The morning sun spilled across Belial's chamber, golden rays dancing lazily on polished stone and carved wooden beams. Outside, birds sang, their cheerful chirping piercing through the haze of Belial's half-conscious state.
His eyes snapped open. His chest rose and fell in ragged breaths, beads of sweat clinging to his forehead. For a moment, he thought he still stood in that cursed dungeon, sword in hand, facing down the hollow gaze of the Death Knight. His fingers twitched, as though still gripping an unseen hilt.
"Ahhh… just a nightmare," he muttered, pushing himself upright.
His heart hammered against his ribs, phantom echoes of steel clashing still ringing in his ears. He glanced down at his arms, bracing for wounds, burns, torn flesh—yet his skin was unblemished, smooth. No scar. No injury.
"…That's right." He swallowed, memories of last night flooding back. The crushing presence of the barrier, the suffocating darkness of the dungeon, the storm of battle. And then— that room.
The relic chamber. Endless rows of weapons resting in solemn silence: blades, staves, armor, relics glowing faintly as if whispering secrets of ancient wars. And in the center, floating just for him, the book. Bound in obsidian leather, its surface marked by glowing azure runes that pulsed like a heartbeat. The moment he touched it, chains had coiled around his arm, fusing it to him.
Belial's hand instinctively traced his wrist. He could still feel the phantom cold of those spectral chains.
"I healed instantly the moment I got there," he whispered to himself. "That means… the relic wasn't just an artifact. It was bound to the dungeon's laws. The grimoire—yes, I chose the book of some kind."
Ding.
A familiar pale-blue glow shimmered into existence before his eyes, forming crystalline letters suspended in the air. His breath caught.
[System Notification]
You have acquired: Nyx Grimoire.
Dungeon Completion: 1%
Progress: [stage 1]
Warning: Tutorial cleared. Progression to higher stages unlocked.
Belial blinked, stunned. "…One percent?" He let out a humorless laugh, rubbing his temple. "All that… nearly dying to a Death Knight, bleeding out in the shadows, gambling my mana on overloading a barrier—and that was one percent?"
His mind raced, the logical mage within him dissecting every line of the message. "If one dungeon… just the tutorial… is one percent… then seven stages means…" His thoughts trailed off, a chill creeping into his veins.
The screen pulsed again.
[Nyx Grimoire Binding Complete]
Concealment [Rank F] → Ability unlocked.
Shadow Step [Rank F] → Ability unlocked.
(???) [Locked]
Note: Grimoire absorbs experience and mana signatures to evolve.
He raised his hand slowly, the runes flickering faintly beneath his skin as if ink had been etched into his veins. His lips curled into a wry smile.
"Concealment. Shadow Step. Useful… but F-ranked. Almost like the dungeon is laughing at me. It gives me crumbs, then dangles the feast just out of reach."
He leaned back against the headboard, exhaling sharply.
"But… a grimoire that evolves? Skills that grow with me? That's not magic bound by this world's rules." His crimson eyes glimmered with fascination. "That's a system. A design. Something left behind intentionally."
His expression hardened, resolve cutting through the haze of exhaustion.
"Fine. If this is just the beginning, then I'll crawl through every dungeon, fight every monster, until I've unraveled all seven stages. One percent or not—I'll get to the truth."
The birdsong outside continued, bright and cheerful, at odds with the heavy thoughts stirring in his chest. Belial dragged a hand down his face, letting out a tired chuckle.
"…And mother still thinks I'm just a ten-year-old playing with wooden swords."
The smell of freshly baked bread and roasted meat wafted through the air as Belial padded into the dining hall. Sunlight streamed through the tall windows, painting golden lines across the long oak table where his family had already gathered.
Elvira glanced up first, her emerald eyes soft but sharp enough to notice everything. "Morning, sleepyhead," she teased, resting little Ivy on her lap as the toddler munched happily on crumbs.
Azrael looked up from his plate with a grin. "Don't worry, son—it happens to everyone."
Belial blinked, sitting down slowly as Nel, ever the dutiful butler, pulled back his chair. What happens to everyone? he thought, raising an eyebrow.
Azrael leaned forward, tone mock-serious as if delivering an ancient truth. "Overdrawing your mana. Your body just isn't used to it yet, so you crash. Happened to me once—I sneezed and set the curtains on fire."
Elvira's spoon clinked against her plate. "And you almost burned the entire east wing."
"Details, details," Azrael waved her off. "Point is, Bell, pushing too hard in training makes you tired. You'll grow into it."
Belial forced a small laugh, hiding the weight of truth beneath it. If only you knew… if only you saw the Death Knight looming over me last night…
He reached for bread, but his gaze lingered on his father. For a moment, he wanted to blurt everything out—the dungeon, the Nyx Grimoire, the evolving skills—but his mother's warning echoed in his head: You must not tell anyone. Rare affinities attract eyes you don't want watching.
So instead, he said lightly, "Thanks for the food, Mom," before stuffing his mouth too quickly, crumbs dusting his cheeks.
"Careful, you'll choke," Elvira sighed, wiping Ivy's face and then leaning across to dab at Belial's too. He scowled but didn't pull away.
Family warmth, he thought with a pang. It's moments like this that make me forget I'm walking a razor's edge.
Later, outside in the training yard, Belial sat cross-legged beneath the shade of an old elm tree. His wooden sword lay across his lap as he replayed the battle in the dungeon, every move, every decision, every moment he nearly died.
He exhaled slowly, sinking into meditation. Mana coiled within him, spiraling from his veins into his core. The familiar golden-yellow sphere floated in his inner sight—shimmering, pulsing, alive.
The manuals say mana cores evolve through three paths: quantity, quality, and affinity resonance. But mine… it doesn't follow those rules, does it? The dungeon's energy, the grimoire's chains… my mana isn't just growing. It's adapting.
His curiosity itched at him. "Status window," he whispered. Nothing happened.
"Open window." Nothing.
"Menu?" "System?" "Dashboard?" Still nothing.
Frustrated, he jabbed the air with his finger, then tried a silly spin with his wrist. Come on, this worked in games, didn't it? Finally, with a resigned sigh, he double-tapped the air.
A soft ding echoed in his mind as glowing blue glyphs formed in front of him. His heart skipped.
[STATUS WINDOW]
Race: Hybrid Human–Dragonoid
Lineage: Lionheart Bloodline
Mana Core: Yellow
Rank: E (Awakened)
Titles: "Rookie"
HP: 50
MP: 98
Strength: 15
Agility: 12
Vitality: 14
Magic: 23
Willpower: 17
Luck: ???
Traits:
• ???
• ???
• ???
Skill Cards:
[Shadow Step] — Beginner Spell
[Consignment] — Passive intimidation + defense buff
[???] — Sealed Skill
[Mana Pulse] — Releases mana burst to repel foes
Inventory:
Spellbook Fragment
Royal Crest Ring
Guild Affiliation: None
Fate Alignment: Chaotic Radiance
Belial's eyes narrowed, studying every line. His knowledge of magical theory hummed in the back of his mind.
Hybrid Human–Dragonoid… makes sense. The Lionheart lineage carries dragon blood, but the system acknowledges it outright. That means my potential mana pool is far greater than average.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Yellow core, awakened rank E. That's too low for what I've already done. Either the system uses different criteria, or it's intentionally suppressing my growth until I 'earn' it.
His eyes fell on the sealed skill. Three question marks. Always the most dangerous ones. Either it's too strong for me now… or the system doesn't want me to know what I have yet.
He exhaled sharply, leaning back against the tree.
"Rookie, huh? Better than nothing," he muttered, a small grin tugging at his lips. "Guess that makes me the weakest secret weapon in history."
The wind picked up, rustling his hair. Belial twirled the wooden sword absentmindedly.
I'll master concealment. I'll perfect shadow step. I'll push my core to its limits. And one day… this system will show me everything it's hiding.
For now, though, his stomach growled. He glanced toward the house and chuckled.
"Training's good and all, but if I skip lunch, Mom will scold me worse than any dungeon boss ever could."