The trio kept venturing forward, encountering small skirmishes, gathering wild berries for sustenance, and sharing stories around their nightly fires. Among these stories was Recon's:
"My parents told me I was born special. A god caressed me at birth and gifted me this ability to heal. It was a blessing—I helped so many people, cured countless illnesses. I was praised by all and on my way to nobility. But then it became a curse. The townsfolk grew greedy. They noticed my horn grew back every twenty-four hours. They chained me up and harvested from me. My parents fought for my freedom, but because they were too lively, they were killed silently, their bodies left in an alley. Afterward, a slave trader found me. He bought me for nearly a million gold, knowing my ability could make him even wealthier. He took me across the sea and brought me here. Unfortunate for him, he was killed by orc bandits. They took me and placed me as a normal slave. So I kept my secret quiet, stayed cheap, and now… here I am."
"Ouu, did that old man know you were the real deal?" Texan asked as the group huddled near the fire.
"Nope. He was definitely trying to scam you guys. But technically, like you said, he wasn't entirely wrong," Recon said, taking a bite of roasted beast meat, its savory smoke curling in the night air.
"Himmel, you know you can sit and eat, right?" Texan observed, noticing Himmel leaping from branch to branch, even at night, training.
"You keep jumping tree from tree… is that going to be part of your ultimate?" Texan asked, studying the level 4 scroll he had stolen.
"Yes. I need constant training so that when I create this ultimate, it will be perfect." Himmel paused, then sat beside the fire. Sweat glistened on his ash-colored skin, and his scars—shallow and deep—caught the firelight, glinting like silver threads woven into his flesh.
"Jesus, man! You look horrendous!" Texan shouted, never having seen those scars before.
"Yeah… got them from the war just now. My father was definitely trying to kill me. The only reason I survived the first strike was because of Kimpa," Himmel explained, sipping water from a small flask.
The war had been merciless. A deep gash ran across his chest, countless cuts streaked his arms and back. Himmel felt the weight of every strike, every near-death moment.
"Look, I'm sorry. I know I'll never truly make it up to you, but… thanks for giving me a second chance." Texan's words lifted the mood.
Recon and Texan shared stories late into the night—pasts, dreams, and trivialities. Himmel added in occasionally. In reality, the main reason he forgave Texan so quickly was cultural: Orcs live for forty years on average. Holding grudges beyond the first mistake was unnecessary. First mistakes are forgiven. Second ones, however… they are remembered for life, and vengeance can span decades.
The night deepened, and the group slept in shifts. Every two hours, someone remained awake, guarding against surprise attacks. If danger approached, at least one of them could awaken the others.
Morning came without new scars. The group packed and continued their journey. Soon, they encountered a small carriage with three horses and wares for sale. The group approached cautiously.
"Hello, good sir. What brings you here?" Texan said, quickly scanning the items.
"Oh, I was waiting for travelers. You're the first today. Look at my wares and see if anything interests you," the shopkeeper said, revealing a collection of weapons, trinkets, and miscellaneous goods.
The group examined the items. They were decent, but nothing of exceptional quality. The swords were common, the armor slightly better than shabby.
"Sir, your items are mediocre at best. I'm sure you have more than this," Himmel inquired, raising an eyebrow.
The shopkeeper smirked. "Good. You're not fools. I'll show you my true shop—but there's one condition."
"What's that?" Recon asked, curiosity flickering in his eyes.
"You must spend every coin you have." Texan and Himmel exchanged subtle frowns. They didn't have much, and spending all of it seemed extreme.
"Sure," Texan said. Himmel gave him a cautious glance.
"Good. Place all your coins on this table." The shopkeeper pulled a flat table from the carriage and set it down. Himmel and Texan laid out 204 silver in total.
"Excellent. I will now show you my true shop." With a smile, he opened a hidden compartment in the carriage.
Inside was pristine: a level 2 iron armor, a master-crafted level 3 sword, the rights to three strong horses, and a map. Cost? All 204 silver. Texan was slightly disappointed; he hoped for more. Recon, not even level 2, couldn't use any of it.
For Himmel, however, it was almost perfect. The only limitation was the sword: he was slightly too weak to wield it properly. But the armor, horses, and map were invaluable. Level 1 gear cost about 50 copper; level 2, about 10 silver; level 3, around 1 gold piece. Getting top-quality gear, three horses, and a dungeon map for 204 silver was a steal.
The map led to a freshly discovered dungeon, roughly a three-hour journey away. With the new horses, the trip sped up considerably, cutting the travel time to just one hour.
They reached the dungeon entrance. Himmel felt the aura of danger radiating from it. The carved stones of the arch glimmered faintly, etched with runes that pulsed with residual magic. Even without understanding, Himmel's senses warned him this dungeon was far from ordinary. If Abbot were her he could've decipher it quickly.
The first room held a small chest. Recon, unaware of the risk, opened it carelessly. Inside was a paper sword—thin, fragile, almost ethereal.
"Hand that over, Recon," Himmel said, extending his hand.
"What the fuck, no! You both have weapons and gear. Let me at least have this," Recon protested, gripping the sword as though it were a living thing.
"Look, I'm the strongest here. I can use it to the best possible degree," Himmel replied. "Give it to me, or I'll regret letting you wield it." Normally, he would have offered his axe, but he didn't yet trust Recon's skill.
"Texan, what do you suggest?" Himmel asked.
"Look, the guy has a point. If he doesn't have a weapon, he'll be useless," Texan replied. Begrudgingly, Himmel allowed Recon to keep the paper sword.
They continued down a long, narrow passage. Two doors punctuated the left wall, twenty feet apart, and one more at the far end. The air was cool and dry, smelling faintly of earth and dust. Shadows clung to the corners, and the faint hum of magic lingered like static.
Himmel went first. The door slammed shut behind him, transforming into solid wood with a resonant thunk. The room shifted: the walls became glass, transparent yet impossibly strong, letting sunlight pour in, illuminating every detail. The floor became polished wood that reflected the light like a calm pond.
In the center stood a paper man, its armor painted in the vivid colors of a samurai, blade raised. The paper shimmered slightly, as though infused with subtle enchantments, and each movement it made caused the air to hum faintly.
"Fuck, fuck! He got locked in!" Texan panicked briefly, the sound of his voice bouncing against the glass walls. He calmed, assessing the impossibility of opening the door. He turned to Recon. "Looks like we're on our own now. Ughhhh."
Recon's expression twisted with a mix of frustration and awe.
"You seem disappointed."
"Yes! Why would I be happy that our strongest got separated from us?"
"Fair enough," Recon admitted, rolling his eyes.
They approached the second door. "The door will probably shut behind whoever enters. We split—one goes here, one goes there—and we'll meet up… if we live." Texan nodded and stepped in.
Inside, he found a metal man, its hands shining like polished silver, moving with mechanical precision. The room was unlike anything he had seen: counters lined with kitchen appliances, tables stacked with ingredients, and windows revealing sprawling streets and vehicles outside. Texan opened a refrigerator, the cool air escaping in a rush, and he staggered back, astonished.
"Ice magic keeps only the inside cool. Dwarves are lazy geniuses—they've made carriages move themselves. This is some witchcraft," he whispered, marveling at the innovation.
Recon's room was entirely different. The floor and walls were raw rock and dirt, the ceiling open as if he were outside. Trees sprouted from the ground, their leaves rustling even without wind. He ran toward them instinctively, only to be stopped by invisible walls. Though it appeared like the outside, the forest was a facade. Recon longed for freedom but was trapped within the illusion.
In the center stood a massive boulder-like golem, motionless, its stone surface etched with faint runes. It radiated silent menace, waiting for a challenger.
Himmel stepped forward, blade in hand. Texan raised his gauntlets, muscles tensed. Recon gripped his paper sword, ready to strike.
Then, with a shared breath, they charged. The fight began.