Author Notice : This is not a chapter but a prolouge explaining the world, power structure and dungeons. So if you are not interested , then you can skip and start with the story
Long before kingdoms were carved upon maps, long before banners flew across the skies, the world of Veyros belonged to the unknown. The land was vast—ten times the size of the world we once knew—and much of it was untamed wilderness. Mountains taller than imagination split the horizons, forests stretched so deep they swallowed men whole, and deserts shimmered with secrets buried beneath endless sands. Yet, for all its beauty, Veyros was never meant to be a gentle world.
It belonged to the dungeons.
No one knew why they appeared. Some whispered they were wounds upon the earth, others believed they were tests from the gods, and a few dared to wonder if they were remnants of an age far older than man. What was certain was this: dungeons were both a curse and a gift. Within their depths lurked horrors that could level cities—creatures born of shadow, fire, and fang—but they also held the chance for greatness.
Those who braved the dungeons sometimes returned changed. They emerged with blessings—gifts etched into their very soul. A shielder might walk out bearing the Iron Wall, able to stand unbroken even as spears shattered upon his skin. A scout might find his eyes sharpened into Hawk's Vision, able to see farther than the eagle and hear the whisper of footsteps in the dark. Others were granted stranger talents still—healers whose touch knit bone and flesh, elementalists who called flame or storm with but a gesture.
The people of Veyros came to call these gifts blessings, but they were not granted freely. Every blessing was won through trial, and many who sought them never returned. The dungeons demanded blood and courage, and only those who conquered them were deemed worthy.
To measure such power, the kingdoms turned to the Globe of Resonance—a relic found within the oldest of ruins. When touched, it shimmered with light, revealing one's standing in the world's hierarchy of strength. Most were Unblessed, ordinary folk who lived and died without power. A step above were the Blessed, those who had tasted a dungeon's gift but little more. Beyond them stood the Awakened, men and women whose blessings had grown sharper through battle and hardship. After this there are more ranks Ascendent , Mythic and most lengendaryTranscendents which are only mentioned in historical books. These ranks are not told to normal people.From there, the ranks of dungeons rose—E, D, C, B, A, each step a gulf wider than the last. At the pinnacle stood the S-rank, so rare that only a handful had ever been recorded, figures whose names echoed through history like demigods.
And so, the rhythm of Veyros was set. The dungeons spawned terror, the people conquered them, and the blessings they earned built kingdoms, armies, and legends.
There were seven kingdoms, vast realms each as large as the old continent of Europe. Though they quarreled and fought, they remained bound by fragile alliances, for no kingdom could stand alone against the chaos of the dungeons. Together they watched, together they endured, and together they grasped at the fragile order that kept their world from falling into ruin.
Yet power is never evenly spread. Some kingdoms grew rich in resources, sending expeditions into dungeons almost as rituals of state. Others turned desperate, their young driven to the depths not for glory, but survival. Heroes rose, tyrants too, and the people of Veyros lived always in the shadow of both wonder and fear.
But to live in this world was to dream. To be blessed meant to rise above the ordinary, to carve one's name among the chosen. Children grew up listening to stories of dungeon conquerors, their hearts burning to follow the same path. Farmers prayed their sons would awaken as shielders. Healers were treasured like kings. Scouts and hunters became the eyes of armies. Elementalists reigned as walking weapons of war.
For all its peril, Veyros was alive with hope—the dangerous, intoxicating kind that promised greatness to those bold enough to seize it.
Still, there lingered a truth whispered among the old: blessings were not equal. Some said the dungeons had wills of their own, granting gifts not at random, but with purpose. That the world itself chose its champions.
And somewhere, in the heart of this vast and merciless world, a boy was preparing to take his first step into legend. His story had not yet begun, but the world of Veyros was waiting. The dungeons would test him, the kingdoms would shape him, and the blessings—if they chose him—would change him forever.
Because in Veyros, strength was everything. And without it, you were nothing more than dust in the shadow of giants.