Sunrise graced the town as golden light spilled over stone streets. Birds chirped while a gentle breeze howled through the air. Shopkeepers began preparing their stalls, the town slowly waking to life.
Inside an inn, a teenage boy slept soundly. Handsome, his messy hair gave him a rough yet unique charm. Suddenly, his breathing quickened.
"Aaaah… ha… haa—!"
His eyes snapped open. His chest rose and fell violently as he gasped for air. Shadows clung to the corners of the room, echoes of the nightmare rattling in his skull. He looked around frantically, as if searching for something unseen.
"Red… Red, are you there?"
"Yes, Host," a calm voice replied. "Is there a problem?"
"Haa… hhaaa… haaah…"
Zen exhaled sharply. "No. Just a nightmare. Nothing to worry about."
"If you say so, Host."
Even after his breathing returned to normal, the nightmare lingered—phantom chains rattling in the dark of his mind. His eyes remained wide, scanning the room. Zen raised a hand to his forehead and rubbed it slowly.
"Shit… what a hell of a way to wake up."
He lingered at the window, letting the chill morning air brush against his skin. After a while, he padded across the room and into the bathroom.
The sound of falling water echoed.
When he emerged, dressed in a plain T-shirt and pants, he descended the stairs. The inn smelled of bread and roasted meat. He ordered his usual breakfast and ate in silence.
"Host," Red spoke again.
"Hm?"
"You haven't checked the treasure you obtained from the bandits."
"Ha… yeah. I'll check it later, after training."
"Should I remind you?"
"Yes."
After finishing his meal, Zen stepped out into the waking streets. The town buzzed with morning life as he made his way toward the training ground.As he reached for a sword, a familiar voice called out.
"Hey, Zen! Wanna spar?"
Zen turned toward the sound and saw a bulky man grinning at him. Kane they had known each other for a year now. Kane was Zen's sparring partner—and the first friend he had made after coming to this world.
Their spar escalated from steel to fists, sweat dripping, adrenaline flooding.
For a moment, the world went quiet.
Only their breathing filled the air—two predators circling.
Then they launched forward.
Clang!
Steel screamed as their blades collided, sparks spitting into the dirt.
Zen's eyes burned, a feral smile cutting across his face. Kane mirrored it, both intoxicated by the clash.
Kane twisted, slashing toward Zen's neck. Zen was faster—his blade slid across Kane's, deflecting, and his boot hammered into Kane's ribs.
The impact cracked like thunder. Kane staggered, breath hitching, iron flooding his mouth.
Zen didn't wait. His sword came down in a brutal arc. Kane caught it just in time, arms trembling as the shock rattled through him. The ground beneath his boots fractured, spiderweb cracks spreading outward.
Zen pressed harder, relentless. Each strike was a storm, each blow a test of Kane's endurance.
Kane's eyes darted, desperate for an opening. He ducked, leg whipping out.
Zen blocked with his forearm—the jolt numbed his bones. "Fuck…" he hissed.
Kane's smug grin only deepened.
Zen growled, shoved Kane's leg aside, and tossed his sword away. His stance shifted—hands open, body coiled.
Kane chuckled and discarded his blade too.
Zen's grin sharpened. "Come on, son of a bitch."
Kane answered with a jab. Zen crossed his arms in an X-block, countered with a kick. Kane caught it on his forearm, the impact reverberating through muscle and bone.
They locked eyes, sweat dripping, both smiling.
Then chaos.
Elbows cracked. Fists slammed. Kicks tore through the air.
Each strike was answered, each block a heartbeat away from failure.
Zen's laughter erupted, raw and wild. "HAHAHAHA—! Is that all you've got, fucker?!"
Adrenaline surged, drowning out the nightmare's shadow. This was pure bliss—combat stripped bare, instinct against instinct.
One final kick sent them both skidding back.
They stood, gasping, sweat streaking their temples. Neither spoke. Neither needed to.
A fighter's instinct told them the truth.
It was a tie.
Kane broke the silence, chest heaving. "You've improved, Zen."
Zen smirked, wiping sweat from his brow. "You think so?"
"Yes."
Zen thought of the bandits, of death brushing close. Maybe it had sharpened him more than he realized.
He picked up his sword, slid it back with the others, and turned to Kane.
"Nice spar. We'll do it again sometime."
"Yeah."
When the spar ended, Zen parted ways with Kane. His feet carried him beyond the bustle, toward the quiet outskirts—the place where he had first awakened in this world.
The grass swayed gently, the sky stretched endlessly above, clouds drifting like forgotten thoughts. He sat down, knees drawn up, and let the silence press against him.
For the first time since waking, the nightmare's shadow returned—chains rattling in the dark corners of his mind. His chest tightened.
I'm scared… really scared.
Am I doing the right thing?
The wind brushed past, cool and indifferent. He clenched his fist, staring at the horizon.
In his old world, mornings had been different. The glow of a phone screen, the stale air of a room where curtains never opened. Days wasted in bed, drowning in monotony. No battles. No purpose. Just a slow decay.
Here, every breath carried risk. Every step could be his last. Yet… it was life. Raw, dangerous, unrelenting.
He laughed softly, bitter and amused. "Hahaha…"
"Host," Red's voice cut through. "You're forgetting me. I'm on your side."
Zen smirked. "Yeah, I've got a mechanic fucker as a friend."
"Who are you calling fucker, you fucker?"
"At least you're someone," Zen said, grin widening.
"—_- Fuck you, Host."
"Fuck you too."
Their banter eased the weight, but the resolve remained. The nightmare had reminded him of fragility. The spar had reminded him of joy. The treasure would remind him of destiny.
Zen's eyes hardened. I need to get stronger.
As the sun dipped lower, Zen rose from the grass and retraced his steps back to the inn.
"Host," Red interrupted. "The treasure."
"Right. Red, can you separate the valuable items?"
"Yes. You have swords and other items you can exchange for gold."
"Good. I don't need them. I'll make my own sword with shadow abilities."
"You also obtained a Beast Core from a Tempest Wolf. Give it to an alchemist—it can be made into a potion that boosts mana."
"And one more thing," Red continued. "You have a priceless item."
Zen's eyes widened. "Priceless?"
"A dungeon key."
Zen froze. "A real dungeon key?"
"Yes. An unexplored one."
Zen pulled the key from storage, its weight deceptively ordinary in his palm. Cold metal pressed against his skin, unremarkable in shape—like something that could open a cellar door. Yet the silence around him thickened, as if the world itself was holding its breath.
"Red," he whispered, eyes narrowing. "This looks… normal."
"It only appears so," Red replied, voice low and steady. "Channel your mana into it."
Zen hesitated. The key felt heavier now, as though it resisted his touch. He drew in a breath, then released his mana.
At once, the air shivered. A faint hum rippled outward, vibrating through his bones. Light bled from the edges of the key, threads of brilliance weaving into the air like cracks in reality.
Zen's eyes widened. "What the hell…"
The glow swelled, coalescing into a hovering map that unfurled before him—lines of fire tracing mountains, rivers, and a single mark pulsing like a heartbeat.
Red's voice carried a rare note of reverence. "The dungeon's location."
Zen stared, chest tight, the map's glow reflected in his eyes. The ordinary key had become a beacon to the unknown. Treasure, danger, power—everything he craved and feared.
He clenched his fist around the key, the hum fading but the weight of destiny lingering.
"Shit," he muttered, a grin tugging at his lips. "I really did hit the jackpot."
Zen collapsed onto his bed at the inn, staring at the ceiling. The nightmare's shadow, Kane's laughter, the map's glow—all threads weaving into one truth.
I have to leave this town soon… I need to enroll in the academy.
Excitement bubbled within him. For the journey ahead.