In a world of pure fantasy were magic takes the stage, legends are formed. There is this dude you know what, just read it your self.

Lance Valtheron had spent three years cleaning up after people stronger than him.

Dungeons were gold mines for adventurers. Monsters dropped rare loot, hidden chambers contained powerful relics, and the strongest could carve their names into legend. But when the battles ended, someone had to stay behind to clean up the mess. That was Lance's job.

A Dungeon Cleaner—the lowest rank in the system.

He crouched beside a corpse, using a rusted knife to pry a mana core from the monster's chest. The core shimmered faintly, its magic fading. It wasn't worth much, but a few silver coins were better than nothing.

"Move faster, Cleaner," Orin called over his shoulder.

Lance gritted his teeth. Orin was the party leader, a mid-ranked swordsman with a smug face and too many kills that weren't his own. Behind him, the rest of the team—Sera, Dain, and Marik—waited impatiently, their weapons still stained with blood from the battle.

"I don't like staying this deep in the ruins," Sera muttered, shifting uneasily. "The air feels… wrong."

Dain, the team's brute, let out a low chuckle. "What, scared of a few broken walls?"

Lance ignored them, working faster. The ruins beneath the Blackthorn Dungeon were ancient, their origins unknown. Adventurers came here for treasure, but rumors whispered of something darker—something waiting in the depths.

Not my problem, Lance thought.

He stood, adjusting the straps of his gear. "Done. We should move."

But Orin didn't.

Instead, he turned toward Lance, resting a hand on his sword. "Yeah… about that."

A cold feeling curled in Lance's stomach. Something was wrong.

Dain stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. "You've been useful, Cleaner. But we can't have you running your mouth about what we found here."

Lance's blood ran cold. "Wait—"

Marik moved first. Pain exploded in Lance's side as a blade stabbed through his ribs.

His breath caught. He staggered, hands clutching the wound as warmth spread down his torso.

Sera looked away, arms crossed. "Sorry, Lance. We don't need dead weight."

Orin sighed. "Nothing personal. We just can't take the risk."

Lance fell to his knees, vision swimming. His heart pounded in his ears, drowning out their words. He wanted to scream, to fight back—but his body wouldn't move.

Distantly, he heard Orin giving orders. "Leave him. The dungeon will finish the job."

Their footsteps faded. The heavy stone doors groaned shut, sealing the ruin.

And Lance was alone.

---

Pain. Darkness. Silence.

Lance lay there for what felt like hours, his blood staining the cold stone. His breaths were ragged, shallow. Every movement sent fire lancing through his body.

He wanted to live.

But what could he do? He was weak. Disposable. A Cleaner, left to die in a forgotten ruin.

No.

Not like this.

His fingers curled against the stone, nails digging into the cracks. He refused to let them decide his fate.

A whisper drifted through the chamber.

He desperately turned and saw a book.

"Do you wish for power?"

screamed, his voice echoing off the stone walls. The tendrils spread rapidly, enveloping his entire body in a cocoon of darkness. He felt himself being lifted off the ground, suspended in mid-air as the book's power surged through him.

Images flashed before his eyes—ancient battles, forgotten spells, and secrets of the universe. Knowledge flooded his mind, threatening to overwhelm him. Lance's body convulsed as he struggled to contain the influx of power.

Suddenly, the tendrils retreated, and he collapsed to the floor, gasping for air. The book lay beside him, now looking ordinary and worn. Lance slowly pushed himself up, his limbs shaking with exertion.

He flexed his fingers, feeling a newfound energy crackling beneath his skin. The cuts and bruises from his earlier battles had vanished. Lance laughed, a sound tinged with both.

Suddenly a wraith hound the ruin boss appeared towering over lance

Lance's laughter died in his throat as he looked up at the massive wraith hound looming over him. Its spectral form shimmered with an otherworldly light, eyes glowing red with malice. Razor-sharp teeth gleamed in a maw large enough to swallow him whole.

This was the ruin boss—a creature that had claimed countless adventurers far stronger than Lance.

Panic seized him. The newfound power coursing through his veins felt distant and unfamiliar. He didn't know how to use it, how to defend himself against this monstrous threat.

The wraith hound's jaws opened wide, a bone-chilling howl echoing through the chamber. It lunged forward, claws extended to tear Lance apart.

Time seemed to slow.

In that moment of terror, Lance passed out. The knowledge from the book surged to the forefront of lance strange marking appeared on his body,He was possessed.

Lance's mind, ancient words of power forming on his lips. Without conscious thought, he thrust out his hand, dark energy crackling between his fingers.

"Void Barrier!" he shouted.

A shimmering wall of shadow materialized before him just as the wraith hound's claws came slashing down. The barrier held, absorbing the impact with a thunderous boom that shook the chamber.

The hound reeled back, surprised by the unexpected resistance. Its red eyes narrowed, focusing on Lance with newfound wariness.

Lance stared at his hands in disbelief. He had never wielded magic before, let alone something this powerful. The book's knowledge swirled in his mind, offering countless spells and techniques he'd never dreamed possible.

The wraith hound snarled, circling him warily. Lance's heart raced, but a strange calm settled over him. He could do this. He would survive.

As the hound lunged again, Lance dodged with inhuman speed. His body moved on instinct, guided by centuries of combat experience now etched into his very being. He countered with a blast of dark energy that sent the creature crashing into a pillar.

The battle raged on, Lance growing more confident with each exchange. He wove spells of shadow and void, countering the hound's spectral attacks. The chamber trembled under the force of their clash, ancient stonework crumbling around them.

Finally, Lance saw his opening. As the wraith hound reared back for a devastating blow, he channeled all his power into one final spell.

"Abyssal Rend!"

A tear in reality itself opened beneath the creature. Howling in fury and fear, the wraith hound was dragged into the void, its form dissolving into wisps of shadow. The rift sealed shut with a thunderous crack, leaving Lance alone in the silent chamber.

He fell to his knees, exhausted but exhilarated. He had done it. He had defeated a ruin boss—something that should have been impossible for a mere Dungeon Cleaner.

As his breathing steadied, Lance's gaze fell upon the book that had granted him this power. He picked it up reverently, feeling the weight of its knowledge and the responsibility that came with it.

This was just the beginning. Lance Valtheron was no longer a disposable pawn. He would rise from these ruins, stronger than ever before. And those who had betrayed him? They would learn to fear the name of the one they left for dead.

With newfound purpose, Lance strode towards the chamber's exit. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear: his days of cleaning up after others were over. It was time to carve his own legend.