Mary had always dreamed of a simple life — waking up in a warm bed, eating a delicious breakfast with his loving family, going to school, graduating, falling in love, and living happily ever after.

But of course… that was just a wishful fantasy.

From the moment he was born, reality had been far harsher. He grew up in poverty, deep in the underground city. While the underground kept him safe from the cold, it did little to ease the hunger that gnawed at him daily. Food was scarce, and whenever he was lucky enough to have a meal, he ate with gratitude, knowing it might be his last for a while.

Still, he wasn't alone. He had a loving family— parents who protected him, cared for him, and made his life worth living. For twelve years, their warmth kept the darkness at bay.

Until the White Plague took them.

It swept through the outside world and underground city, claiming millions, and his parents were among the countless lost.

But Mary wasn't entirely alone. His distant relatives, despite their own struggles, welcomed him with open arms, ready to care for him. Yet, he refused. They were barely surviving as it was, and he couldn't bear to burden them further.

That didn't mean he cut ties. He visited them almost every day, sharing whatever little he had, bringing laughter to their weary lives.

Now, after six years of relentless hard work and juggling countless odd jobs, he had finally secured a steady position as a bartender at a small but well-known tavern —The Hobbit's Cave.

The tavern was far from glamorous. It reeked of coal and oil from the streets outside, and grime clung to its wooden floors. Yet, none of that stopped people from crowding in for their drinks. Some drank until they could barely stand, others bickered or threw sloppy punches, but no one ever stepped in to stop them — after all, the chaos was part of the charm.

And, in its own way, it was peaceful.

Mary sighed, watching the scene unfold as he absentmindedly wiped a dirty bottle clean.

Simple… What a foreign word.

A firm but gentle hand suddenly rested on his shoulder, pulling him from his thoughts. He turned his head to find his burly, bald boss, Trevor Benkings, towering over him.

"Mary, I need to step out and pick up a few barrels of whiskey and wine," Trevor said in his thick, gravelly accent. "Stay here and make sure the customers don't burn the place down."

He paused for a moment before adding in a more serious tone, "And if the man from outside named Luca Berinsky arrives, you give hi—"

"—Give him the package. Yeah, yeah, I know the drill, boss," Mary finished for him, setting the bottle down. "You should get going before the shop closes."

Trevor grunted in approval, nodding as he turned toward the exit.

"Good. Just don't do anything stupid while I'm gone!"

With that, he was out the door.

Twenty minutes later, the tavern remained unchanged — loud, rowdy, smelly, and as lively as ever.

And Mary? He simply kept wiping down the bar, waiting for whatever the night had in store.

Mary yawned, rubbing his tired eyes as exhaustion crept over him. The night felt endless, but the tavern still had to stay open a while longer. Besides, he had to wait for Trevor to return with the supplies before he could finally close up.

What a tiring day… Mary let out a weary sigh. I really need a vacation or something.

Not that he could afford one. His rent wasn't going to pay itself, and this was the only job that offered decent wages.

Shaking off the thought, he picked up another bottle and lazily wiped it down. The glass was so polished it reflected his face like a mirror.

Long, dark reddish auburn hair tied into a loose ponytail. Hazel-Green eyes, fair skin, and sharp yet unremarkable features. Thin lips, a straight nose — nothing striking, just an average face in an average life.

Mary stared at his reflection for a moment, lost in thought, before wordlessly wiping the bottle again.

For a while, the tavern remained peaceful rowdy, but familiar.

Then, without warning, the front door creaked open.

Mary looked up and froze.

The chatter in the tavern died instantly as the other patrons followed his gaze, their bodies stiffening.

A man stood in the doorway, his appearance out of place in the dimly lit, grimy tavern. He wore pristine, modern clothing — a white mantle-like robe with golden embroidery, paired with crisp white pants and polished black boots. Together with brown leather scabbard belt with a black sword inside it. Beneath the fine attire, his lean yet well-built frame was evident.

His wavy, light brown hair framed a sharp face, his striking red eyes scanning the room with a quiet intensity. A straight nose, natural lips, and a cold, composed expression — all of it combined to make him undeniably handsome.

An outsider!

Mary's eyes widened slightly before quickly composing himself. Outsiders weren't rare in the underground city. They came for many reasons — raiding dungeons, searching for rare aether crystals, conducting shady business, purchasing illicit goods from the black market, or, most commonly, running from murder.

But this one felt… different. Mary couldn't quite put his finger on why. It wasn't just his looks or his refined presence. No, it was something else — something heavier. A suffocating aura clung to the man, making Mary's palms sweat.

The outsider stepped forward, and as if on cue, the customers hurriedly returned to their drinks, pretending not to notice him. Even the two men who had been brawling earlier quietly sat down, suddenly more interested in their ale than in fighting.

Within moments, the man stood directly in front of Mary.

A faint tension crawled up Mary's spine, but he forced himself to remain calm. He had dealt with all kinds of people in this tavern. He knew exactly what to say and, more importantly, what not to say.

Respect. That was the key!

Swallowing his nerves, Mary straightened and spoke politely.

"Good evening, sir. What can I do for you?"

The man studied him in silence, his piercing red eyes unreadable. Then, finally, he spoke.

"I'm here for the Package. Trevor said he would have it ready today."

Without another word, the man reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek identification card, handing it to Mary as proof.

Mary hesitated before taking it, his fingers brushing against the smooth surface. He glanced down at the name and details engraved on it, then exhaled softly: Luca Berinsky, was written there.

So it really is him.

Nodding, Mary placed the card on the counter and said, "Yes, Trevor mentioned you. Give me a moment, I'll get the package for you."

Luca gave a slight nod, his expression unreadable as he muttered, "Take your time. I don't mind."

Mary sighed in relief and nodded before heading to the back of the room. As he pushed open the door, a cloud of dust greeted him, making him sneeze. He sniffled, shaking his head in irritation before stepping inside.

The room was dark and stale, the air thick with dust. He reached for the light switch and flicked it. The bulb flickered weakly before giving out entirely.

"Fantastic," Mary muttered under his breath.

With no other choice, he turned back and made his way to a different storage room, rummaging around until he found a flashlight. Clicking it on, he returned to the darkened space, the dim beam cutting through the shadows as he stepped inside.

Almost immediately, he coughed and sneezed again.

Why does no one ever bother to clean this place?

Mary wondered, though he already knew the answer. The entire tavern was filthy — it always had been, and it always would be. With only him and Trevor running the place, deep cleaning had never been a priority.

Still, it kind of added to the tavern's charm. The place was called The Hobbit's Cave, after all. Maybe the grime was just part of the aesthetic... or maybe that was just a convenient excuse for never cleaning.

After a few minutes of searching, his flashlight beam finally landed on the package.

It was big, long, dusty, And as soon as he picked it up — heavy.

"Gosh, what the hell is in this thing?" Mary grumbled, struggling to lift it. He staggered slightly but managed to haul it out of the room and back to the counter, where he dropped it with a heavy thud.

Panting, he leaned on the counter, taking a few deep breaths.

Across from him, the outsider — Luca, watched with faint amusement in his crimson eyes.

"Are you alright?" Luca asked.

Still catching his breath, Mary gave a weak thumbs-up, forcing a tired smile.

"Oh, that's nothing," he said between breaths. "Just... breathing heavily for fun."

Luca's lips curved slightly.

"Ah, I see. Good for you."

Before Mary could respond, Luca reached for the package and — without any effort —lifted it as if it weighed nothing.

Mary blinked in surprise.

Seriously? I nearly threw my back out carrying that thing!

Without hesitation, Luca tore away the wrappings, revealing a long, sleek black box.

Curiosity burned in Mary's chest. He wasn't the only one — some of the customers nearby had noticed as well, subtly leaning in for a better look from sitting on their chair.

Luca set the box on the counter, his fingers moving deftly over the latches. With a quiet click, the lid lifted.

Mary, unable to resist, took a peek.

And so did half the tavern behind him.

Finally, the black box was opened, revealing its contents.

Gasps echoed throughout the tavern —everyone except Luca stared in awe.

Inside lay a sword.

A long, gleaming silver blade adorned with intricate, ancient symbols. The hilt was masterfully crafted, inlaid with deep red gems that shimmered under the dim tavern light. It was beautiful — yet undeniably deadly.

Mary's breath hitched as recognition dawned on him.

A… Drinker?!

His eyes widened in shock.

A weapon like this — here? In a tavern of all places? Where in the world had Trevor gotten his hands on something this rare?

Unlike the others, Luca remained calm. Without hesitation, he reached out and grasped the sword's hilt, lifting it with practiced ease. He turned the blade in his hands, inspecting it closely before nodding in satisfaction.

"Good to see you again, old friend," Luca murmured, a faint smile touching his lips. "Looks like Trevor took good care of you."

With that, he reached for his waist and pulled out another sword — his old one.

The contrast was stark.

The blackened broadsword was rusted, chipped, and decayed, as if it had endured countless battles, its edge dulled by time and blood.

A strange unease crept over Mary as he eyed the worn weapon. Something about it made him uncomfortable. He quickly shook the feeling away and hesitated before speaking.

"Um… are you, by any chance… a Hunter?"

Luca turned to him, shrugging casually.

"I was. Once." He paused, then added, "Now I'm retired."

Mary nodded in understanding. Retiring from hunting wasn't uncommon, regardless of age. The job was dangerous, exhausting. No one fought demons forever — not unless they were incredibly strong… or completely insane.

Luca studied him for a moment before asking,

"What's your name, kid?"

Mary hesitated before answering.

"It's Mary, sir."

Luca raised an eyebrow, amusement flickering across his features.

"Mary?" He repeated the name, his lips twitching into a faint grin.

Mary's face flushed slightly.

"W-well, my mother really liked the name, so she gave it to me… regardless of what gender I was."

Luca chuckled, nodding.

"I see."

Luca reached into his bag and pulled out a heavy pouch, tossing it onto Mary, he caught it with both hands, nearly dropping it from the unexpected weight.

"It's money," Luca stated. "Tell Trevor I appreciate him keeping my weapon safe."

Without another word, he sheathed his newly reclaimed sword and turned toward the door.

The moment he stepped outside, the tavern quickly returned to normal. Customers turned back to their drinks, resuming their conversations, and the two men who had been brawling earlier? They went right back to fighting.

Mary stood there for a moment, still holding the bag of money, processing what had just happened.

What the hell kind of night is this?

Gripping the heavy bag of coins tightly, he finally snapped back to reality.

"What a strange guy," Mary muttered to himself. His gaze drifted to the bag in his hands. "Damn, this thing is heavy… I wonder how much is in here?"

Just as he was about to check, something on the counter caught his eye.

His stomach dropped.

The black, rusted sword was still there.

"Wait… did that guy forget his sword?"

Frowning, Mary reached out and grabbed the weapon by the hilt.

The moment his fingers curled around it —pain shot through his palm.

"Ah—what the fu—?!"

He immediately let go, the sword clattering back onto the counter. A single drop of blood slid down his hand.

Mary hissed, shaking his stinging fingers. He glanced down at the hilt, eyes narrowing.

That's when he noticed it.

The design around the grip — sharp, needle-like thorns embedded Around the metal hilt.

Who the hell makes a sword hilt like this?

Maey scowled, flexing his sore hand.

And how the hell did that Luca guy hold it like it was nothing?

Taking a deep breath, Mary carefully picked up the sword again — this time gripping it by the crossguard. He glanced toward the tavern, but he wasn't too worried. Trevor had a reputation for beating customers senseless if they caused trouble. No one had the guts to mess with him or The Hobbit's Cave.

With that thought, Mary turned and bolted out the door.

The underground city stretched before him— dimly lit and sweltering. Overhead, a few flickering industrial lamps were attached to the iron walls, casting long shadows over the streets,Mary could also see lights from above the underground walls, flickering like beautiful starlights, even though he never saw the real ones, he heard most of it from books, thinking it might be same as those lights.

Despite the late hour, a few street markets were still open, merchants calling out half-heartedly to potential buyers. People drifted through the darkened alleys, moving like ghosts beneath the city's artificial sky.

Mary weaved through the narrow streets, scanning his surroundings as he ran.

Where could he be?

Don't tell me he already left the underground…?

Then — he saw him.

A familiar figure stood in the distance, right at the mouth of the massive tunnel that led out of the underground city.

Mary's breath caught.

"Hey! Wait—!"

He tried to call out, but before he could reach him, Luca stepped forward — and disappeared into the abyss.

Mary skidded to a stop, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His eyes widened as he stared at the tunnel.

"N-no way…"

Luca had left.

But it wasn't just that.

He hadn't taken the usual passageways.

He had entered the Dungeon — a labyrinth so deadly, no one who went in ever came back.

Mary's fingers tightened around the rusted crossguard, the sharp edges of the hilt biting into his arm once more. He barely noticed.

Instead, mary stood there, frozen, staring into the black, yawning abyss before him.

While a drop of blood slid from his hand, tracing a thin crimson line down the length of the blade.