[14th Everdusk 2103], CGA branch, Dyna Crest Country
A sphere of fire hovered above Lucas's palm, flickering gently at first. But as he funnelled mana into it, the orb expanded—slowly, then violently—as if consuming the very air around it. The flames were compressed with unbearable force, turning into a dense, volatile core of destruction. When the orb stabilised, it had grown to nearly a hundred times its original size, radiating a furious heat that made the nearby hut catch fire, goblins screaming in agony as their skin blistered.
Lucas stared at the blazing sun in his grasp and smiled.
The power he was wielding was absurd. His Talent,
But even with that Talent, a Tier 0 user like him couldn't cast such spells under normal conditions. The cost was too high. The strain on the body, the price paid afterwards—it was real.
"Here's a gift for you, hobgoblin," Lucas muttered, his voice sharp with disdain.
The boss had already noticed the spell and, despite his size, was bolting away—massive feet pounding the earth in desperation. No creature would stand there to tank an unknown spell with that much condensed energy.
Lucas threw it.
The moment the orb struck the ground, there was silence. For half a breath, everything stopped.
Then—/BOOOOOMMMM/
An inferno erupted, forming a mushroom cloud of molten orange and red. Everything within thirty meters was reduced to ash. The hut disintegrated. Trees ignited and shattered. Goblin corpses combusted midair. Screams were silenced. Even the air seemed to burn.
Yet, at the epicenter, Lucas stood untouched. The spell granted him temporary resistance against its own damage. A divine safeguard… for a fleeting moment.
Then the penalties kicked in.
He staggered, gasping as his legs gave out. His hand dropped onto the burning ground—searing his flesh. His MP bar had taken a permanent -50% penalty for the next two hours. His stamina, too, halved.
He winced, but didn't complain. It was expected.
His eyes scanned the battlefield, searching for the charred remains of the boss. Nothing.
"…Don't tell me," he muttered, grimacing.
But then—movement. The boss—still alive, trying to crawl away.
Lucas's eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in fury. The monster's HP was a sliver, a whisper of life.
"You've got some nerve living through that," Lucas said, rising shakily.
He walked over, sword dragging, and without hesitation, stabbed it through the spine.
The hobgoblin warlord let out a final groan, his thoughts likely filled with disbelief. He'd assumed the caster had self-destructed. He never expected him to walk away.
Lucas knelt and found what he was looking for: the pendant around the boss's neck, woven from wood, bones, and monster sinew—the totem.
He crushed it with one hand.
{Host has destroyed the Totem of the Goblin Tribe, completing the final dungeon objective.}
{You've killed 54x Lv.9, 8x Lv.10 Goblins, 1x Lv.13 Hobgoblin Warlord (Mutated)}
{+3,520 EXP}
[3,730 / 600 EXP]
{Level Up: Lv.9 → Lv.14}{+50 Unassigned Stat Points}
Lucas let out a satisfied breath.
"So that's why the system took its time… Good. This much experience will do for now."
He opened his status screen, ignoring the pain in his limbs, ready to allocate stats and explore new skills. But elsewhere…
-- Meanwhile, in Another Dungeon…
Lyre stood before a blazing wall of flame—a towering inferno surrounding the goblin tribe she was raiding. Empty mana potion bottles littered the ground at her feet. Her chest heaved with each breath, stamina draining rapidly, but her will was unwavering.
She couldn't stop now.
From the sky above, tiny wisps of ember began to descend—graceful, almost harmless in appearance. But when one landed on a goblin mid-sprint, it wrapped around its victim like a serpent and exploded into a raging firestorm.
Screams erupted. Chaos ensued.
The entire tribe was engulfed. Even the boss—massive and roaring—was lit ablaze, his armour turning red-hot.
Lyre's face held no sympathy.
"Kill or be killed. That's the only truth that matters," she whispered, her voice low and resolute.
Born to a Guildmaster, Lyre never had the privilege of comfort. Her childhood was spent in combat training, survival lessons, anatomy dissection, and monster strategy sessions. She was built for war.
And now, her fire was her blade.
As the boss staggered forward through the flames, his HP nearly drained but rage still burning in his eyes, Lyre cast her next skill:
A towering column of fire erupted around him. The boss shrieked, stumbling but not quite falling.
"Still alive?" she muttered coldly.
A bolt of cursed flame materialised before her and shot straight through the boss's chest.
He dropped instantly. Dead. Burning. Done.
The totem behind him was already a scorched wreck—burned during the Hellfire Rain. The system notifications began to flood in:
{Objective Completed. Dungeon Cleared.}
{Lv.13 Achieved} [850 / 900 EXP]
{+10 Unassigned Stat Points}
{Skills Levelled Up:}
-
-
-
-
She glanced at them with only slight interest. Her focus wasn't on kill count or drops—it was on her strength, her future, and her path forward.
Resolute, she walked through the portal that appeared moments later, stepping out into the entrance hall of the dungeon.
What greeted her… stunned her to her core.
She looked at the ranking board—her eyes narrowing, her breath caught in disbelief.
"…How is this possible?"
To be continued…