But why only the west part of Hell has those fruits?
Kall's boots pounded against the cracked obsidian ground as he ran. The air was heavy with the scent of burning sulfur, each breath a dry scrape in his throat. Ash swirled around him like black snow.
According to The Grimgore, no spirits, no souls, and no ordinary hellborn could enter the West. And that restriction wasn't ancient—it began only two centuries ago.
The book had been precise: Two hundred years ago, the former Emperor of Hell and the 9th Prince of the Hell Royal Kingdom vanished without a trace. In the chaos that followed, the Black Fire Dragon seized the throne. And then, the true destruction began.
Kall could almost picture it—lava floods tearing across cities, molten rivers swallowing mountains whole, towers of obsidian collapsing into the abyss. The Black Fire Dragon's reign was nothing but ruin.
But one detail stood out.
Everything was burned by the lava… except the West.
Kall's brow furrowed as he leapt over a deep fissure spitting embers. Why? Why was the West untouched?
His mind kept circling back to the same question, but there was no time to linger. If the fruit really could protect him from the Black Fire, he needed it before the first guardian even noticed his presence.
---
After nearly an hour of running, Kall skidded to a halt. A shimmering wall of red light stretched across the plains, humming with an ancient, oppressive power. This was the barrier.
For a moment, he simply stood there, chest heaving, feeling the energy radiate from it. The air near the barrier was strangely cool, a sharp contrast to the scorching plains behind him.
He summoned The Grimgore with a sharp thought. The white-clover-covered tome appeared in his hands, its golden veins pulsing faintly.
"Alright, book. Tell me how to get in."
The pages flipped rapidly, but most of what he found was information he had already read. He dug deeper, looking for a clue, a weakness, something. But the answer to his main question—the truth behind the West—remained hidden.
Still, he found something unexpected.
---
The History of Hell's Dragon Clans:
Hell had once been ruled by two ancient dragon bloodlines.
1. The Golden Dragon Clan – Guardians of balance, defenders of the realms, sworn to protect even the weakest demon from annihilation. They were revered by most of Hell's denizens.
2. The Dark Dragon Clan – Ruthless conquerors who believed Hell's true nature was to dominate, destroy, and devour. They sought endless war.
The two clans had clashed for millennia, their battles shaping the very geography of Hell. Yet somehow, the Golden Dragons always managed to push back the darkness, keeping a fragile peace.
That changed the moment the 9th Prince disappeared. With no one left to oppose them, the Dark Dragons crushed their rivals and the Black Fire Dragon ascended the throne. The Golden Dragon Clan was hunted to near extinction.
Kall's eyes lingered on the final line of the page:
For more information… level up to the required threshold.
He groaned. "Figures. Gotta grind my way to the good stuff."
---
Kall snapped the book shut and stared at the barrier. "If I want to be the strongest, I can't sit here thinking forever. I'll take everything head-on."
He clenched his fist and threw a punch at the barrier—
—and his hand simply went through it.
Kall froze, halfway leaning forward, looking like the dumbest man in two worlds. "Wait… I could've just walked in this whole time?"
He dragged a hand down his face, sighed heavily, and stepped forward. The barrier rippled like water as he passed through.
---
The air inside the West was different—cooler, calmer. And yet, it carried a subtle weight, like the atmosphere before a violent storm. The blackened earth gave way to strange red grass that seemed to hum softly under his boots.
Kall felt his skin tingle. His Body Revolution skill was working overtime, keeping his body from wilting under the shifting heat currents. But… something was different.
"Status," he commanded.
The Grimgore opened to a glowing menu. There were two new options: Outfit and Status.
He tapped into Status first. His eyes widened. "As I thought… my skill leveled up."
Body Revolution – Level 5.
He grinned. "Five more steps to an immortal body. Not bad at all."
Curious, he selected Outfit. The text was simple: Think of it, and it shall be.
"Oh… this is dangerous." He smirked. "Alright, let's see how far I can push this."
He closed his eyes and imagined the sleek, glassy surface of a smartphone. A moment later, he opened them—and nearly dropped the book.
It was gone. In its place was a perfect iPhone.
"Holy… You have got to be kidding me. You're telling me this ancient magic book just… turned into a phone?!"
He stared at the device for a long moment, then burst out laughing. "You're either a genius or a complete troll, you motherf—"
---
For a while, he wandered through the endless red grass, but the scenery didn't change. No trees, no mountains, no beasts—just an eerily quiet expanse.
Then, after an hour, he saw it: a forest on the horizon. Dark, towering trees with faintly glowing leaves.
Kall stopped and considered. He knew from the book that Hell's forests were dangerous—home to magical trees, enchanted plants, and predators both beast and monster.
He made his decision. "I'll train outside first. No point rushing in and getting my head ripped off by a squirrel with fire breath."
---
The first week was hellish. Training in the West's fluctuating heat and gravity was brutal. Even simple push-ups felt like lifting mountains. But he persisted.
He used the iPhone-form Grimgore to study the "True Arts of Hell," though much of it was written in a language he couldn't fully understand. The diagrams helped, but more often than not, he was left scratching his head.
Some days, frustration made him want to quit. He'd collapse in the grass, staring up at the crimson sky, wondering why he was even here.
I could just… stop. No one would know. I could wait until I wake up in the real world.
But every time the thought crossed his mind, another rose to crush it.
If I give up here, I'll stay weak. And weak people don't survive.
So he pushed harder.
---
Two months passed. His muscles had hardened, his stamina stretched far beyond what he thought possible, and his speed was like a demon's. His personal stats—strength, stamina, and speed—had all reached level ten.
One morning, he stood at the edge of the forest again. The crimson light filtered through the branches, casting eerie shadows. Somewhere in there, fruits of power and beasts of nightmare waited.
Kall smirked.
"Well… guess it's time to see what Hell's really hiding."
And with that, he stepped into the trees.