The dungeon gates loomed like jagged fangs, rising from the earth as if the forest itself had spat them out. Aether—no, Grimblade—stood at the entrance, his wooden sword strapped across his back, his avatar calm amidst the chaos.
Around him, dozens of rookie parties scrambled, forming ragtag groups to attempt the dungeon. Shouts filled the air: players recruiting tanks, healers begging to be included, and guild recruiters dangling offers in exchange for slots. It was a circus, one he had seen countless times before.
Only this time, he was just another face in the crowd.
Lyra appeared beside him, her staff clutched nervously. Her avatar looked out of place among the armored rookies, her robe still the default starter gear. She tilted her head up toward the gate, eyes wide. "Wow… it's huge. This is my first dungeon."
"Don't expect it to go well," Grimblade said flatly.
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "That's… encouraging."
"Truth. These rookies will wipe before reaching the first boss."
As if on cue, a nearby party of overconfident players rushed into the dungeon, laughing loudly. Minutes later, their death notifications scrolled across the global feed.
Lyra winced. "Yikes. You called it."
Grimblade smirked faintly. Nothing about the game surprised him anymore. The devs loved to dress up low-level dungeons as harmless tutorials, but hidden within each one was a merciless difficulty spike meant to weed out the weak. To him, it was just another battlefield.
A sudden voice interrupted his thoughts.
"Hey, you two rookies!"
They turned. A tall player clad in secondhand armor approached, a smug grin plastered across his face. His guild tag—Silverfangs—gleamed above his name. Behind him, half a dozen guildmates followed, their mismatched gear making them look more desperate than strong.
"You planning to enter?" the leader asked.
"Yes," Lyra said quickly.
He snorted. "Not with that gear. You'll just drag people down. Better log out and grind rabbits."
Lyra bristled, but Grimblade stepped forward, his gaze calm. "And you? Planning to clear it?"
The guild leader sneered. "Of course. We're Silverfangs. Top rookies of this expansion. Who the hell are you?"
Grimblade's lips curved. "Grimblade."
The name fell like a hammer. For a brief second, silence wrapped around the group. Then laughter erupted.
"The Grimblade? Don't make me laugh! The Emperor retired years ago. Even if you are him, you're washed up. Look at that gear!"
One of the guildmates jeered. "A wooden sword! Hah! You'll be wolf food before the first hallway."
Lyra's fists clenched. "You don't know who you're talking to."
Grimblade placed a hand on her shoulder, silencing her. His voice was calm, almost amused. "Prove it then. Let's race. My party clears it before yours."
The guild leader's smirk widened. "You're on. Loser announces on world chat that they're trash."
Grimblade nodded once. "Deal."
Minutes later, both parties entered the dungeon.
The cavern swallowed them whole, torchlight flickering against damp walls. The air stank of rot and damp fur. From the shadows, glowing eyes opened—packs of Dire Wolves, their fangs dripping virtual saliva.
Silverfangs charged recklessly, weapons flashing. Their damage output was decent, but their formation was sloppy. Wolves flanked from the sides, healers struggled to keep up, and shouts of panic erupted as one member fell.
Grimblade, on the other hand, moved with surgical precision.
"Stay behind me," he told Lyra.
She nodded, fumbling with her healing spells.
The first wolf lunged, and Grimblade's wooden blade blurred. A sidestep, a downward slash, a kick to its jaw—it crumpled before it could touch him. Another wolf leapt; he spun, blade slicing through its neck in a clean arc.
Every movement was deliberate. No wasted motion. No hesitation.
Lyra gasped as he dismantled the pack almost single-handedly. "You make it look… easy."
"It is," he said simply.
As they advanced deeper, traps littered the corridors—poison darts, collapsing floors, hidden spike pits. Silverfangs triggered nearly every one, wasting potions and revives. Grimblade, however, read the dungeon like an open book. A shift in airflow, a slightly discolored tile—he saw the tells instantly.
"Step left," he ordered. Lyra obeyed, and a dart whistled past where her head had been.
"You—how did you know?"
"Experience."
By the time Silverfangs limped to the first boss chamber, half their party had already burned through their consumables. They entered loudly, swords raised, confidence masking their disarray.
The boss—a Dire Alpha the size of a horse—roared and lunged. Chaos erupted. Tanks mistimed their blocks, DPS scattered, and healers screamed for mana. Within minutes, their party wiped, corpses littering the floor.
World chat lit up with their failure.
Meanwhile, Grimblade and Lyra entered silently.
The Alpha snarled, charging forward. Grimblade's eyes narrowed. He stepped aside, wooden blade flashing across its flank. Red numbers spiked above its head.
Lyra squeaked and nearly forgot her heal. Grimblade barked, "Focus!"
"R-right!" She cast clumsily, her spell barely topping him off.
The Alpha snapped its jaws, but Grimblade anticipated every move. He rolled beneath its claws, slashed upward, then pivoted to strike its exposed hind leg. Each hit landed with ruthless efficiency.
The wolf howled, enraged. It reared back, summoning a pack of spectral minions. Lyra panicked. "There's too many!"
"Control your fear," Grimblade said sharply. "Target the small ones. I'll handle the Alpha."
Something in his tone steadied her. She nodded, casting her clumsy but determined spells. The weaker wolves fell under her desperate attacks, while Grimblade focused entirely on the Alpha.
Minutes stretched like hours. Sweat beaded down Lyra's real-world forehead, her hands trembling on the controls. Grimblade's avatar moved like a phantom, dodging by a hair's breadth, countering with lethal strikes.
Finally, with a guttural roar, the Alpha collapsed.
Victory notifications filled their screens.
Lyra stared, stunned. "We… we actually did it."
Grimblade sheathed his sword, breathing evenly. "Of course."
Loot spilled onto the ground: a rare wolffang dagger, a set of reinforced leather armor, and a skill scroll. Lyra gasped, eyes wide. "That's… that's top-tier beginner loot!"
Before she could reach for it, Grimblade had already collected the items. She blinked at him. "W-wait… aren't you going to share?"
He glanced at her, lips curving faintly. "I'll decide when you're ready."
Her jaw dropped. "That's… so unfair!"
"Life is unfair. Get stronger."
Despite her pout, her eyes sparkled with determination.
As they exited the dungeon, world chat exploded.
[World]: "WHAT?! Who cleared Dire Alpha already?!"
[World]: "Silverfangs wiped twice LOL."
[World]: "No way… it says Grimblade? That washed-up guy?"
[World]: "Grimblade's BACK?!"
Lyra covered her mouth, giggling. "You're trending already."
Grimblade's gaze swept across the chat, expression unreadable. His return would not remain hidden. Imperium would hear of this soon enough.
And when they came, he would be ready.