Chapter 11: A Dream of the Past

"Sleep well, my little wolf."

The world flickered.

A soft warmth. A tender voice. A mother's embrace.

For a fleeting moment, Alistair felt safe.

Then—the illusion shattered.

His eyes snapped open, revealing the cold, steel interior of a luxury car in motion. The gentle hum of the engine was the only sound in the cabin, accompanied by the faint blur of the outside world rushing past the tinted windows.

He blinked, his cold, black eyes adjusting to reality.

That dream again.

It had been happening more frequently. Fragments of a past long gone, echoes of his mother's warmth—a warmth he would never feel again.

Alistair exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples. Sentimentality was a weakness. Dreams were nothing but remnants of a boy who no longer existed.

He straightened his posture, his hands resting on his lap, clad in his usual dark, noble attire, adorned with subtle black and emerald embellishments—marking his heritage. House Vaelthorne.

One of the most powerful noble families in the Aurelian Empire.

And today, he was headed to one of their guild-controlled dungeons.

---

The Genius of House Vaelthorne

At 16 years old, Alistair was already a D-Rank Awakened, a rank considered exceptional for someone who had only awakened within the past six years.

Most awakened individuals remained at E rank for over a decade, struggling to break past their limits.

But he was different.

A prodigy. A monster in human skin.

That's what the media called him.

"Vaelthorne's Young Demon."

"The Cold-Blooded Prodigy."

"A genius cursed with cruelty."

Even among nobles, he was feared. Admired for his strength. Resented for his brutality.

Not that he cared.

Power didn't need admiration—it only needed acknowledgment.

And today, he would prove once again why he was on a different level.

His destination: The Verdant Abyss.

A D-Rank Dungeon managed by his family's guild, The Verdant Order.

For normal awakened, D-Rank dungeons were lethal. Even teams of well-equipped hunters often struggled.

For him?

Just another training ground.

---

Arrival at the Dungeon

The car slowed to a stop.

Outside, a massive fortified structure stood at the dungeon's entrance. Armed guards and guild officials patrolled the perimeter, ensuring only authorized personnel entered. The Verdant Order took security seriously—dungeon breaks were disastrous.

The moment Alistair stepped out of the car, all eyes turned to him.

Some stared in awe. Others in fear.

A group of hunters whispered amongst themselves.

"That's him…"

"The Vaelthorne prodigy…"

"He's doing a dungeon run alone again?"

"Tch. Freak."

Alistair ignored them. He was used to it.

Without a word, he strode toward the entrance.

A guild official, dressed in a tailored uniform, stepped forward hesitantly.

"Lord Alistair, welcome," the man greeted with a respectful bow. "You've scheduled a solo dungeon run again?"

"Yes," Alistair replied curtly, handing over his identification.

The official swallowed nervously. "A-Are you certain? Even though it's a D-Rank dungeon, it's known for its high monster density—"

Alistair glared.

The man instantly shut up.

The aura radiating from Alistair was suffocating—a presence honed through years of relentless combat and training.

"I don't repeat myself," Alistair said flatly.

The official nodded hastily, motioning toward the entrance.

"Of course, Lord Alistair. You may proceed."

The massive dungeon gate rumbled open, revealing a swirling abyss of green light.

Without hesitation, Alistair stepped forward—into the darkness.

---

The Verdant Abyss – A Dungeon

The moment he crossed the threshold, the atmosphere shifted.

The dungeon was a vast underground labyrinth, its walls entwined with thick, pulsating vines. The air was humid, filled with the scent of damp earth and something… predatory.

Monsters lurked in the shadows. Watching. Waiting.

Alistair drew his sword, a finely crafted black blade infused with nature magic. A weapon forged specifically for him.

Then, without hesitation—

He moved.

---

The first attack came from the darkness.

A massive Venomfang Wolf lunged from the underbrush—its fur bristling with toxic thorns, fangs dripping with corrosive venom.

Too slow.

Alistair's blade flashed.

One clean stroke.

The wolf's head fell to the ground, blood spraying across the cavern floor.

Another movement.

Three more wolves emerged, circling him, their eyes gleaming with hunger.

Alistair exhaled.

Then—he vanished.

In the blink of an eye, he reappeared behind one of the wolves, his blade already descending.

A single strike. A precise cut through the spine.

The second wolf collapsed.

The third pounced—only to be met by a wall of razor-sharp vines.

Alistair extended his left hand, where emerald magic surged, shaping into thorned tendrils that pierced the beast, lifting it into the air before tearing it apart.

Blood splattered onto his dark attire.

But he didn't stop.

More monsters surged forward.

Dozens of them.

Lesser Dryads—twisted, plant-like creatures with humanoid forms.

Razorbeak Raptors—avian predators with talons sharp enough to carve through steel.

A Juggernaut Treant—a towering behemoth of wood and stone, its body like a moving fortress.

Any normal hunter would retreat.

Alistair smirked.

This was exactly what he wanted.

---

Hours after

He didn't just fight.

He slaughtered.

His sword danced through flesh and bark, each strike precise, each movement calculated.

Every monster that fell fueled his rage, his need to push further.

He moved without hesitation, without rest—a relentless force of nature.

Even when wounds tore across his body, his regeneration knitted him back together.

Even when exhaustion threatened to creep in, his resolve crushed it beneath his will.

This wasn't just training.

This was an obsession.

He had to grow stronger.

He had to surpass all limits.

He had to be unstoppable.

Because weakness?

Weakness was unforgivable.

---

The Dungeon Trembled

After hours of relentless battle, the dungeon itself began to react.

The air grew thicker, charged with mana.

Then—the ground trembled.

From the depths of the abyss, something massive stirred.

A roar echoed through the cavern—a sound that shook the very walls.

Alistair's cold eyes lifted.

From the shadows, a colossal beast emerged.

Its body was covered in obsidian bark, pulsing with crimson veins of mana. Its eyes burned with primal fury.

A D-Rank Dungeon Boss.

The Verdant Tyrant.

A beast that no single hunter had ever defeated alone.

Alistair's grip on his sword tightened.

And then—

He stepped forward.

Without hesitation. Without fear.

Because this was what he lived for.

To fight. To grow. To conquer.

And he would not stop.

Not until he stood above all.

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