Chapter 127: First Blood, First Core [ 1 ]

Chapter 127: First Blood, First Core [ 1 ]

Night had draped itself over Greyvale like a heavy blanket soaked in ink, and even the Gryphon District, usually bustling enough to feel eternal, was beginning to settle into a quieter rhythm of distant hooves, closing shutters, and the occasional drunken laugh fading down an alleyway.

Inside the Adventurer Guild, however, the air still held the clean scent of polished marble, fresh ink, and that faintly luxurious aroma of new furniture before it was marred by sweat and spilled drinks.

Sage sat behind the reception counter he was still getting used to calling his own. His posture was relaxed, but his mind raced with thoughts as sharp as a hunting hawk; the calmness of the hall felt superficial compared to his internal whirlwind.

He had spent the last few hours returning to what he always turned to when the world felt too vast, his notes, diagrams, incantation patterns, and the geometry of magic circles.

For a mage, knowledge wasn’t just power; it was survival. Ignorance was a blade that could strike without warning.

Just as he was about to close his notebook, stretch out his limbs, and finally head upstairs for sleep, already envisioning how soft his bed would feel, a series of system notifications rang in his head.

[Ding!]

[Dungeon coordinates detected.]

[Three unstable dungeon portals forming.]

Sage blinked slowly at the words as if willing them to rearrange into something less inconvenient. Leaning forward with elbows on the desk, disbelief creased his brow.

"Three?" he murmured under his breath, clearly shocked.

[Yes.]

The system replied with an urgency that cut through its earlier smugness.

[Formation windows are short. Claim priority recommended. Projecting map.]

[As a 2-Star Intermediate Mage, you can conquer these dungeons but exercise caution; their danger levels range from Low to Advanced.]

Sage narrowed his eyes at this news. While he had recently achieved 2-Star status through relentless training and breakthroughs, he trusted the system’s judgment enough not to dismiss its warnings entirely.

Suddenly, a pale-blue projection flickered into existence before him like a ghostly blueprint suspended in midair. It displayed Greyvale and its surroundings with uncanny precision: roads and districts traced in luminous lines while hill ridges and forest borders pulsed like veins.

Three points of light ignited one after another within this map, each beating steadily like hearts that didn’t belong in this realm.

One point lay northeast; another west-southwest; and one deeper south, a distance irritating yet reachable if he moved swiftly enough.

Sage stared at the projection for a moment before exhaling sharply through his nose and standing up with quiet determination. He didn’t call anyone else to join him, not because he considered himself brave but because these dungeons hadn’t fully formed yet.

Meaning no one else had noticed them, every wasted second was a moment the nobles could awaken, and once their eyes opened, they wouldn’t close until they possessed whatever caught their gaze.

Sage grabbed his satchel, checked the notebook tucked inside, slipped on his coat, and left the Guild like a thief determined to steal fate itself that night.

The streets were nearly deserted as he navigated through them. Behind him, the Guild stood like a new heart in the district, alive, breathing, expanding, devouring attention.

This only heightened the urgency of the system’s warning; dungeons weren’t disasters in this world, they were treasure vaults, and treasure always attracted conflict.

Sage followed the projected route hovering faintly in his vision, crossing out of the city’s sleeping belly into the outskirts where roads grew rougher.

Grass grew wild here, and the wind carried scents of wet stone and soil. After nearly an hour of steady movement, he finally spotted what he sought, not a cavern or ruin or some dramatic crack in the sky, but a place where even the air seemed distorted.

Between two leaning stone outcrops shimmered a distortion like heat haze trapped in a perpetual loop.

It bent reality behind it in ways that made Sage’s eyes ache. Gradually thickening into something more defined, a vertical oval, it appeared to push outward from nothingness.

The edges brightened, pale and translucent, like a door crafted from condensed moonlight. Mana bled from it in invisible pressure waves that made Sage’s skin prickle as if needles pressed against him from all directions.

"This is a portal," Sage muttered under his breath. The fact that it formed so cleanly amidst open land felt both natural and unnatural at once, as if reality had decided that doors leading elsewhere were perfectly normal.

He paused ten paces away, lifted his hand, and for the first time since arriving in this world, felt something other than greed or excitement, he felt caution, the kind sensible people experience before stepping into places where rules could change without warning.

Still, he couldn’t linger debating with himself like some philosopher in a tavern; time was short, and noble eyes were always hungry. Sage inhaled deeply to let mana circulate through his core before stepping forward.

Crossing the threshold didn’t feel like walking; it felt like being peeled off reality and pressed into another layer of existence. When his boots hit stone, night air vanished behind him as if it had never existed.

He found himself inside a damp and cold cavern corridor with rough walls that swallowed sound whole.

As if anticipating visitors, torchlight bloomed along the walls in pale orange bursts, each flame igniting with soft fwooms that cast jagged shadows throughout the corridor.

Sage’s first instinct was to locate an exit. Behind him loomed the swirling portal like a nebula, but deep down he sensed that unless he conquered this dungeon, leaving might not be an option.

His throat tightened slightly, and for a brief moment, he felt the most primal fear a human could experience, being trapped. He quickly forced it down with sheer willpower; after all, fear was only useful if it made you smarter, and right now, he needed to outsmart the dungeon.

A slow, wet scraping sound echoed ahead, and then the monster crawled into view, not with dramatic leaps or roars like a storybook beast but with a predatory quietness that was far more unsettling.

It resembled a wolf fused with insect plating, its segmented armor overlapping its shoulders and spine. Blind, glassy eyes reflected torchlight while mandibles flexed with faint clicks as if tasting the air.

[ Ding!]

[ Dungeon Monster Detected ]

[ Threat Level: Low ]

As Sage listened to the system notifications, his mind raced faster than his body could react. Unfortunately, his body lagged behind just as the monster lunged.

It covered ground with terrifying speed, claws scraping against stone.

SKRRRRAAANCH!

Instinct kicked in as Sage snapped his hand forward, channeling mana into wind like he had practiced countless times on the training grounds. But practice didn’t prepare him for death charging at him.

"O breath that obeys my will..."

A pale circle flickered into existence before him. Thin lines of geometry formed too quickly and slightly crookedly; runes snapped into place like hurried handwriting. The moment the circle stabilized, compressed air detonated beneath his feet.

BOOM!

The wind spell misfired, not lifting him cleanly backward but throwing him sideways like a rag doll. He slammed shoulder-first into a rock pillar with a brutal bang! that rattled his bones.

Pain exploded across his ribs as he tasted blood in his mouth. That’s when he realized, a training ground dummy never punished you for being sloppy; a dungeon monster did so instantly and without mercy.

The beast’s mandibles snapped where his throat had been; he felt the vibration in his jaw as Sage rolled hard, scraping his elbow on stone before forcing himself upright with a hiss.

"Alright," he spat through gritted teeth, eyes narrowing. "Let’s stop pretending I’m in control."

He raised his hand again and channeled mana into another spell.

He had practiced lightning the least because it demanded precision, and precision required calmness, which was difficult when something wanted to bite your head off. Still, he spoke:

"O thunder that sleeps in the sky, answer the call of my blood and mind."

A magic circle formed, this one sharper and more angular, with runes snapping into place in cold blue light. The air inside crackled violently as electric charge condensed.

"Strike!"

A bolt tore outward, ugly and unstable at first as it twisted like a whip across the corridor.

KRA-KOOM!