The streets of Valerion never seed to change.
They were always bustling, always lively. A beautiful, thriving tropolis wrapped in high walls, brimming with tall spires and polished roads. A place where the power and pride of the empire gathered—and all of its filth too.
Valerion was a lting pot of culture, magic, art, comrce... and cri. The Valtheron imperial family ruled from its heart, and even the holy temple had its headquarters here.
It was, by all accounts, one of the largest cities in the world.
And it was in the slums of this so-called jewel that a wretch like Damon Grey had earned the na Phantom.
He was a lowly, pathetic thing back then. Small but proud. Bitter. Jaded. His ego didn’t help either—not when he was so weak. But still... he refused to shut up. Refused to lie down and accept it.
He knew—if he were the main character of so story—the audience would probably be disgusted by how small-minded he was.
But that was fine.
He didn’t need anyone’s approval. He was fine just the way he was: unyielding and defiant.
At the very least, he could die knowing one thing—
That he never grovelled.
He never bent the knee for anyone, and he never compromised his ideals to make others happy.
Can the sa be said of the people who bent, broke, and twisted themselves just to fit in?
Maybe he was pathetic, but he had the clarity to raise his head and say—
’I didn’t let myself down.’
Those were the thoughts pounding in his heart as he passed through the gates of Valerion.
But he wasn’t weak anymore, was he?
He had grown stronger.
And with that strength ca a day of reckoning. Not for him.
No—
For everyone who had wronged him.
Today, Valerion’s streets would be dyed in blood.
He squeezed the Staff of Carnage in his hand.
From a distance, he looked like any young man—his face hidden beneath a hood, a long staff clutched in his grip. The orb at its top glead faintly, and tal rings curved around it like an archaic disk etched with runes.
Dark flas flickered at his fingertips, feeding slowly into the staff.
His lips tightened—he was in pain.
He was using Ashborn to charge the Staff of Carnage.
[Artifact: Staff of Carnage]
Type: Weapon
Description:
His fangs were swords, his wings the wind, and his breath could reduce cities to ash. All feared Ashergon. Wherever he flew, only smoldering ruins remained in his wake.
[Effect:]
Forged in destruction, this staff can absorb any single form of energy from your body. There is no limit—no matter how vast or volatile.
When released, it unleashes a cataclysmic burst mimicking the fury of a dragon’s breath. Push it too far, and the staff will crack... then shatter.
[Cooldown:]
24 hours
This was Damon’s reward for killing a fourth-rank monster.
Not that he fought it head-on.
No, he waited.
Watched as it battled another horror, then struck the final blow when it was on the brink of death. That’s how he won.
That’s how he survived.
That’s how he got this—the Staff of Carnage.
His most powerful artifact.
If charged long enough, it could level a city.
It was how he’d defeated Matia. Blew her up completely. Not that it killed her, of course.
The staff worked on a simple principle—choose a single energy type: mana, shadow, or Ashborn fla. Once chosen, you couldn’t add another. Any attempt would waste it.
Damon chose Ashborn. Simple reason—his fla was far more destructive than anything else he had.
Far beyond mana. Far beyond shadow energy.
The pain of using it was severe.
But so what?
This pain wasn’t enough to distract him—not from this city. Not today.
He walked with steady steps toward the Adventurers Guild.
The guild in Valerion was massive. A towering structure with grand arched doors, marble floors, and a constant stream of adventurers of every race going in and out.
Damon stepped through the entrance.
Eyes flicked toward him.
To them, he looked like a mage—staff in hand, cloaked in expensive-looking clothes, and holding back an obvious storm of mana. His hood and outfit both scread nobility—another product of Lilith’s ddling. She’d chosen this outfit, so of course it looked like money.
He stepped up to the receptionist desk.
A harpy woman stood behind it, auburn hair tied in a neat bun.
"Hello! Welco to the Adventurers Guild. I’m Cherry Vine. How may I assist you today?"
She sounded sweet.
Too sweet.
If she was always this friendly, she wouldn’t survive long in a den of misfit adventurers. Then again, maybe this was how she survived.
Her eyes lingered on his staff.
Ah.
So that’s why she was smiling.
His clothes, his presence, his gear...
’She thinks I’m so rich young noble.’
Too bad he barely had enough zeni to buy a decent al on him.
But that wasn’t why he was here.
"I’m here to register."
She nodded and passed him a form without hesitation.
"Please fill this out. I’ll need an ID if you have one. If not, we can capture your image in the next room."
She added, "If your rank is too low, you’ll need to take an aptitude test and complete two weeks of mandatory training."
While she spoke, Damon filled out the form silently and handed over his student pager.
She glanced at the na.
And froze.
"Damon Grey... first year..."
She stared at the rest of the form.
Rank: Second-Class Advancent.
Age: 17.
Her eyes widened.
He looked at her.
"Well? Do I et the requirents?"
She nodded slowly. "Yes... you do. I’ll have your Adventurer’s License ready shortly."
Damon gave a curt nod.
"In the anti... I’d like to sell sothing."
She blinked but nodded again.
"Of course."
Typically, the Guild only bought from its mbers there were normally no exceptions.
He would soon beco a mber, so he counted too.
Damon reached into the shadows and pulled sothing out.
An artifact.
"I’d like to sell this."
At first, she wasn’t fazed. Not until she saw the old sigil etched into the tal.
Her eyes went wide.
She squealed.
"L-Lysithara-made artifact?!"
The room stilled.
All eyes turned to them.
Damon sighed.
It was just junk.
What was the big deal?
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