The screech of metal echoed through the air, and Arlen felt his knees shake as the creature loomed over him. Its jagged teeth dripped with an unnatural, black liquid, and its glowing red eyes bore into his soul. Arlen gripped his dull, standard-issue sword with trembling hands, knowing it wouldn't be enough.
"Help!" he screamed, but his voice was swallowed by the chaos of the Gate. Around him, hunters—those stronger, faster, better—were battling for their lives. Arlen wasn't one of them.
The weakest link.
That's what they called him.
Every raid was a reminder that he didn't belong here. He was the E-rank nobody who barely scraped by. The kid who lucked into a hunter's license but couldn't clear even the simplest of Gates on his own. And yet, here he was, stuck in a mid-tier Gate because the guild needed someone to fill a slot.
"I'm not dying here," Arlen whispered to himself. He tightened his grip on the sword, summoning what little courage he had left.
But courage wasn't enough.
The creature lunged, a blur of black and red. Arlen raised his sword, but the impact sent him flying into a broken pillar. Pain exploded through his back, and the weapon slipped from his hands.
"I-I can't do this..." His vision blurred as the beast closed in. The world seemed to slow, the pounding of his heart drowning out the sound of battle.
Just as its claws were about to tear him apart, a bright light erupted from the sky, freezing everything in place. Arlen's breath hitched. The light wasn't natural; it shimmered like liquid gold, flowing and twisting until it formed the shape of a man.
"Who...?" Arlen croaked, his voice barely a whisper.
The figure stepped forward, clad in ancient, glowing armor. His golden eyes burned with an intensity that made Arlen's fear dissipate, replaced by awe. The air itself seemed to hum with power around him.
"Pathetic," the man said, his voice deep and resonant, echoing in Arlen's mind. "You call yourself a hunter, yet you lack the resolve to fight."
"I... I tried—"
"Trying isn't enough." The man's tone was cold, but there was a strange kindness in his gaze. "But you're not beyond saving. I am Kaelion Aurath Solvayne, the Eternal Flame. And you..." He crouched down, meeting Arlen's gaze. "You are my successor."
"What?" Arlen blinked, his head spinning. "What are you talking about?"
"You've been chosen," Kaelion said. "To inherit my legacy, to carry on the fight I could not finish. My time has passed, but through you, my flame will burn again."
Before Arlen could protest, Kaelion reached out, placing a hand on his chest. A surge of energy unlike anything he'd ever felt coursed through him, and his surroundings dissolved into darkness.
When he opened his eyes, he was no longer in the Gate.
He was in a void, surrounded by glowing symbols and pulsating light. Kaelion stood before him, his armor glowing brighter than ever.
"This is the Hero's System," Kaelion said, gesturing to the swirling energy around them. "It will guide you, teach you, and forge you into what this world needs. But make no mistake, boy..." He leaned in, his voice a low growl. "The path ahead is not for the weak."
Arlen's mind reeled as he stared up at the being that had just saved his life, struggling to comprehend what was happening. The words Kaelion had spoken echoed in his ears, but they made little sense. A system?
"What are you talking about... a system?!" Arlen's voice cracked with disbelief. He stood there, shaking, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to process the surreal reality that surrounded him.
The golden figure, Kaelion, only seemed to grow more imposing as he stepped forward. His burning eyes fixed on Arlen with an intensity that made him feel both small and strangely safe at the same time. The very air around them hummed with an energy Arlen could barely begin to understand.
Kaelion's voice was deep, steady, as if nothing in the universe could rattle him. "The Hero's System is the framework that governs the progress of hunters. It is not simply a tool, but a force that measures your strength, guides your growth, and tests your resolve. It is what separates those who succeed from those who fall into obscurity."
Arlen swallowed hard, trying to steady his thoughts. A system? Was it some sort of supernatural interface that controlled a hunter's development? His mind buzzed with questions, but Kaelion's words were enough to hold him in a stunned silence.
In the world of hunters, a system was not just a luxury—it was a necessity. Every hunter had access to it, though not everyone had the same experience. The system linked to each individual, allowing them to track their progress, store weapons, gear, items, and more. But more importantly, it was a reflection of their potential—showing them how far they could truly go.
Yet, unlike the videogames Arlen had once played as a child, where characters rose in power simply by accumulating experience points, the system was far more complex, and far more brutal. It was not just about gathering power; it was about one's willpower, mental strength, and determination. The system was a mirror, showing the world what a person could achieve, but it didn't promise success. It could, and would, abandon those who lacked the drive to push themselves.
Hunters started at different levels, each given a rank based on their abilities. The lowest rank, E, was a category so rare that only one in a million people had the potential to awaken it. These hunters were not seen as warriors, but rather as mere fodder, barely scraping by in the brutal world of the Gates.
Then there was Rank D—still considered low but not hopeless. These hunters were often able to reach level 3 with perseverance, relying on their mental fortitude to push themselves further than their initial potential would allow.
C-Rank hunters were a rare breed. With enough determination, they could push their way to level 8, and occasionally even beyond that. There were rumors of a handful of C-Rank hunters who had managed to break through to level 10—though those were the stuff of legends.
Ranks B and A were where the true elites resided. These hunters could rise to level 25, and they formed the backbone of powerful guilds, forces capable of influencing the fate of entire regions. To reach these ranks was to command authority and respect. And they were often bound by the highest level of jurisdiction, working under the most prestigious guilds.
And then… there was S-Rank.
The rarest of all. Those who were born with a level of power that transcended the ordinary limits of hunters. They were prodigies, chosen by fate to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders. These individuals were given special training, their own personal Gates to enter in order to hone their power. They were granted the opportunity to reach the highest level ever known: level 40. And the only S-Rank hunter to have ever achieved that level was Lee Artelov, a legend whose name was whispered in awe.
Arlen's thoughts began to spiral. How much power does Kaelion have then? he wondered, looking up at the golden figure, his mind struggling to grasp the magnitude of what he was being thrust into.
But before he could ask another question, a soft chime echoed through the air, startling him. His vision blurred for a moment, and suddenly, a window appeared in front of his eyes, suspended in midair. It was the system window, and it was alive.
[Initiating analyzing... New program!]
Arlen's heart pounded. His eyes widened as the text flickered, processing something. And then, as if some unseen force was pushing it along, the window flashed again:
[New Program fully downloaded!]
[Welcome Player 'Gruz Arlen']
[You are now part of the Legacy System!]
Arlen blinked rapidly, trying to take in the surreal event. His head felt heavy, but before he could react, the system window shifted again. Stats appeared before his eyes, showing him a page of numbers that made his stomach twist with embarrassment.
Strength: 3
Agility: 4
Endurance: 2
Mana: 5
They were… pathetic. Barely above the average for an E-Rank hunter. But what caught his attention wasn't the numbers. It was what came next. A new set of windows opened.
The Quest Window.
And the Skill Window.
Curiosity gnawed at him. He didn't know why, but despite everything happening, he felt a strange pull toward them. Slowly, his fingers hovered over the icons in the window, and he tapped the quest icon. The text that appeared on the screen seemed to shine brighter than everything else.
[New Quest: Legacy of the Eternal Flame]
You have been chosen as a successor of Kaelion's Legacy!
[Your growth and development will be tested by the Trials of Fire. In these trials, you will have to continuously surpass yourself in order to become the hero you are destined to be.]
The words sent a thrill through him, but it was quickly replaced by doubt. Was this real? Was this some cruel joke? His hands trembled as he looked back at the other window—the Skill Window.
[New Skill: Flame's Embrace – The first spark of Kaelion's Legacy. Use to empower your attacks with the fire of the Eternal Flame.]
A glowing image of a burning sword appeared next to the skill name, and as Arlen's mind raced, he realized that something was beginning to stir inside him. Something ancient, something deep, was waking. And despite his fear and confusion, the fire in his chest flickered to life.
This was real. The Legacy was real. And he was no longer just Arlen.
He was something else. Something greater.
And the trials were waiting.
As Arlen stood, facing the unknown future, a new feeling washed over him—a burning sense of determination, mixed with the weight of the challenges ahead. There was no going back now. The first trial awaited, and he had no choice but to face it. He took a deep breath, ready to walk the path that Kaelion had set for him, wherever it would lead.
The flames of destiny were burning bright.
Arlen's attention snapped back to the system window as a new notification appeared, flickering into existence in front of him.
[New Skill: Legacy Resonance]
In order to grow, you must learn, adapt, and survive. Legacy Resonance will help unveil memories of Kaelion's past, techniques, skills, and abilities.
His heart skipped a beat as the message continued.
[Your First Trial starts now!
Good luck!]
The words seemed to vibrate through him, their weight crashing down in an instant. The world around him shimmered, and before he could grasp the implications of the message, the space around him began to distort. It twisted and warped like a fading dream, and the golden light that had enveloped him began to disintegrate. Arlen's stomach lurched as everything dissolved into nothingness.
Suddenly, he was back in the Gate.
The sounds of battle surged in around him once more—the shouts, the clashes of weapons, the distant roars of creatures—all of it felt far too real. His head spun, and his legs buckled beneath him as the world snapped back into focus.
Before him stood the creature, the same one that had nearly torn him apart. Its monstrous form loomed, its jagged claws poised for another strike. Arlen barely had time to process the change when it lunged, its eyes glowing with malicious intent.
No!
Instinct took over. Adrenaline surged through his veins, and before the creature's claws could reach him, Arlen sprang to the side, narrowly avoiding the deadly swipe. His body hit the ground with a roll, and he quickly scrambled to his feet.
His sword—the same dull, ordinary blade—was lying on the ground nearby. He grabbed it in a desperate motion, the cool metal grounding him in the chaos. As his hand gripped the hilt, his mind raced, the system's words echoing in his head. If everything I'm seeing is real, then I can use the skills… right?
Arlen squeezed his eyes shut, trying to calm his thoughts. I have to use the skills… I have to survive this.
He tightened his grip around the sword's hilt, feeling its weight settle in his hands. He could feel a strange power emanating from the blade, a faint warmth that hadn't been there before.
He dashed forward, his feet pounding the ground as he closed the distance between him and the creature. But just as he moved, another system message appeared, blocking out his focus for a split second.
[Flame Embrace, Skill requirements have not been met. Skill denied!]
Arlen's heart skipped a beat, his stomach sinking.
[In order to use Flame Embrace, defeat the enemy on your own.]
[Defeat the enemy: 0/1]
"Are you kidding me?!" Arlen shouted, frustration and fear bubbling to the surface. His sword felt heavier in his hands as he tried to steady himself. "I've been thrown into this hellhole, and now you're telling me I can't even use the one thing that might save me?"
The creature growled, its eyes narrowing as it prepared for another strike. Arlen's anger flared, his breath coming out in short bursts. He was out of options. His body was shaking, but a fire ignited in his chest.
Think, Arlen. Think!
He narrowed his eyes, focusing on the creature's movements. It was fast, but not fast enough. He could feel the tension in the air, the weight of his fate hanging by a thread. His grip tightened on the sword once more, determination surging through him like a current.
I can do this. I will do this.
With a fierce shout, Arlen leapt forward, dodging the creature's first strike with a quick roll to the left. He had no idea what he was doing, no strategy, but his desperation fueled him. His sword came up to parry a second swipe, the creature's claws scraping along the blade with a sharp screech. The impact reverberated up his arms, but he held his ground.
The creature snarled, swinging again, but this time, Arlen anticipated its move. He shifted his weight, his body moving with the fluidity of instinct. In one smooth motion, he countered, stepping into the creature's attack with a thrust. His sword pierced its gut, sinking deep into the monstrous form.
For a brief moment, everything seemed to freeze. Arlen's breath caught as the blade became lodged in the creature's flesh, and the world held its breath. But the satisfaction was short-lived.
The creature screeched in fury, its claws flailing wildly as it tried to tear itself away from the blade embedded in its side. Arlen's heart raced, panic rising in his chest. The sword wasn't enough to stop it. The creature's movements were growing more erratic, its strength undeterred by the wound.
He pulled at the sword, but it was stuck. His eyes widened in horror. This wasn't enough!
"God damn it!" Arlen cursed under his breath, his mind spinning. The system had given him hope, shown him the power he could wield, but now it felt like a cruel joke. The trials weren't just a test of power—they were a test of endurance. They were making him fight to earn every ounce of strength.
But this was the game now. He had no choice but to play.
"Fine!" Arlen shouted, his voice raw with fury. "If this is how it has to be, then you're on!"
With a growl of defiance, he yanked the sword free from the creature's flesh and backed away, keeping his eyes locked on his enemy. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, every sense heightened. His breath came in ragged gasps, but there was no turning back now. This was his trial—his first trial.
The creature lunged once more, faster than before, its claws aimed at Arlen's chest. He dodged to the side just in time, feeling the sharp wind as the claws cut through the air where he had been standing. Arlen's feet slid against the ground, but he regained his balance and charged forward again. His eyes burned with determination.
You can do this, Arlen. You have to.
As he closed the distance, he parried another strike, using his sword to deflect the creature's claws. This time, he didn't hesitate. He stepped into the attack, pivoted, and drove the blade forward again. It plunged deeper this time, and with a final, ferocious shove, Arlen twisted the blade, severing the creature's innards.
It let out a guttural howl, the sound echoing through the air, before collapsing to the ground with a final thud. Arlen stood over it, chest heaving, his sword still lodged in the creature's body. He stared down at it, feeling a mixture of disbelief and triumph.
I did it.
But the moment of victory was fleeting. Another system notification flashed in front of his eyes.
[Enemy defeated: 1/1]
[Flame Embrace, Skill unlocked!]
Arlen's heart raced as the words registered in his mind. His breath caught in his throat as he realized what had just happened. The system hadn't just tested him—it had changed him. And for the first time, he felt the fire of Kaelion's legacy burning within him.
Arlen collapsed to his knees, his body shaking as the weight of the moment pressed down on him. He couldn't breathe. The sword still felt warm in his hand, the battle's adrenaline still coursing through him. He had done it. He had killed.
He looked down at the creature's lifeless body, a pool of dark, viscous blood seeping from the gaping wound. The beast's jagged, monstrous form was now still, the very thing that had almost torn him apart now nothing more than a broken corpse. Arlen's chest tightened, his breath shallow and erratic.
"So this is how it feels to kill?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. The words tasted foreign, bitter on his tongue. He had never taken a life before, never even considered what it meant.
Before he could process the rush of emotions, the sickness hit. His stomach churned, and without warning, he doubled over and vomited onto the ground. Fear, confusion, and the overwhelming weight of what he had just done surged through him like a tidal wave. The blood, the memories of the creature's claws, the flashing images of its gaping maw—they all collided in his mind.
"What have I done?" Arlen muttered to himself, still kneeling in the blood-soaked dirt. His hands trembled, and his eyes were wide with disbelief. He had killed. Not in defense, not as some instinctive reaction, but with purpose. And the fear that gripped his heart was unlike anything he had ever known. In that moment, the reality of what it meant to be a hunter sank in deep.
Before he could spiral into his own thoughts any longer, a voice cut through the silence like a whip, snapping him back to reality.
"Hoy, Arlen! Move your useless ass over here and take out the packs, you fucking E-rank!" a voice shouted from behind. Arlen spun around to see one of the members of the raid group striding toward him, his face twisted with annoyance.
The harsh words stung, but Arlen didn't have the energy to respond. He quickly shoved his sword into its sheath and stood, still dazed, his legs unsteady beneath him. His mind was clouded, but the demands of the raid group took precedence. He didn't have the luxury to question himself not now. Not here.
As Arlen made his way toward the others, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease. He had just taken a life. The weight of it clung to him, pressing down harder with each step. He tried to push the thought aside. There was nothing he could do now but move forward. He had to keep up with the rest of the group, had to continue playing his part in this dangerous, unforgiving world.
It wasn't until he was near the creature's body again that something caught his eye. There, embedded in its flesh, was a glimmering stone. His curiosity piqued, Arlen bent down to examine it closer. The stone pulsed faintly with energy Flowstone. He had seen it before in the markets, but he had never really understood its worth. Now, standing in front of the dead creature, he knew it was his opportunity.
[Flowstone: Stones that can be sold in the real world for a decent amount of money. The bigger the stone, the higher the price. It's a basic item that hunters often sell for a quick profit.]
Arlen hesitated for a moment, the guilt still gnawing at him, but his hands moved almost automatically. He pried the stone free from the creature's body and tucked it into his pocket. The cold, hard reality of being a hunter had set in, and he couldn't afford to feel pity for the creature anymore. It was kill or be killed. Survival meant doing whatever was necessary.
He walked toward the rest of the group, the stone burning a hole in his pocket. His heart was still racing, but he pushed the thought of his first kill aside as he focused on the task ahead. His day had just begun, and it was already a nightmare.
The group of thirteen hunters had gathered their gear and were ready to head deeper into the dungeon. Arlen, with his heavy pack on his back, followed them into the depths, the air growing colder and more oppressive the farther they went. His mind was still reeling, but he had no choice but to push forward. The dungeon was nearly at its end, and there was one final task to complete: mine the resources and get out with what they could.
As the group advanced through the twisting, dark corridors, the atmosphere grew tense. Everyone knew that the deeper they went, the more dangerous it would become. Each step felt heavier as the realization hit that the end was near.
Then, at the very edge of the passageway, the raid leader's voice rang out.
"Call the rest. We've found the boss room!"
The raid leader's voice was urgent, his command carrying the weight of years of experience. Arlen's heart thudded in his chest. This was it. The moment they had all been waiting for the final challenge of the raid.
Some of the group members rushed ahead to split off and call back the others. It only took a few minutes before the full team was gathered in the dimly lit chamber, all of them ready for the final push.
The leader gathered them together, eyes gleaming with the promise of victory. "Everyone, take a quick break," he ordered. "Prepare yourself. This boss won't go down easy, but the rewards are worth it. Gold, jewels… but most importantly, experience. If we pull this off, we all leave with a piece of the pie. And maybe, just maybe, a level up."
The others grumbled, already settling into a quick rest, pulling out water bottles and rations. Arlen, however, didn't feel the excitement in the air. He couldn't shake the thoughts of the creature he had just slain. But he knew there was no time for weakness, no time for hesitation. The others were relying on him, even if they didn't care to acknowledge it.
After a few moments, everyone was back on their feet, weapons in hand, and their faces set with grim determination. They knew that the boss would be dangerous hell, they wouldn't have been this cautious if it wasn't. But the promise of experience, of a chance to grow stronger, was enough to ignite the fire of ambition in each one of them.
As they entered the boss room, the air grew thick, charged with the promise of battle. The walls were adorned with ancient carvings, the ground uneven and cracked as if something immense had once walked here. Arlen's stomach twisted in anticipation.
The boss whatever it was waited for them. And as the group spread out and prepared for the battle, Arlen found himself standing at the back of the group, sword ready, but his mind still racing. The trials were far from over.
The air in the boss room was thick with tension, the oppressive atmosphere almost suffocating. The flickering torches along the walls cast long shadows that danced across the cracked stone floor, their light wavering like the uncertain hearts of those who stood before the looming threat. As Arlen stepped into the chamber, his eyes were immediately drawn to the center of the room.
In the midst of the room, a small group of undead stood—zombies with gaping mouths and hollow, lifeless eyes. Their decaying forms shuffled aimlessly, a sickening reminder of the horrors that lurked within the dungeon. But it wasn't the zombies that commanded attention. It was the undead sorcerer, standing tall and imposing among the horde.
Arlen's heart skipped a beat. Sorcerers—anyone who could wield magic—were no small threat. They were usually found only in higher-tier dungeons, C-rank and above. This wasn't a C-rank dungeon. Something didn't add up.
The sorcerer raised its arms, its ragged cloak swirling as it muttered words in a language Arlen couldn't understand. The ancient dialect echoed through the chamber, its foreign syllables harsh and unintelligible.
"Arg Ugrta Kel, Jow Frige Kalter orw!" the sorcerer intoned, its voice carrying a deep, otherworldly resonance. The words slithered through the air like a curse, sending a chill down Arlen's spine.
Then, just as suddenly as the language had begun, a voice, clear and resonant, rang in Arlen's ears. It was in perfect, familiar tongue.
"You who have entered, shall know my wrath and die."
A wave of confusion washed over Arlen. The sorcerer's words, foreign and menacing just moments before, now spoke in the common tongue. How could that be? How was he hearing it in his own language? He shook his head, his thoughts struggling to catch up with what was happening.
The other hunters, however, seemed unfazed by the sudden change. Laughter echoed through the chamber as the fighters and brawlers cracked their knuckles, preparing for the battle ahead.
"Looks like we've got ourselves a show!" one of the fighters shouted, his voice filled with bravado. He stepped forward, swinging his massive sword in anticipation. "Let's make quick work of this undead scum!"
Arlen watched in awe as the group mobilized, their coordination seamless, each hunter falling into the roles they were best suited for. His stomach twisted with unease. Was he truly prepared for this? His mind flashed back to the creature he had just killed, the weight of it still heavy on him. And now, this—an entire boss room filled with the undead, led by an undead sorcerer. It felt too much for him.
As the battle began, the hunters surged forward in a wave of deadly precision. The marksmen, skilled archers, spread out behind the front line, their sharp eyes tracking the movements of the zombies and skeletons. Their arrows flew with deadly accuracy, piercing through the decaying corpses with ease. Each shot found its mark, cutting down the enemies one by one.
[Marksmen: Hunters whose power and proficiency come in the form of support from long range.]
Behind them, the fighters and brawlers rushed headfirst into the fray. The fighters—seasoned warriors, their muscles bulging and their weapons gleaming—tore through the zombies with vicious slashes. They were the backbone of the group, skilled in hand-to-hand combat, their strength and willpower unshakable. They had no fear as they waded into the horde, cutting down the mindless creatures without hesitation.
[Fighters: Strong-willed hunters who specialize in close combat and raw strength.]
Beside them, the brawlers fought with a ferocity that made Arlen's stomach turn. These hunters didn't rely on armor or weapons. Their fists, honed through years of brutal training, delivered devastating blows. Their strikes were powerful enough to shatter bone, to crush the undead beneath them. They moved with fluidity and purpose, devastating anything in their path.
[Brawlers: Hunters who cannot wear armor but deliver devastating strikes with their bare hands. Known for having the highest potential.]
The vanguards stood firm at the rear, heavily armored and resolute. They formed a protective wall for the rest of the group, their shields raised high as they absorbed the blows from the zombies and skeletons that tried to push past. With their solid defenses, the vanguards allowed the others to focus on attacking without worry, their presence the backbone of the party's formation.
[Vanguards: A class of heavily armored hunters who can withstand immense damage and protect the rest of the party.]
There were no casters, no enchanters, and no healers in the party—those roles were rare, difficult to come by, and often too expensive to maintain. The hunters in this raid relied on their strength, their weapons, and their skill to carry them through. No one could afford to rely on magic or healing. It was a raw, brutal fight, one that demanded they rely on their own bodies and wits.
[Casters: Hunters who can cast spells.]
[Enchanters: Hunters with no offensive capabilities, but skilled in buffing and debuffing allies and enemies.]
[Healers: The rarest of all classes. Healers are highly sought after for their ability to restore health, but they come at a steep price.]
As the battle raged on, Arlen felt a surge of adrenaline. The room seemed to shrink around him as the clash of steel against bone echoed through the chamber. His hands gripped his sword tightly, the weight of it a comforting reminder that he was still part of this team, even if he didn't feel like he belonged.
The marksmen continued their barrage, thinning out the ranks of the skeletons and zombies. The fighters hacked through the remaining undead with grim determination. The brawlers moved with an unmatched viciousness, their fists tearing through their enemies' skulls like paper. And the vanguards—well, they held the line, never wavering, never breaking.
But the sorcerer—Arlen's eyes kept coming back to it. The undead sorcerer stood at the back, watching the chaos unfold, its eerie presence casting a shadow over the entire battlefield. It hadn't moved. It hadn't even raised a finger to join the battle. Yet, Arlen could feel the weight of its gaze, as if the sorcerer was studying them, waiting.
Then, with a sudden flick of its wrist, the sorcerer spoke again. This time, the words were clearer, more precise, and the room trembled as an unnatural power surged through the air.
"Fools," the sorcerer intoned in a voice that seemed to reverberate in Arlen's very bones. "You dare challenge me? I shall show you the power of the dead!"
The sorcerer's hands glowed with dark energy, and as it raised its arms, the ground beneath their feet began to quake. Arlen stumbled, his balance faltering. Around him, the other hunters were reacting to the change in the atmosphere, their faces grim as they realized what was about to happen.
The undead sorcerer's eyes glowed with a malevolent light, and before anyone could react, the ground erupted. The air crackled with dark energy as skeletal hands burst forth from the earth, grabbing at the hunters' legs, pulling them down into the dark depths below.
Arlen's heart pounded in his chest as he narrowly avoided being dragged into the earth. He swung his sword, severing the skeletal hand that was reaching for him, but he knew that the real battle had only just begun. The sorcerer's wrath had been unleashed. And if they didn't act fast, this raid would become their tomb.