THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

Mage Ray paced anxiously back and forth at the entrance of the Dungeon gate. His eyes darted toward the massive tree with its swirling portal, now a disturbing crimson hue instead of its usual calming blue.

Every passing minute felt like an eternity, his mind consumed with worry about the candidates trapped inside.

What is happening in there?

The question gnawed at him. It had already been two hours since he'd sent the spirit bird to the Earl, yet no word had come back. He could only hope that the bird had made it and that help was on the way.

Ray nervously chewed at his nails, his mind racing. The candidates—noble bloodline descendants—were inside, and the gates had been locked from within. That should have been impossible. Only someone with De Gor blood could enter the dungeon gate. If they couldn't enter, it meant someone had tampered with the very magic of the portal, violating ancient protections. His heart pounded with the weight of the situation.

How could this be happening?

Just as Ray's nerves threatened to unravel entirely, a flash of brilliant light filled the sky. The clouds parted as a rainbow-coloured beam shot through them, crashing down into the forest estate with a force that shook the ground beneath him. The beam struck near the Dungeon gate, sending up a massive cloud of dust and debris. As the dust settled, Elder Tyron and Elder Scrolls, flanked by two other mages, strode forward from the wreckage with a calm yet deadly presence.

Elder Scrolls, with his piercing gaze, locked eyes on Ray. "What's the situation, Mage ?" His voice was calm but laced with authority.

Mage Ray, usually one for formalities, immediately skipped the pleasantries. "The dungeon gate has been tampered with, Elders. It's most likely locked from the inside. I have been unable to gain entry."

Elder Scrolls shifted his focus to the swirling crimson portal. He squinted at it before turning back to Ray. "How is that possible? Only someone with De Gor blood can enter the dungeon. Who could've sealed it from the inside?"

Ray fell silent, swallowing hard. He didn't know the answer, and the implications terrified him.

Who could possibly have tampered with the gate?

Elder Tyron, clearly not one for patience, unsheathed his massive obsidian claymore, the weapon casting a shadow as it gleamed menacingly. "Then I'll break the damn thing open," he said as he moved forward, the blade raised high above his head, ready to strike.

Mage Ray panicked, stepping in front of the elder's path. "No, Elder Tyron, please! Destroying the gate would have catastrophic consequences. We'd lose control of the dungeon entirely. The backlash could wipe out the estate. We can't afford that."

Elder Tyron narrowed his eyes at the young mage, his voice seething with barely restrained rage. "And what do you expect us to do then? Stand here while noble blood dies? The longer we wait, the more likely it is that the heirs inside will perish." His grip tightened on Ray's cloak, yanking the mage closer. "Are you suggesting we just let the bloodline die while you mages sit here playing with magic?"

Ray trembled under the elder's glare. "It's not like that, Elder Tyron. But the only safe way to get in is to request an 8th-class mage to decipher the gate's restrictions or wait for the candidates to come out on their own." His voice cracked under the pressure, knowing that any wrong answer could mean his death.

Elder Tyron snarled, lifting Ray off the ground by his collar. "What do you take noble blood for? We don't wait around for mages to save us! You think we're expendable?!" His anger flared dangerously as his face contorted with frustration.

Before things could escalate further, Elder Scrolls placed a hand on Elder Tyron's shoulder, his own aura pressure calming the furious noble. "Enough, Tyron," he said with authority. "We don't have a choice here. We can only summon an 8th-class mage from the Spire. Any rash decisions now could be disastrous."

Elder Tyron clicked his tongue, releasing Ray and throwing him to the ground. Ray gasped for breath, rubbing his sore neck. He could understand the elder's fury—after all, noble blood was at risk—but there was simply nothing more they could do at the moment.

Suddenly, just as the tension reached its peak, the crimson glow of the dungeon gate began to fade. The eerie light slowly drained away, returning to its usual blue hue. The portal flickered for a moment before becoming stable again.

Ray stared at the portal in disbelief. "It's… it's back to normal," he whispered, eyes wide with shock. The Elders turned to the gate as the swirling blue intensified.

And then, someone emerged from the gate, stepping out of the shadows. A candidate—alive. Ray squinted, trying to make out the figure as another person followed closely behind.

"They've escaped," Ray murmured in disbelief. Relief flooded his body, but before he could react further, more figures began to emerge from the portal, some dragging themselves out, exhausted but alive.

Elder Tyron stepped forward, his eyes burning with intensity. "Let's see how many survived." His voice carried a cold determination as the group moved toward the gate to greet the candidates returning from the dungeon's clutches.

Elder Tyron's sharp eyes locked onto one candidate in particular—Brian, a noble child lying on the ground, his chest heaving with laboured breaths. The elder's gaze softened momentarily as he approached. It was clear from the boy's pallor and the glazed look in his eyes that he had overused his mana reserves. His limbs trembled, and sweat soaked his tattered clothing.

Without hesitation, Elder Tyron knelt beside him, his large frame dwarfing the young noble. Stretching his hand out, the elder began to gather his aura, converting it back into mana to help restore the boy's depleted energy. As his palm hovered over Brian's chest, a faint glow of energy transferred from Elder Tyron into the boy's body.

Brian felt the cool, refreshing sensation sip into him, like cold water after days in the desert. His eyes fluttered open, and he glanced up at the elder, his vision still hazy. "Elder... Tyron?" he croaked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't move too much," Tyron warned him, his voice gruff but not unkind. "The mana I've transferred into you isn't pure. It'll help you regain some strength, but it won't last long. You'll need proper treatment back at the estate."

Brian nodded weakly, his muscles too fatigued to respond with anything more than that.

Elder Tyron studied the boy for a moment longer before asking, "You're from the Mou line, aren't you?"

"Y-yes..." Brian managed to stammer between shallow breaths.

"Good," Tyron said, his tone turning thoughtful. "I know your father. He's a strong man, proud of his lineage. You've done well to survive, but what happened in there?"

Brian's face contorted slightly as he tried to remember, the trauma of the recent events still fresh. He struggled to speak, his words slow and fragmented. "A... horde. Monsters... they came at us... too many... too strong..." His voice faltered, clearly struggling to recall the overwhelming fear that had consumed them.

Tyron's expression darkened. He had expected difficulty in the trial, but a full monster horde? Something was very wrong. He glanced over his shoulder at Elder Scroll, who had approached them silently, his face equally troubled.

Elder Scroll knelt down beside Tyron and Brian. "We need to get them back to the estate," he said in a calm yet firm tone. "Whatever happened in there, these children need treatment, and quickly. The dungeon has become far more dangerous than we anticipated."

Tyron nodded in agreement, though his eyes remained on Brian. "Ray," he called out, his voice echoing through the trees.

Mage Ray, who had been standing nearby, stepped forward. "Yes, Elder?"

"Give me a full report. How many are still inside?"

Ray shifted uneasily. "Three more candidates, Elder. They haven't come out yet."

Tyron and Scroll exchanged a glance, both elders thinking the same thing. Three more, and one name lingered on their minds: David.

Tyron stood up, his eyes scanning the portal. "David De Gor... where is he?"

****

David stood atop a small, rugged hill, the wind whipping around him as the crimson sky painted a violent horizon. His white hair billowed in the gust, and his sharp gaze pierced the distance, searching.

The weight of the battle still clung to his body, but his mind was focused—clear. Slowly, he raised his sleeved arm, feeling the surge of power thrumming beneath his skin, pooling at his fingertips. His [Vortex Void Sleeve] began to hum with life, swirling shadows gathering in his hand like a black hole ready to consume everything in its path.

The air crackled with energy as the vortex spiralled, growing denser, its gravitational pull warping the surroundings. David's lips curled into a grin as his eyes finally locked onto his target—a monstrous figure moving through the dense fog ahead near the return gate, unaware of the impending doom.

"Finally found you," David muttered, his voice low and dangerous, the anticipation building like a coiled spring ready to snap. His grip tightened as the vortex surged to its full power, "Ugly." The word dripped with satisfaction as he prepared to attack, the battle on the verge of igniting once more.