Daelan's POV
"Oh my, I can hardly recognize them," Viper says with an exaggerated flourish, looking us over with a smirk.
The woman beside him, the one responsible for this miraculous transformation, preens under his praise. "Of course! This is me we're talking about." She places a manicured hand on her hip, practically glowing with satisfaction.
Viper chuckles, slipping seamlessly into his usual charm. "And of course, I'll put in a good word for you."
She arches a brow. "You promised."
"I never go back on my word," he assures her smoothly, though something in his tone tells me he absolutely would if it suited him.
I barely register their exchange. I'm still getting used to the feeling of wearing something new—something that actually fits me.
For the first time in my life, I'm standing in clothes that weren't scavenged, stolen, or patched together from scraps. Cargo pants, new boots, and a genuine leather jacket. They tried to put me in a suit, but the second I saw myself in the mirror, I felt like a complete fraud. Like a child wearing a costume that didn't belong to him.
So I picked this. Something functional, something mine.
Kirelle, unsurprisingly, went with something similar—black pants, a reinforced jacket, practical yet sleek. Korin, however—
I glance at him and nearly snort. He's fully embracing this new life, striding around in slacks and a tailored long-sleeved shirt, acting like some young master of the fortress elite.
"Fuck, Daelan," he says, rolling his shoulders as if he's already used to luxury. "You should have done this earlier. We're probably in for a luxurious life now." He walks with his head held high, exuding confidence like he was born for this.
Viper just sighs. "Follow me."
We step out into the streets of Sector 8, moving through the bustling throng of people. It's a world away from Sector Z—no desperation, no filth-stained streets, no constant looming danger. Here, people walk with purpose, the air thick with the scent of mana-infused goods. Merchants hawk wares crafted from dungeon creatures, their voices smooth and rehearsed. Security is tight, guards patrolling every inch, drones hovering overhead, their red eyes scanning the streets.
Korin, already comfortable in his new attire, winks at a passing pair of women, who giggle behind their hands.
Kirelle rolls her eyes. "At this point, Korin, you might as well aim higher—maybe get yourself a Sector 8 big shot while you're at it."
Korin grins, turning to his twin. "Looking like this? Dare I say Sector G?"
At that, Viper scoffs.
"What nonsense," he mutters. Then, without warning— "We're heading to Sector B."
I stumble, completely losing my step.
"…What?"
We stop in front of a massive circular platform engraved with intricate glowing symbols. A teleportation circle.
My stomach drops.
Viper strides forward, holding out his phone to a robed figure standing at the entrance. "Benjamin—granted permission from—" His voice lowers as he shows the person something on his screen.
The robed figure nods. "Stand at the center."
Viper moves forward without hesitation.
I, however, freeze.
This isn't normal. Teleportation isn't common—it's barely used, because the mana maintaining the entire fortress is already unstable. Only the elite—not just the wealthy, but the untouchable, the powerful, the ones who own this world—are allowed to use it.
How much power does she actually have?
I force myself to follow Viper, stepping onto the platform alongside him, my stomach twisting into knots.
Why me?
Why would someone with this much power—this much influence—want me?
Sure, I'm not ugly—but I'm hardly worth this level of effort.
I barely have time to process the thought before the circle activates.
The engravings glow brilliantly, a surge of pure mana rippling through the air. The light is blinding, forcing me to clamp my eyes shut.
Then—
Everything shifts.
I feel like I'm being pulled apart and reassembled all at once, my entire body suspended in a place that doesn't exist before—
I slam back into reality.
Sector B.
I inhale sharply, my lungs immediately burning from the sheer concentration of mana in the air. It's thicker here, purer, almost like we've stepped into the heart of a dungeon.
I take a step forward—and instantly regret it.
The world tilts, and a wave of dizziness crashes over me. I clutch my head, trying to steady myself.
"Fuck, I hate teleportation circles," Viper groans beside me, staggering like a drunk man.
I barely process his words—I'm too focused on breathing, on keeping myself from throwing up.
It takes a solid ten minutes before we can move properly, and in the distance, two sleek black cars are waiting.
We walk toward them, still disoriented, the gravel crunching underfoot.
As we get closer, I recognize the person leaning against one of the cars.
Tristan.
The once scrawny teenager now looks completely different.
He's filled out, his malnourished frame replaced with lean muscle, his face sharper, more refined. He looks like someone who's been eating actual meals for months—someone who's been living well.
He glances up as we approach, his lips curling into a smirk. "Benjamin," he drawls. "Looking good."
Viper glares. "Fuck you, you little shit—now heal me."
Tristan snickers, clearly enjoying this. But he obliges, lifting a hand, and a small, warm glow surrounds Viper.
I watch in disbelief. Tristan's mana control has improved significantly.
"Much better," Viper mutters.
Then Tristan turns to me. His gaze sharpens.
"Well," he muses, tilting his head. "This is a surprise."
I say nothing.
Before the conversation can continue, Viper waves a hand dismissively. "Yeah, yeah, time for a reunion later." He gestures for Korin and Kirelle to follow Tristan.
Then—he looks at me.
"Yeah, not you, buddy."
I pause, glancing back at Korin and Kirelle. They hesitate, but I give them a small nod before turning back to Viper.
I already know where this is going.
I'm not being dropped off with them.
I'm being taken straight to her.