouch and walked into the nearest inn—The Gored Goose.
Rented a room for the week, bought a hot meal and wine, then collapsed onto the bed with his arms spread wide.
"So inefficient," he muttered. "I killed… what, a few dozen? Got some decent EXP. But if I want to hit a million?"
He stared at the ceiling.
"I need a technique. Not just any technique… but one that kills hundreds. In one strike."
A pause.
Then a wide grin.
"Oh, right. I'll make it myself."
He sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes closed, mind buzzing. Energy pulsed through his veins as he replayed every strike, slash, and movement from the dungeon.
He envisioned spirals of energy forming around his blade—condensing, compressing, and detonating outward like a spiritual shockwave.
Time passed. Sweat poured down his face. He opened his eyes—
[New Technique: Unnamed Spiritual Burst Slash]
[Progress: 10%]
[Status: Conceptualized | Stable Form Not Yet Achieved]
"Ten percent already? Ha. As expected of me."
He stood, stretched, and peered out the window at the glowing streets below.
"Now then… time to build my gang."
His fingers tapped his chin.
"I need loyal ones. A few beauties, of course. Maybe a wise old strategist too. Yeah, every great gang has one. Or a drunk monk."
His eyes lit up.
"I know where to find all of them."
He grabbed his cloak, checked his weapon, and stepped into the night.
The underground black markets of Emberrest were no secret—just ignored. Whispers of human trafficking gangs, illegal beast fighting pits, and slave auctions had long haunted the lower districts.
Zairon walked into the shadows like he belonged there.
"I'll start with the weakest gang," he muttered. "Take their base, loot their stash, free their prisoners…"
He paused.
"…and recruit whoever I like."
He cracked his knuckles.
"Let's go shopping."
Want me to continue into the raid next—sneaking into the slavers' hideout, causing absolute chaos, and possibly gaining his first few recruits?