The morning in Esmoril was a fragile thing, draped in the gossamer silks of a Silverwood mist.
The capital city of the north was a jewel of marble and living wood, but the Esmoril Adventurers' Guild was a different world entirely—a cauldron of sweat, iron, and the desperate ambition of men who traded their lives for gold coins.
Blade pushed open the massive oak doors, the hinges groaning under the weight of centuries.
He stepped into the hall, his crimson-red hair catching the shafts of sunlight that pierced the smoky atmosphere.
He wore his bright red leather adventurer's gear, the gold trim gleaming with a fake but convincing heroism. On his face was the "Blade Lunaria" mask—a wide, cheerful smile that reached his eyes, a perfect antithesis to the cold void of Shujin.
He walked toward the counter with a spring in his step, his hand resting casually on the hilt of the broadsword wrapped in tattered cloth on his back.
"Oh, Blade-san! You're early today," the receptionist, Mina, said with a genuine smile. Among the guild's staff, Blade was a favorite—a "lovable failure" who had finally found his stride after failing his test four times.
"I've rested long enough, Mina-san," Blade replied, his voice bright and energetic.
"The bed at the inn was too soft; I'm starting to get lazy. Any quests that will actually make me work for my dinner?"
Mina's expression turned serious. She reached under the counter and produced a parchment stamped with the guild's official black seal.
"This one just came back to us. It's an unfinished A-rank dungeon-clearing request for the Abyssal Vein. Three parties have attempted it in the last month. None have returned."
Blade took the parchment, his red eyes scanning the details. He felt a faint, familiar resonance. Abyssal mana. A leak from the core. His lips curved into that practiced, heroic smile.
"Perfect. I'll take it."
"Hey, Blade!" a boisterous voice called out from the guild's tavern area.
Lance and Yuria approached him. Lance was a warrior in polished plate armor, a man who radiated a standard, soldier-like confidence.
Yuria, a mage in azure robes, offered a gentle nod. They had been part of a temporary alliance with Blade for the last week, forming what the local tabloids had begun calling "Team Ashlight."
"Ready for something big today?" Lance asked, clapping a hand on Blade's shoulder.
"We heard about the Abyssal Vein too," Yuria added, her eyes sparkling with a friendliness that didn't quite reach the muscles around her pupils.
"Why don't we clear it together? An A-rank reward would pay for our equipment upgrades for the next year."
Blade looked at them, his red eyes seemingly full of trust. But beneath the "Blade" persona, the mind of Kiyoshi Ishida was already running a diagnostic.
Lance's pulse: 110. Elevated. Yuria's mana signature: flickering at 14.5 cycles—intentional suppression. They aren't excited; they're prepared.
"Alright," Blade chirped, his voice a masterpiece of naive enthusiasm.
"Let's finish it properly. I'd hate to leave a job half-done."
So... it finally begins, he thought as he turned toward the exit.
---
The Abyssal Vein Dungeon sat in the throat of the black mountains north of Esmoril.
The entrance was a jagged maw in the obsidian rock, from which a thick, purple mist leaked like the breath of a dying god. The air here was heavy, saturated with a demonic energy that made the skin crawl.
"This place feels like hell," Lance muttered, drawing his longsword. The weapon glowed with a faint holy enchantment, but the light was quickly smothered by the encroaching gloom.
"Let's not waste time."
The three stepped inside. The temperature plummeted, the damp stone walls covered in a bioluminescent moss that pulsed with a sickly, rhythmic violet light.
They encountered the dungeon's guardians almost immediately—C-rank goblins and B-rank corrupted ogres.
Blade moved with a reckless, "talented amateur" style. He swung his broadsword with immense power, his movements appearing slightly unpolished yet terrifyingly fast.
Each strike was accompanied by a burst of crimson flames, incinerating the monsters before their ichor could hit the floor.
"You're fast, Blade-kun," Yuria said, her staff glowing as she finished off a straggler with a fireball.
"Or maybe you're just slow, Yuria-chan!"
Blade replied bluntly, laughing as he wiped a smear of soot from his forehead.
Lance laughed along, but his eyes were fixed on the back of Blade's neck.
"Alright, alright. Save your strength for the big fight! We haven't even hit the inner chamber yet."
Hours passed as they navigated the winding stone pathways. The deeper they went, the more the world of Silverwood felt like a distant dream.
Finally, they reached a vast, domed chamber illuminated by pillars of flickering blue fire. In the center, a battalion of armored goblins stood guard, led by a massive Goblin King and his Queen.
"Finally, the big ones," Yuria said, her voice dropping into a professional chill.
"Let's end this quickly," Blade replied. He didn't wait for a plan. He exploded forward, his boots cracking the stone.
He met the Goblin King head-on. The monster roared, raising a jagged, rusted cleaver, but Blade's sword flashed once—a horizontal arc of crimson heat. The King's head fell cleanly to the ground, the wound cauterized before it could bleed.
Behind him, Yuria's magic erupted—Flame Chain!—wrapping the remaining battalion in a grid of fire.
Lance followed up, leaping into the air and crushing the Queen with a single, brutal overhead strike.
Silence fell over the chamber. The only sound was the crackle of the blue torches. The monsters crumbled into grey dust, as was the law of the dungeon.
But... nothing happened.
The glowing runes on the floor—ancient sigils of a forgotten era—remained active.
In fact, they were shining brighter, turning from violet to a deep, bruised indigo.
"Wait..." Blade murmured, his voice losing its "cheerful" pitch.
"Why hasn't the dungeon collapsed? The Master is dead."
The ground began to tremble. Not the minor vibration of a structural shift, but a tectonic groan.
Cracks spread across the walls like veins, and an overwhelming magical presence—one that felt like a localized void—flooded the air.
A voice echoed through the chamber, resonant and grating like stone grinding against stone.
"How long have I waited... for prey worthy of my dungeon."
From beneath the shattered floor, a massive figure rose. It was a titan of obsidian armor, ten feet tall, its body wreathed in black mana that flowed from its claws like liquid ink. Its eyes were twin pits of burning crimson.
Lance and Yuria stepped back, but they didn't raise their weapons in defense. Instead, they stood in a state of grim anticipation.
Blade narrowed his red eyes, his hand tightening on his sword hilt. He turned his head slightly, profiling his 'allies.'
"You two... you knew this would happen, didn't you?"
Yuria's gentle smile sharpened into a jagged, cruel expression.
"We did. And you walked straight into the trap, Blade. You really should have stayed a failure."
Lance pointed his sword at Blade, his heroic facade discarded.
"Our goal was to earn your trust, lure you into a zone where the guild's scrying could not reach, and kill you before our Master's greatest creation. You should feel honored, brat. You're the first 'hero' the Master of Shadows will lose."
Blade let out a quiet, hollow sigh. The "Blade Lunaria" mask didn't break; it simply evaporated. His posture changed.
The reckless, bouncy energy vanished, replaced by a pressurized stillness.
"I see," Blade said, his voice now a low, resonant bass that made Lance's sword-hand tremble.
The obsidian demon laughed.
"So you are the one they call Blade. The avatar... the puppet of the Darkness Lord. Shujin's little pet."
The name Shujin echoed through the chamber like a death knell.
Lance grinned, thinking he had the upper hand.
"So it's true... you're not an adventurer at all. You're just his pawn. A vessel for a greater monster."
Blade stared at them, his red eyes now glowing with a terrifying, predatory clarity.
"You've made two mistakes."
The air grew heavy—the mana pressure became so absolute that the blue torches flickered out, leaving only the demonic crimson of the monster's eyes.
"First," Blade continued, his voice echoing from the Abyss itself,
"you assumed I didn't know your intent from the moment we met in the tavern. You hide your mana like children playing in the mud."
Cracks spread beneath Blade's feet as his suppressed core began to leak.
"Second," he drew his sword, the black edge igniting with a violet-black shadow flame that devoured the surrounding light,
"you forgot who truly controls the darkness of this world."
As the temperature surged, Lance and Yuria froze for a single heartbeat.
The demon, sensing the shift in the hierarchy of power, roared and attacked first. Its massive claw slammed down like a hammer, but Blade wasn't there.
He leapt upward, a blur of crimson and shadow, countering with a devastating slash that carved through the demon's reinforced obsidian arm.
Black, viscous blood splattered across the floor, hissing as it touched the stone.
"Impossible!" Yuria gasped, her Barrier Flame flickering out as the pressure of Blade's aura crushed her concentration.
"He's—he's too fast! This isn't Rank-A!" Lance shouted, stumbling back.
Blade landed silently, his gaze fixed on the demon.
"I'll deal with you two later," he said, his voice a promise of future pain. "First, let me clean up the mess you brought into my world."
The demon roared again, summoning pillars of black fire from the floor.
Blade raised his hand, his purple and gold wristbands glowing as the suppression runes struggled to hold back the tide.
"Darkflame Rend," he whispered.
A wave of violet-black energy erupted from his palm. It didn't collide with the demon's fire; it erased it.
The magic tore through the pillars like paper and struck the demon's chest, creating an explosion that shook the entire mountain.
When the smoke cleared, Blade stood alone before the towering, wounded creature.
He was completely unscathed, his bright red clothes now looking like a shroud of blood. His aura had fully transitioned—he was no longer a boy, but a terrifying blend of god and demon.
"You wanted prey," Blade said softly, lifting his sword toward the monster's throat. "Now you've found it."
On his right shoulder, a tiny, Invisible Slime pulsed. Far away, in the Esmoril Guild, Guild Master Varun watched the scene on a magic screen with a face of pure, unadulterated shock.
The hunt had only just begun.
---
✦ To be continued...