The moment Lucifer stepped through the shattered gate, the world folded in on itself.
Collapsed-folded, as if reality itself had been pressed flat and turned inside out. Sounds vanished first, then weight, then direction. For a heartbeat that felt far longer than it should have, Lucifer existed without sky or ground, suspended inside a blinding pressure that leaned on his thoughts far harder than his body.
Then he saw–
Stone.
His boots landed upon solid ground with a dull clang. Cold air heaved into his lungs, sharp with the scent of old rain. Lucifer steadied himself instinctively, his cloak snapping once before settling against his back.
When his vision cleared he was standing on a wide stone street paved with dark slate. The road was lined by tall iron lanterns, their mana cores glowing faint blue though the sun was already high. Overhead stretched a steel-blue sky - cloudless, heavy, and unmoving in a way that set his instincts to prickle.
This wasn't any illusion magic of a mage.
This was… truth.
And then, around him, the rest of the expedition materialized one by one-academy mages blinking in confusion, tribal warriors clenching on their weapons on instinct, Gareth and his people going stiffer as they took in their surroundings. No one said anything at first. Even breathing felt loud.
Then came the whisper.
It did not echo. It simply appeared in their minds, calm and absolute.
"Identity Anchored."
"Mercenary Unit: Grey Wolves."
"Location: Eastern Border — Citadel of Varinthus."
"Authority: Defense Council."
Lucifer felt it settle into him like a brand pressed to his existence. Knowledge followed, false memories, legal standing, forged records so complete that even the world itself accepted their veracity.
Mercenaries.
Independent and Neutral. Responsible only to the Defense Council.
Free of noble houses. Free of temples. Free of politics.
A city built to trust people like them.
Lucifer exhaled hard. So that's how you start testing us.
Confusion melted into cautious comprehension around him.
"This isn't like any dungeon I studied," one of the academy mages muttered. A tribal scout touched the stone wall beside him, frowning as if he expected it to dissolve.
It didn't.
Before them rose Varinthus.
The city had been carved into the face of a massive cliff that plunged down into mist-shrouded depths. Stone terraces layered upwards in tier after tier, each one reinforced with iron ribs and lines of glowing barriers. Huge mana cannon towers thrust from the walls like a spear thrust at the sky, their barrels etched with runes worn smooth by centuries of maintenance.
The gates alone would give pause to veteran soldiers: towering slabs of dragon-tempered steel, forged by dwarves and etched with draconic sigils against divine assault.
This was not a city built for peace.
It was a city built to hold.
And as they approached, guards stepped forward-not alarmed, not suspicious, professional, efficient-showing mercenary badges that did not exist a minute ago yet felt like they always had.
"Grey Wolves," one of the guards said after a quick look at their counters. "You are late. Report back to the eastern registry before sundown."
They had no questions and doubt.
Lucifer strode through the gates with his sense open. Mana was everywhere. It was controlled, layered, disciplined. Underground channels hummed beneath the pavement. Far, far below he sensed great hollow spaces.
Evacuation tunnels.
Built not as the last resort, but as part of routine.
It lived with the expectation of disaster.
People packed the streets: Blacksmiths haggled with apprentices over alloy ratios, a healer dragged a limping guard by the ear toward a clinic, and children ran past with wooden practice swords, laughing as a tired instructor yelled half-hearted warnings.
Mundane lives.
Lucifer slowed, not realizing it. He watched a baker hand a still-warm loaf to an elderly rune-weaver, watched two young mercenaries flirt awkwardly near a notice board filled with patrol schedules.
His chest tightened in a way he didn't like.
This dungeon wasn't in a rush for them.
It was letting them settle.
Whispers followed him.
Not loud but blatant. But there, in the way conversations dipped when he passed. In the way veterans looked at him once and then made room.
Someone had checked his registration.
Rank: A++
Danger Assessment: S+
He could feel it-fear mixed with respect. The kind one reserved for those men who had survived too many battles to count.
Caelyra noticed too. Their eyes met for a second or two. She didn't speak. She merely inclined her head once, as if acknowledging a weight they both carried.
Far above the city, floating between mana pylons, it was the shrine.
A vast platform of white stone and gold sigils hovered silently, anchoring with chains of light to the city's core. On its center lay a dragon-massive, ancient, with scales dulled by time yet still radiant with divine strength.
A demigod rank Crystal Dragon.
It's chest rose and fell slowly. Each breath sent waves of mana rippling outward, reinforcing the city's defenses.
Lucifer did stop.
This was the first time since he entered the dungeon without scanning.
Some things deserved respect.
That evening, Caelyra took him to the upper terraces where gardens clung to the cliffside. Softly ringing wind chimes carried the sound of forges and far-off drills upward. From here, the whole city fanned out beneath them, alive and stubborn and defiant.
"You keep watching people," she said quietly, laying her bow against the stone railing.
"They matter more than you think," Lucifer replied.
She studied him for a moment before asking, "Why does someone like you carry so much restraint?
He looked back toward the city. "Because power without restraint reduces all to ash."
Caelyra nodded slowly. "Hope means nothing," she said, "if you can't protect it."
Something shifted between them. It was understanding.
Lucifer then looked at her differently.
With the night settling over Varinthus, lanterns flared on one after the other. The city prepared for one more day of survival, yet unconscious of its fate already inscribed in its memory.
Lucifer stood at the edge of the terrace; his cloak stirred in the wind. If this place falls, he thought, it will not do so in silence. Behind hi
m, the crystal dragon breathed. Something waited far beneath the stone.