Yanor Kingdom, Royal Capital Roland.
As the saying goes: "The lord of the royal capital is the lord." In Roland, the life of nobility was nothing but eating and sleeping—luxury without end.
Places like Bedford City, those backwater towns, weren't even worth a glance.
It had been over four centuries since Yanor I founded the kingdom during the chaotic era. In that span, wars, civil strife, power-hungry relatives, and early deaths had muddied the royal lineage. By the time of the current monarch, King Anz III, perhaps the true bloodline was already long lost.
But in this world, blood was only a blood. Power was the only truth.
Anz III, however, had been born fortunate. His father subdued neighboring nations and left him a strong, stable kingdom. The four border dukes were paragons of loyalty and patriotism. With such pillars holding the borders, the king had little to worry about. He lived each day in contentment.
But the gods seemed intent on forcing this fortunate king to taste misery.
For there were four problems troubling Anz III.
First Issue: The Revival of the Demon Race
A hundred years ago, all the races had united to drive the demons into the desolate western lands. Cunning and patient, the demons lay dormant for nearly a century before revealing their fangs once again.
Anz III still remembered that stormy night when the court magician burst into the castle—drenched, panicked—bringing news that demons had slaughtered several border cities.
"Damn it! Those country bumpkin demons came begging for food in my kingdom?!"
But before the kingdom's crusading army could mobilize, the demons vanished without a trace—as if they had timed their attack with perfect calculation.
Since then, scattered demons had harassed border towns, and even traces of them appeared inland. Neighboring countries reported the same. No one knew how deep the demons had infiltrated the continent.
A counteroffensive was considered, but the deadly miasma of the western lands made advancing impossible.
The only silver lining was that their attacks had roused the people's blood. Recruitment surged, adventurers multiplied, and specialized demon hunters appeared. The demon threat seemed to weaken day by day.
Yet rumors spread—whispers that the Demon King himself was on the verge of resurrection.
Second Issue: The Mutations in Dungeons
This year, the dungeon called Sein underwent an unprecedented mutation. Strange monsters appeared, its structure shifted, and its danger level rose to near the highest tier.
News spread like wildfire. Adventurers swarmed at the thought of new riches. Nearly half of them prepared to descend on Sein—
—until even more shocking reports arrived.
Three days later, both the Aomori and Echoing Dungeons mutated.
On the fifth day: Whiteblood, Marionette, Water Dragon, and Onion Dungeons.
The sixth day. The seventh.
Every day brought new reports. The Adventurers' Guild was drowning in chaos.
Adventurers, like roosters injected with stimulants, rushed to the nearest mutated dungeon. Those who had planned for Sein were quickly lured elsewhere.
No one knew if this was a blessing, a curse—or the prelude to something far worse.
Third Issue: The King's Strange Illness
"Urgh… hissss…"
Inhuman, beast-like roars echoed in the king's private chamber. His body writhed, trying to suppress the unbearable pain, while maddening whispers clawed at his mind until he screamed.
The vast chamber was deserted. Even without the king's order, no servant dared remain.
For King Anz III suffered from a disease no healer could cure. During his fits, he slaughtered those around him—and, it was whispered, drank their blood.
The best court magicians failed to help. The Holy Light Church was preparing a grand ritual of blessing, praying divine light could cleanse him.
Until then, only one thing dulled his agony—
Blood Therapy Elixir.
From behind thick curtains, a monstrous, hair-covered hand reached out, seizing a vial of blood-red liquid. A moment later, a groan of relief followed. Empty glass clinked and rolled across the floor, discarded syringes scattered among them.
"Not enough… need more…"
The respite lasted barely ten minutes before the torment returned.
"AAAAHHHHHH!!!"
Fourth Issue: No Heirs
Or rather, no legitimate heirs.
In his darkest hours, King Anz III had no one he could entrust with the kingdom.
Truly tragic.
(***)
Meanwhile, in Bedford City…
Peace reigned.
The Adventurers' Guild, normally a cacophony of noise, was unnaturally still. No rowdy chatter, no clatter of mugs. Only the crackle of the fireplace and the ticking of the clock echoed, sounds usually drowned out.
Everyone sat, straining their ears toward the upstairs rooms.
If anyone burst through the door shouting, they were instantly silenced by a dozen glares—before sitting down themselves to wait in tense anticipation.
Why the hush?
Because of a massive event.
Someone had discovered a hidden Zone in the Sein Dungeon—one with rare food ingredients. Nobody had expected it to be found so soon, not while most adventurers were still clueless.
The discoverers were upstairs, negotiating with the guild to sell their intel at a fair price.
Once confirmed, the guild would distribute the information for a small fee—about the cost of a meal.
Many adventurers were ready to pay. Not just for early access, but for another reason:
Respect.
Adventuring was never a solo story. It was something everyone wrote together.
If one party discovered intel others had missed and chose to share it—whether free or for coin—that act deserved recognition.
Smart adventurers knew the information would be public in a few days anyway. But paying for it? That wasn't foolishness.
Absolutely not.
"Tap… tap… tap…"
Footsteps descended the stairs. A slender man with half-elven features appeared.
Someone whispered instantly:
"It's Shadowless Gerald! They say he has a one-in-a-million gift—able to sprint a kilometer in a heartbeat!"
"He's always the one the guild sends to verify new maps. Perfect—results soon!"
"Go, Gerald! Sprint!"
Before their eyes, Gerald blurred into motion and vanished like a shadow, racing straight for the dungeon.
Time dragged. All eyes locked on the clock.
One second. Two.
One minute. Two.
Half an hour. An hour—
BANG!
The guild doors slammed open. Gerald staggered in, drenched in sweat.
Everyone held their breath.
But something was… odd.
Hic.
He rubbed his swollen belly, brushed crumbs from his lips, then flashed a wicked grin and a thumbs-up.
"OOOOHHHHHH!!!"
The guild erupted in thunderous cheers.