Daelan's POV
I never thought I'd actually leave Sector Z. Not really. It was always a distant dream, the kind of fantasy that kept you sane while you tried to survive another day in the slums. But now, as I sit in this van, watching as Sector Z slowly fades behind us, the reality of it is sinking in.
I'm leaving.
The van hums beneath us as we drive in near silence. The road is rough, cracked from years of neglect, but the vehicle is surprisingly smooth, built to absorb the imperfections of a world that barely holds itself together. I rest my head against the window, watching as we pass the only life I've ever known—the filth-ridden streets, the overcrowded shanty houses, the makeshift markets where people barter for scraps.
My thoughts are interrupted by Kirelle's hesitant voice.
"Are you sure we can come too?" she asks, looking awkward, her fingers tightening around her sleeves.
Viper, who is lazily scrolling through his phone, barely spares her a glance. "Huh? Oh, yeah. I'll leave you guys with Tristan. Don't worry about it."
Silence settles again. In the back of the van, Korin and Kirelle exchange glances but say nothing.
I get it. We don't belong anywhere.
We're nobodies. Just survivors of the worst place in the fortress, scurrying like rats to wherever we can avoid getting stomped on. But now we're leaving, stepping into a world none of us have ever seen before, and the uncertainty is gnawing at us.
I glance out the window again as we approach the massive wall that separates Sector 8 from Sector Z.
It looms above us, a steel monstrosity reinforced with runes that shimmer faintly in the dim light. The checkpoint is congested with vehicles, people waiting for their turn to pass through the gates. Most won't make it.
Viper must have pulled some serious strings because instead of waiting, our van drives straight through.
I watch as a group of desperate-looking people try to run through the gates, hoping to slip past unnoticed, probably thinking they could hide behind the van.
The gunfire is immediate.
Kirelle gasps, slapping a hand over her mouth as the sounds ring through the air. The bodies fall like ragdolls, their brief attempt at escape ending in blood and silence.
I watch as their corpses are dragged away without ceremony.
I don't feel anything.
No shock. No horror. Just a dull, empty acknowledgment. This is normal. This is how the world works.
Kirelle turns away, staring at her lap. Korin clenches his fists.
Viper? He barely glances up. The only sound in the van is the ringing of his phone.
The moment he answers, the voice on the other end is so loud it practically fills the van.
"BENJAMIN!!!!"
We all stare at him.
Viper chuckles nervously. "Hello."
The voice doesn't ease up.
"Tell me why the fuck I got back from the Roaring Guildmaster's birthday party and I come home, and my trusty sidekick is NOT where I fucking left him?"
That must be her.
Viper shrinks in his seat like a scolded child. "I was running an errand." His voice is softer now, as if that might save him.
"What errand? Father said he didn't give you any orders."
"I'm in Sector 8," Viper mutters. "I'll be back in two days—"
The call abruptly cuts off.
Viper just sits there, fuming. Then he slowly turns his glare on me.
"What the fuck did I do?" I say, completely innocent.
He jabs a finger in my direction. "You better make her fucking happy, Daelan, or I swear to the heav—"
His phone rings again.
This time, the voice is quieter, but I can tell it's still her. I catch bits and pieces of the conversation:
Now. Immediately. Permission.
I could focus harder and hear everything if I wanted to, but honestly?
I don't want to.
Viper wilts. "Of course," he says, his voice tiny.
The call ends, and then—
The van stops.
We're here? Already?
"Everyone out," Viper snaps, immediately opening the door and stepping out like he needs to escape the confined space before another phone call makes him implode.
I follow, stepping onto solid ground and finally taking in Sector 8.
And fuck.
This is nothing like Sector Z.
The air is different—cleaner, fresher, with none of the usual stench of smoke, sewage, and decay. The buildings are sturdier, made of reinforced stone and metal, lined with flickering mana-powered signs advertising businesses.
Most striking, though?
The sheer abundance of wealth.
Monster corpses—giant ones—are displayed like trophies in market stalls, their mana stones glowing faintly. Hunters barter for weapons made from dungeon creatures, and automated drones fly overhead, monitoring everything.
The security is insane. Guards patrol every street, their weapons loaded and ready. Unlike Sector Z, where crime runs rampant, here? You'd be a fucking idiot to even try.
Korin whistles lowly, taking it all in.
"This is the longest we've gone without seeing a fresh corpse," he mutters.
Viper spins on his heel, looking disgusted at the sight of us. "Stop gawking. Let's get you cleaned up. You can't go anywhere looking like that."
He makes a sharp turn and strides ahead.
We follow, still overwhelmed.
Before I know it, we've entered a high-class boutique.
The second we step inside, the difference in atmosphere is jarring.
The air is cool, crisp, perfumed with expensive fragrances. The walls are lined with immaculate clothing, garments woven from materials that feel charged with mana. These aren't ordinary clothes—they're probably made from dungeon plants, high-ranked monster hides, or other rare materials.
Viper is already talking to someone, a well-dressed woman who listens attentively before nodding.
She claps her hands.
Immediately, a group of attendants swoop in like predators and usher the three of us into different fitting rooms.