Chapter 15 – "The Pulse of the Portal, Deadly Dungeon"
The line was thinning.
One by one, candidates were disappearing into the swirling blue gate—each checked, stamped, and given the go-ahead. Only a handful remained now. Murmurs among the spectators died down as anticipation turned to a quiet tension.
Leon stood beside Seraphine, still cloaked, still calm.
Then, she reached into her coat and pulled out a small tallic token—circular, polished, and etched with a precise insignia.
Her insignia.
The blade-wreathed eye of Duskmoor’s Knight Commander.
She handed it to him without flourish.
"Your pass," she said simply.
Leon took it, eyes flicking over the design.
"Stamped with my authority," she added. "That’s all they’ll need."
He gave a short nod, then turned toward the end of the line, falling in behind the last two candidates—older teens still whispering nervously among themselves.
When his turn ca, the two guards posted by the portal turned to him, already gesturing.
One of them—clearly the senior—reached out for the token, but froze the mont he saw the insignia.
His entire posture shifted.
Eyes wide, back straight, voice low and extrely respectful, he turned toward Seraphine.
"Commander Vael..." he said carefully. "With all due respect—he’s very young. If he enters... he could die."
Seraphine’s expression didn’t shift. Her voice was calm, composed.
"I am."
That was all.
Not ’"I’m sure."’ Not ’"He’ll be fine."’
Just ’"I am."’
The guard nodded imdiately. No more questions. No more doubts.
He turned back to Leon and waved him forward quickly.
"Go. The portal’s closing soon."
Leon moved without hesitation, stepping toward the edge of the gate. He paused only once—turning over his shoulder, eyes locking with Seraphine’s.
She gave him a small wave.
A rare, soft smile on her face.
He raised a hand in return—and then stepped into the light.
The mont his foot vanished through the threshold—
Sothing changed.
The portal ’shuddered.’
Energy flared along its edges like a pulse of lightning cracking through a stormcloud. The swirling currents turned turbulent. A deep, vibrating hum filled the air.
The guards froze.
So did the candidates.
And Seraphine’s smile vanished like sunlight behind stormclouds.
Her instincts scread.
This wasn’t a normal ripple. This wasn’t part of the process.
This was—
"False read," a mage behind her muttered, staring at a stone tablet in horror. "The energy density just tripled—no, quadrupled."
Another voice, shaking: "The internal balance is off. That trial just beca unstable... Monsters inside will be—Level 3 minimum, maybe 4s. Possibly a 5-class boss."
There was a mont of silence.
Then panic.
Candidates gasped. A few stepped back, pale.
And the awakened soldiers—veterans who’d seen what dungeons could do—looked grim.
One of them whispered, "We just lost everyone inside..."
Another: "There’s no way they’ll survive. Not at that spike."
A younger knight clenched his fists. "That was a full talent batch! Twenty-seven of the best from six cities—and now..."
He didn’t finish.
Because Seraphine was still staring at the portal.
Not moving.
Not speaking.
But sothing behind her eyes—
Broke.
Because the second that portal had flared, she’d ’felt’ it.
This wasn’t a mild trial anymore.
This was a crucible.
And her Leon was inside it.
She clenched her fists slowly.
She had prepared him. Trained him. Watched him grow sharper than steel.
But this... this was not what she had planned.
Still, she said nothing. Gave no orders. Didn’t scream.
Just stood there, eyes fixed on the vortex, as the panic swirled around her like wind against stone.
Inside her chest, her heart beat once, hard.
’Please... co back.’
She wasn’t the only one thinking it.
Because for the first ti in decades, even the most battle-hardened mages and knights watching that gate...
Felt like they’d just witnessed a mass execution.
And the worst part?
None of them could follow.
’’’’’
The mont Leon crossed the threshold, the world turned inside out.
His stomach twisted violently.
Gravity bent sideways.
His vision went white for a second—then slamd into sharp, overwhelming focus.
Thud.
He stumbled onto solid ground, knees buckling, hands bracing against rough, mossy stone. A breath hitched in his throat, and he barely resisted the urge to vomit.
"Urgh... okay... that was worse than lightning..."
He forced himself upright, one hand clutching his gut, the other brushing back silver-white hair as his vision steadied. The air here felt... dense. Every breath tasted like cold iron and ancient soil.
He didn’t have ti to check his surroundings.
Because a deep growl carved through the silence like a blade.
Leon’s instincts scread.
He rolled to the side just as sothing massive crashed where he’d just been—jagged claws tearing into stone with a violent crack.
A giant wolf stood in front of him now, muscles rippling beneath thick charcoal fur, eyes glowing yellow with unnatural hunger. Its breath stead in the cold dungeon air, fangs slick with old blood.
Leon landed in a crouch, already drawing his twin daggers with a smooth, practiced motion. They glead in the dim light—razor-sharp, custom-forged, and thirsty.
He didn’t blink.
Didn’t flinch.
Just stared.
"...Oh. You’re new."
The wolf snarled, hackles raised.
Leon inhaled once, steadying his pulse.
This wasn’t like the goblins in Grayridge.
This wasn’t street-level violence.
This thing was fast, heavy, and deeply unnatural.
And just by the way it moved—by the silent tension in its fra—Leon knew:
It was far stronger than the Level 2 Goblin Warrior he’d barely defeated before.
He could already tell.
This wolf was faster.
aner.
And very likely a Level 3 monster.
Maybe higher.
Leon tightened his grip on his daggers, exhaled slowly, and muttered under his breath:
"Alright then. Let’s see what 3 years of blood, sweat, and Seraphine’s insane training gets ."
The beast lunged.
And the real fight began.
The wolf moved again—faster this ti, jaws wide, fangs glinting like swords.
Leon crossed his daggers just in ti.
Clang!
The impact jarred down his arms like a hamr against bone. His feet scraped back along the stone floor, boots skidding, knees nearly buckling.
His breath hitched.
His hands trembled.
’Too strong.’
He gritted his teeth.
He couldn’t take another hit like that—not head-on.
He wouldn’t survive.
The wolf didn’t wait.
It lunged again, pure muscle and malice in motion.
Leon twisted to the side, narrowly avoiding the bite, and slashed upward with his right dagger—fast, clean, aid at the beast’s exposed underbelly.
Slice.
Blood.
Not a deep wound—but enough to make it snarl and stagger.
Leon hit the ground in a controlled roll, rising in a low crouch, eyes locked on the beast.
’Good. It can bleed.’
The wolf turned, more cautious now—but its yellow eyes blazed hotter. It growled deep, angry, insulted.
Leon didn’t taunt it. He didn’t waste words.
He just waited.
Let the rage blind it.
And when it charged again—fangs snapping, claws flashing—Leon didn’t retreat.
He moved.
Sidestep. Lunge. Slash.
His left dagger drew a clean line across its flank. The right plunged into its front leg and tore free in one smooth, practiced twist.
The wolf howled.
It tried to counter.
Leon ducked low, pivoted behind it, and carved upward—precise, clinical, rciless.
Every move was drilled. Every dodge asured.
He didn’t panic.
He didn’t falter.
He danced around it—just as Seraphine had taught him—with speed, control, and soul-numbing patience.
The beast slowed.
Bleeding.
Breathing heavy.
And with a final feint—
Leon dashed in, leaped onto its back, and drove both daggers into the base of its skull.
Crack.
The wolf twitched once, then collapsed in a heap of blood and bone.
Leon landed beside it, rising slowly. His breathing was calm. His daggers glistened red.
No wounds.
No hesitation.
Just a ten-year-old boy—silver eyes like winter steel—standing over a monster twice his size.
He flicked the blood off his blades and exhaled.
"Level 3 or 4?"
Knowing guessing wouldn’t give him an answer, he didn’t give much thought.
He sheathed the daggers with a soft click.
"Try again."
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