Journey to Become the Zenith

Beneath the Luminous Earth

Inside the dungeon stood Victor, Lane, together with Clara. The moment their feet touched the worn stone lip, Victor froze. So did Lane.

Away from light above, the tunnel ran long, much like a creature’s gullet from times long gone - but still, shadows did not fill it.

It was bright.

From nowhere came the glow, no flames nearby. Walls breathed out light, quiet and ghostly white, like stars soaked into rock. A blue hush coated every surface, thin but sure. Breathing here was different - thick air, cold on the tongue. You could taste it: sharp, like iron left in rain, as if unseen forces leaked through cracks.

Her dark hair, reaching past her waist, slipped forward when she moved, catching the glow at its tips. The light danced in her eyes - deep, unreadable - as if something unseen flickered behind them. Surprise showed plainly on her face, though she rarely let anything shock her. Victor had led her into impossible worlds before, yet this moment struck different.

A pause. Victor stayed motionless just then, face lit by cold blue glow. Silver strands of shadow crossed his jawline as dark hair slipped across one shoulder. Golden eyes - bright, alert - not wary. A shift in posture: he turned his head a fraction, gaze tracing cracks along the wall. Curiosity pulled him now, not fear.

Far off, a light stirred in his eyes - then Clara began to speak.

Yet just as she started to -

”Oh, there is a strong concentration of magical power underground. The accumulated mana here is the most probable cause for the monsters being born underground. This phenomenon could explain why the underground passageway is actually bright, as if there were torches lit here. Still... why is mana gathering here in this particular position?”

Just like that, he spoke. Pausing between words. Voice clear in the quiet room.

Clara froze.

She started to speak, yet the words never made it past her lips.

He was right.

Again.

Those violet eyes of hers dipped at the corners. Not quite a frown, yet the skin above her nose folded. Fast replies shouldn’t spark annoyance - she was aware. Still, that steady ease in his words, how he talked like riddles melted before him, pressed against her ribs.

And then -

A second question came from him.

Fresh air filled Clara’s lungs, calm now. She waited, prepared.

Yet silence came first

”Oh, there must be an object that gathers and replenishes mana in here. Hey Clara, is there any object in this dungeon that gathers mana from the outside and stores it?”

Facing her now, Victor’s eyes - gold like sunlight through leaves - held a teasing kind of honesty. He stood still, yet something in his gaze flickered, playful but sharp. Not quite lying, though far from truthful either. A quiet smile waited at the edge of his lips, ready if she called his bluff.

Lane stood quiet, a faint smile playing at her mouth’s edge. That gleam in his gaze - she recognized it instantly. This moment? It amused him deeply.

That frown on Clara’s face did not escape Victor. He saw it build slowly, shadow by shadow.

He did that by choice.

Beside that quiet smirk, he liked how she got annoyed.

Cute, even.

Faint color rose higher in her face, yet when her gaze turned sharper, a quiet shift pulled at him - perhaps pressing further wasn’t wise after all.

”Are you sure that you aren’t going to just answer your own question again?” Clara asked, crossing her arms, staring at him.

A half-shrug rose on Victor’s frame, loose and unhurried.

”Not sure what you’re talking about, but I do want to know if there really is an item that gathers and stores mana in this Dungeon.”

Still watching, her eyes stayed fixed on his face.

Mixed feelings show up like a quiet argument inside. One part hesitates, the other just wants to look away.

From the moment she first saw him, Victor unfolded like a puzzle missing its edges - raw power that defied logic, speech laced with pieces left unsaid, boldness so thick it nearly crossed into pride. Someone built to dominate through force alone... yet somehow kept baiting her with immature games.

Why?

Better off, maybe, if his arrogance stood alone.

He proved sharp. Quick-minded. A threat when pushed.

And infuriating.

Clara exhaled slowly.

Okay then. Because you’re asking, here’s what happens next. True, something does collect magic energy down in the tunnels. It holds onto it too. That thing? People name it a Dungeon Core. Back then, hunting down monster-filled dungeons and smashing their cores? That’s what adventurers lived for. Today, sure, there are extra tasks piling up - side work, deliveries, guarding towns - but none of it pushes aside the old priority. Breaking those dungeon hearts stays at the center, no matter how much else gets added. The core task sticks, like a weight in your pack you never drop

Midway through her words, a calm returned to how she sounded.

This time, Victor stayed quiet, just listening. Not once did he cut her off or laugh. A small shift came over his face, subtle but real. Then - something new showed up in his eyes: actual curiosity.

Right then - the thing gathering mana and making monsters is a Dungeon Core. That part makes sense. Still, your answer brings up plenty of loose ends. What I’m focused on now comes down to only a few points. Starting with where do dungeon cores even come from? They probably do not pop into existence by magic, so their origin matters. Where exactly do they begin? Creation methods might explain it. If these things are built rather than born, then creators enter the picture. Who put them together becomes relevant. Another point arises - suppose someone knows about the dungeon core hidden inside. Since breaking cores defines an adventurer’s task, its survival feels odd. The reason could tie to using this place for ranking fighters. Leaving it intact serves that purpose. Maybe.

Lane gave a quick nod right there next to him, strands of dark hair shifting with the motion.

That made sense to her, each part landing true.

Now both turned their eyes to Clara - faces tilted, waiting. A hush settled between them, breaths held just a beat too long.

Heavy air pressed down while they watched.

It wasn’t threatening.

It was... intense.

Up she sat a little taller, not letting it knock her down.

The reply to your initial query remains unclear. Yet two main ideas currently describe how the Dungeon Core shows up. First - creation comes directly from the Dungeon Master. This figure emerges alongside the Core itself, tied to its arrival, handling every aspect of what the dungeon does. When a Dungeon Master dies, things change inside the dungeon. Not all were the same kind - some looked like goblins who prayed, others resembled huge dragons. After death, fewer creatures appear. Growth halts too, which makes people think they’re in charge somehow. Another idea: maybe the core forms on its own from gathered energy. From that mass, a thinking beast emerges, tied to protecting what formed it. These beings might just be guardians shaped by need

Lane blinked slowly.

Wow. That hit hard. Just... wow.

A small wrinkle appeared between her eyebrows while she took it in.

Quiet now, Victor stayed silent - but not for the same cause.

Dragons categorized as monsters?

Interesting.

Nowhere else had creatures ruled so long, old as stone and just as proud. Could it be here they were less? Or did folks merely see them another way?

Buried deep, the idea stayed put.

Later.

”Thank you for that explanation, Clara. It was very informative.”

A small lift touched the corner of his mouth.

A hint of sharpness crept into his voice.

Yet Clara missed it.

A quiet heat spread behind her ribs, soft but sure. Her chin rose - just a fraction.

Sure thing. Moving ahead to what you asked next. This dungeon’s core remains intact simply because it lies too far down. No one has gone deeper than the old Guild Master did. He made it only as far as the twentieth level before giving up. He thought the figure before him must be the Dungeon Master. Though he escaped alive, the old Guild Master came back changed, too shaken to keep leading. Since then, nobody here at our outpost could handle destroying this dungeon’s core - except one person now holding the title: Isabella. She runs things today, and her nature being what it is, well, that explains why the core keeps pulsing beneath us even now

For just a moment, Victor looked at Lane. Then their eyes met.

Isabella.

A leader now holds the title in Fantom City’s guild Chapter.

A figure stood there, strands of violet falling past her shoulders, gaze hidden beneath flat onyx pupils - she’d given up her role like it meant nothing, handing it off to Victor, a man who never sought adventures. Quietly. Without looking back.

Lane nearly smiled, recalling it now.

Yes.

Now it made sense.

”So any other questions? None? Okay then, let’s continue onwards.”

This moment, Clara studied Victor close, her eyes sharp, challenging him silent-like to speak up once more.

He didn’t.

A slight dip of his head was what he gave her instead.

”Not a single question left,” he remarked with a faint smile.

For just a heartbeat, their gazes caught.

A quiet shift passed between them. Not loud. Barely noticed.

Annoyance.

Challenge.

A hint of gentler things shows through.

Fast on her heels, Clara moved - just as the moment threatened to stretch. The air shifted behind her, but she was already gone.

Ahead, the passage of rock ran on, lit just enough to hint at where they should go.

Into silence she moved, heading for the dungeon’s ground level.

Late in the day, Victor stepped inside behind Lane when the trial began. The door shut just as their journey officially kicked off.