Draconar stood in the center of the ruined chamber, his massive form towering over the broken stone floor. His clawed hand gripped the Sage's collar, lifting the man slightly off the ground as if he weighed nothing. The air around them vibrated with pressure—dense, suffocating, heavy with draconic authority.
The Sage's breathing was uneven. Fear had already taken control of his body.
Draconar's eyes burned like molten embers as he spoke, his voice calm but filled with absolute dominance.
"So," he said coldly,
"what do you truly want… and who is your master?"
For a brief second, silence filled the chamber.
Then the Sage made his move.
Gathering the last of his mana, he raised his remaining hand and unleashed a high-tier spell.
"Glazzier Strike!"
A violent surge of arcane energy exploded forward, tearing through the air toward Draconar. The spell carried power far beyond ordinary magic—its output exceeded Level 150, a force that could overwhelm even high-ranking monsters. Even a dragon-class entity of Level 170 would struggle to block such an attack directly.
But Draconar did not move.
He inhaled.
And then—
A torrent of Fire Breath erupted from his jaws.
The two forces collided.
Magic and dragonfire clashed violently, shaking the chamber, sending shockwaves through the dungeon walls. For a moment, the Sage believed—hoped—that the spell might break through.
It didn't.
The dragonfire consumed the magic completely.
The spell shattered like glass.
The Sage froze.
His mind collapsed into despair.
Impossible…
This power… this output…
Even a high-level dragon shouldn't be able to block this so easily…
But Draconar had done more than block it.
He had erased it.
The Sage's arm was already gone—severed earlier by Draconar's claws. Blood flowed heavily, his body weakening with every second. His legs trembled. His mana was nearly depleted. His mind searched desperately for escape, for another spell, for anything.
There was nothing.
Draconar stared at him.
And spoke a single word.
"Kneel."
The command wasn't just sound.
It was authority.
A crushing aura exploded outward from Draconar's body—his draconic pressure flooding the chamber like a tidal wave. The Sage's knees slammed into the ground as if the world itself had forced him down.
His mind screamed.
His heart pounded.
His soul trembled.
Inside his thoughts, terror formed into words:
This power…
He… he's even stronger than the Leader…
Draconar stepped forward, his presence suffocating.
His voice lowered, carrying controlled fury.
"Do not even think about escaping," he said.
"I will ask again. Who are you working for?"
Then his voice hardened.
"If you stay silent," he continued,
"I will tear your bones apart again and again."
Draconar's claws moved.
Pain followed.
Not chaotic violence—controlled, deliberate cruelty.
Then—
Light.
Healing magic.
The wounds closed.
The blood stopped.
The body was restored just enough to suffer again.
Then the claws returned.
Pain.
Heal.
Pain.
Heal.
Time passed in torment.
Finally, the Sage broke.
His voice was weak, trembling, broken.
"A-Alliance…" he whispered.
"I am from the Continental Alliance."
Blood spilled from his mouth as he coughed violently.
Then he continued, struggling to breathe.
"The Alliance is searching for something on the seventh floor… someone…"
His voice weakened.
His eyes lost focus.
His body began to collapse again.
Draconar healed him once more.
Not out of mercy.
Out of control.
Draconar's form began to shift.
Scales receded.
Wings folded away.
His massive dragon body transformed into a humanoid form—tall, imposing, still radiating monstrous authority.
He walked forward slowly.
Calmly.
He grabbed the Sage's head and leaned close, whispering into his ear.
"If you lie," Draconar said quietly,
"you know the consequence."
The Sage shook violently.
"O-Okay… okay… I'll tell you everything…"
Time passed.
Information was extracted.
Truth was forced out.
And when there was nothing left to say—
The Sage was killed.
Without ceremony.
Without hesitation.
His body was then burned completely by Draconar's flames, leaving nothing but ash.
Silence returned to the chamber.
Draconar stood alone.
His thoughts formed slowly.
The Alliance is searching for a crystal-shaped artifact…
More precisely… something like a monster core within the dungeon.
Memory surfaced.
His master's words echoed in his mind:
"I am collecting artifacts of immense value in this world."
Then the Sage's words returned to him:
"There is a greater power that keeps the Continental Alliance alive to this day."
Draconar's expression hardened.
His voice dropped into a low murmur.
"…They're still not destroyed?"
Black flames began to rise from his body—black dragonfire, dense and violent.
His eyes burned with ancient hatred.
"If you are still in this world," he said,
"then I will be the one who tears you apart."
His voice trembled with rage and memory.
"I still remember the war from hundreds of years ago!"
Outside the dungeon entrance, Rey and his companions had gathered.
The atmosphere was tense—but relieved.
Alex had already arrived.
When he saw Rey, his eyes widened.
"Rey…" he said, his voice shaking slightly,
"finally… finally you're back."
Before Alex could step forward—
Elysa ran from behind.
She threw her arms around Rey and hugged him tightly.
"I'm so glad you're safe," she said softly.
Rey froze.
His body stiffened in shock.
Alex burst into laughter at the scene.
Melvin frowned.
"Elysa," he said,
"what are you doing?"
Realization hit her.
Elysa's eyes widened.
She immediately pulled away from Rey and rushed toward Melvin and Emily instead.
She hugged them both tightly.
"You're both safe… welcome back," she said, her voice shaking.
Tears streamed down her face—not from fear, but relief.
Joy.
Happiness.
But there was also embarrassment.
Shame.
Her face flushed as she remembered what she had just done.
Rey walked toward Alex.
They shook hands firmly, looking directly at each other.
"Is everything okay, Alex?" Rey asked.
Alex exhaled heavily, his expression tense and irritated.
"This is all because of the Arden family," he said.
"They're pressuring Clan Origin."
Rey's expression remained calm, steady, unshaken by the tension surrounding them.
He looked at Alex and spoke with quiet certainty.
"Don't worry," Rey said.
"We will win this tournament."
Alex smiled faintly, studying him more carefully now.
"I can feel your aura growing stronger," he said.
"Did you gain a great opportunity inside the dungeon?"
Rey let out a soft laugh.
"I'll tell you everything later," he replied.
"But for now, our focus is the tournament. What rank is Clan Origin currently in?"
Alex straightened proudly, his posture confident.
"Hey," he said with a smug expression,
"do you really doubt the strength of your companions?"
He smirked.
"Of course we're in first place. But…"
Rey immediately noticed the hesitation.
His eyes sharpened.
"What happened?" he asked.
Alex's expression darkened slightly.
"If we get second place in this round," he said,
"we'll drop to third rank overall."
Rey's eyes widened.
"How did it come to that?" he asked.
Alex exhaled slowly.
"On my way here," he said,
"I heard that Clan Aegis and Clan Obsidian suffered heavy losses."
His voice hardened.
"They're claiming that Clan Origin is the main reason their members were killed."
Rey clenched his fist.
His aura stirred faintly.
"Don't they know what happened before?" he said seriously.
"The power of that monster far surpassed normal human limits."
Before Alex could respond—
A voice echoed from nearby.
"You people from Clan Origin truly cause endless trouble!"
A man stepped forward.
Helberg.
His presence was heavy, authoritative, carrying the air of someone used to power and command.
Helberg's eyes burned with hostility as he spoke again.
"Don't even think about running away," he said coldly.
"You will be punished for what happened."
Rey turned toward him calmly.
"Hey," Rey said,
"are you sure you want to accuse Clan Origin like that?"
Helberg sneered.
"Who are you?" he said arrogantly.
"You're nobody. Step back before my men teach you a lesson."
The air changed.
Rey's aura surged.
Not violently.
Not explosively.
But densely.
Power pressed outward like invisible pressure.
"I am Ace."
The moment the name left his lips—
Fear struck Helberg's heart.
His breath caught.
His body stiffened.
A familiar sensation washed over him.
But this time, the aura was thicker, heavier, more oppressive than before.
Helberg's mind whispered:
This feeling…
It's the same as that time…
His memory flashed back.
The day the Rosenveil family arrived in the nation of Christope.
The day they sought to visit Clan Origin after Clan Origin had cleared the seventh floor.
That day—
Even Katarina had been powerless before Rey's aura.
Helberg's lips trembled.
"Ace…" he muttered.
"Duke Ace…"
His voice faltered.
"I apologize for my rudeness," he said stiffly.
"This is… just a misunderstanding."
Rey began to walk forward.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Each footstep felt like pressure crushing Helberg's chest.
Not because Rey was releasing all his power—
But because even controlled restraint was overwhelming.
Rey knew the tournament was still ongoing.
He restrained himself deliberately.
His voice was cold.
"A misunderstanding?" Rey said.
"The Arden family has repeatedly used their authority to suppress Clan Origin."
His eyes hardened.
"Do you think I will remain silent?"
Helberg's expression twisted with anger.
"Do you think you're the only Duke in this nation?" he snapped.
"Do you think your power is already at the peak?"
His voice sharpened.
"You still don't know the true power of the Arden family."
Rey fell silent.
His mind began calculating.
Helberg was a powerhouse—almost equal to Duke Edric.
The Hartz family remained neutral.
The Arden family had backing from the Rosenveil family.
But—
Foreign royal families could not interfere in internal national affairs.
Rey narrowed his eyes slightly.
Unless…
There is another force inside the Arden family itself.
Helberg burst into laughter.
"Hahahaha!"
"Now you're thinking carefully about opposing the Arden family?"
Rey spoke quietly.
"Is there another hidden power within the Arden family?"
Then—
His voice rose, firm and absolute.
"Clan Origin will win this tournament."
His words struck like a declaration of fate.
"And the Arden family will be barred from participating in any national administration or military affairs."
His eyes locked onto Helberg.
"Do you dare to bet under these terms?"
Helberg's anger flared.
Rey's words had baited him perfectly.
His pride ignited.
"Fine," Helberg said sharply.
"I accept the bet."
Then his expression twisted into something cruel.
"But I add a condition."
His voice lowered.
"If either Clan Aegis or Clan Obsidian takes first place," he said,
"Clan Origin must be disbanded."
His eyes glinted.
"All assets will be confiscated. Completely."
"Agreed?"
Silence fell.
Then—
Rey smiled.
Not arrogantly.
Not mockingly.
But calmly.
Confidently.
Behind him, Alex saw that smile.
And immediately understood.
Alex stepped forward.
"Fine," Alex said firmly.
"Clan Origin accepts the terms."
His eyes were sharp with resolve.
"We will draft a written contract," he continued,
"and it will be officially signed by the King himself."
Helberg's eyes widened slightly.
But it was too late.
The bet had been made.
The line had been drawn.
The war was no longer hidden.
It had simply changed form.
Not with swords.
Not with armies.
But with tournaments, politics, and power contracts.
And Clan Origin had just stepped onto the battlefield of national destiny.
Helberg's lips slowly curled into a satisfied smile.
Then he laughed loudly.
"Hahahaha! No problem at all," he said confidently.
"We can proceed with the signing immediately. I'm very eager for it."
With that, the atmosphere shifted.
The confrontation ended—not with violence, but with agreement.
Not with blades—but with contracts.
Soon after, everyone began moving toward the tournament grounds.
At the tournament site, representatives from every clan gathered to submit their reports. Each faction presented damage records, casualty lists, dungeon incidents, and incident explanations. The area was filled with tension, arguments, and political pressure.
After long hours of chaos and dispute, the referee finally announced an official decision:
All score calculations would be postponed until the next day.
There were simply too many unresolved issues and complications.
All materials, artifacts, and loot obtained from the second match were handed over to the tournament committee for verification and classification.
However, it was also announced that the second match consisted of two sessions:
• The first session had officially ended
• The second session would resume two days later
The delay was caused by the need to investigate and resolve the problems that had occurred inside the dungeon.
The royal family personally ordered the tournament organizers to strengthen preparations.
No mistakes.
No disruptions.
No chaos.
The tournament was too important to be damaged by negligence.
Carlos and his family moved immediately toward Clan Origin's territory.
They had already heard the news.
Rey had returned.
When they arrived, they were welcomed by Willson and Drax.
Inside the main hall, Rey and the others were already present.
Carlos saw Rey and stepped forward with visible relief.
"Duke Ace," Carlos said respectfully,
"you have finally returned. I was deeply worried when I heard you were trapped inside the dungeon."
Princess Elizabeth then walked forward gracefully.
She bowed respectfully and spoke with sincerity.
"Welcome back, Duke Ace," she said.
"Our entire family was extremely worried when we heard that you had been trapped."
Then—
Elizabeth raised her hands.
In them was an artifact.
She offered it to Rey.
"This is a special sword," she said gently.
"It was forged by the finest craftsman in the royal palace."
Her eyes shone with pride.
"This is a gift from the royal family," she continued,
"as gratitude for Duke Ace's achievements and contributions."
Rey accepted the sword.
The moment he examined it—
His expression changed.
Shock flickered in his eyes.
Name: Basilisk Sword
Tier: Rare
Type: Sword
Class Restriction: None
Bind Status: Soul-Bound (Optional)
Rarity Aura: Emerald-Green Serpent Glow
Scaling: User Level + AGI + STR
Passive Ability
Reptilian Executioner (Passive)
+50% Critical Damage against all reptilian-type monsters:
· Reptilia
· Serpent
· Dragon-kin
· Lizard-type
· Basilisk-type
· Ancient Scale Beast
Special Ability I
True Fang Acceleration
· True Damage Success Rate: +35%
· Movement Speed: +55%
· Attack Speed: +35%
· Visual Effect: Dark-green afterimage during movement
Each attack has a chance to ignore enemy defense (True Damage Proc).
Special Ability II
Summon: Ancient Basilisk
Summons a Basilisk Spirit Beast scaled to user level.
Scaling System:
User Level
Form
Abilities
1–30
Lesser Basilisk
Poison Bite, Fear Aura
31–99
Adult Basilisk
Petrify Gaze (Low Chance), Toxic Breath
100–149
Ancient Basilisk
Stone Curse, True Damage Fang, Area Terror
150+
Basilisk King
Domain of Stone, Absolute Petrification, True Damage Aura
Duration: 3–10 minutes (Level Scaling)
Cooldown: 30–90 minutes (Level Scaling)
Rey's eyes widened slightly.
His heart stirred.
Not fear.
Not doubt.
But pure shock.
A Rare-tier artifact…
But this…
This is already approaching Legendary-tier quality…
And it can summon a spirit beast…
He looked up.
"May I know," Rey asked calmly,
"how the palace craftsman was able to forge such a powerful artifact?"
Inside his mind, his thoughts raced.
This item is almost entering Legendary-tier territory…
And it even contains a summon system…
Elizabeth smiled.
"Oh," she said softly,
"he is the leading craftsman of the Northern Continent."
Her voice carried pride.
"He is one of the three greatest craftsmen in the entire world."
Hearing that—
Rey felt genuine gratitude.
For a long time, he had countless ideas for creating powerful items.
But he had never found a craftsman capable of meeting his standards.
Now—
He finally had a name.
A path.
A possibility.
Rey bowed slightly.
"On behalf of myself and Clan Origin," he said sincerely,
"we thank the royal family for this priceless artifact."
Then his expression became more serious.
"May I request a meeting with the craftsman who forged this sword?" Rey asked.
"There are several matters I wish to discuss with him."
King Carlos nodded calmly.
"Of course, Ace," he replied.
"However, he is a temperamental man."
He smiled faintly.
"He dislikes interacting with people he does not know," Carlos continued.
"But if something truly extraordinary is involved, he gives it his full focus."
Rey smiled in understanding.
"I'm not worried," he said calmly.
"I have my own way of interacting with people like him."
Hearing this exchange—
Alex's eyes sharpened.
He understood Rey too well.
Alex turned to King Carlos.
"That's true, Your Majesty," Alex said.
"I'm certain that craftsman will be extremely interested in what we want to discuss."
King Carlos froze slightly.
Curiosity filled his eyes.
"What is it?" he asked.
But Rey did not answer.
Not yet.
That matter was still a secret.
For now.
King Carlos understood.
He nodded slowly.
"I will arrange a proper time for you to come to the palace," he said.
"You will meet the craftsman there."
Then his expression turned serious.
"Everyone here must keep this craftsman's identity secret," Carlos warned.
"This is the greatest secret of the nation of Christope."
His voice lowered.
"Even the duke families do not know of his existence. Only the royal family knows this truth."
Everyone present understood the weight of those words.
They nodded in silence.
Soon after, King Carlos departed with the Queen and Elizabeth.
Before leaving, he looked at Rey.
"Until we meet again, Ace," he said.
"We will attend the tournament in two days and witness the strength and victory of Clan Origin."
When the royal procession disappeared—
Alex walked over to Rey.
He looked at him suspiciously.
"Hey," Alex said,
"do you have something good planned?"
Rey smiled with excitement.
"You'll see after everything is settled," he replied.
"I need to meet that craftsman first."
His eyes burned with anticipation.
Not for power alone—
But for creation.
For forging.
For the future.