“Well, well, look who decided to show up—the mighty druid himself!” Muradin smirked, raising his mug in mock surrender. “Just don’t go swinging that staff of yours at me, alright? I’m too handsome to get bruised.”

  “We saw your fight earlier,” Darwyn added, leaning back with a smug grin. “You absolutely demolished that warrior. I thought he was gonna cry.”

  Darwyn let out a booming laugh. “I swear, Erynd, your staff hit harder than this guy’s hammer!” He clapped Muradin on the back, nearly making him spill his drink.

  I scratched my head, feeling a little awkward under their praise. “I just got lucky. He underestimated me.”

  Muradin rolled his eyes. “Oh, don’t be so modest. The entire damn city is talking about you.” He leaned in with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “They even came up with nicknames. My favorite? Eryndor the Annihilator.”

  Darwyn chuckled. “Nah, I prefer The Head Crusher. The sound your fist made when it smashed into that arrogant bastard’s skull? Music to my ears. Like smacking an empty barrel.”

  Muradin nodded. “A very hollow barrel.”

  We burst into laughter, reminiscing about the fight. I hadn’t realized just how much of a spectacle my duel had been. People were actually giving me nicknames? That was… new.

  I took a sip of my drink, letting the warmth of the ale settle in before shifting the conversation to why I had come.

  “I’ve been thinking,” I began, setting my mug down. “We should form a party. We work well together.”

  Darwyn’s eyes lit up. “Funny, I was just about to suggest the same thing.” He hesitated for a moment before adding, “But… would it be alright if my younger sister joined us? She’s going on her first Tower exploration next month, and I want to make sure she’s got a solid team backing her up.”

  Muradin raised an eyebrow. “You have a sister? And you actually care about her?” He gasped dramatically. “This is news to me!”

  Darwyn shot him a flat look. “Yes, Muradin, I have a sister. No, she’s not a dwarf. No, she doesn’t have a beard.”

  Muradin groaned. “Ugh, what a shame. I was hoping for a bearded warrior maiden.”

  “Shut up,” Darwyn muttered, taking a swig of his ale.

  “Does she have any experience?” I asked, suppressing a chuckle.

  “Not much,” Darwyn admitted. “But she’s quick-witted and eager to learn. Of course, she won’t take an equal share of the loot—at least, not until she proves herself.”

  Muradin leaned back, rubbing his beard thoughtfully. “We can discuss the loot split later. Right, Erynd?” He shot me a playful wink.

  I nodded. Darwyn and Muradin were seasoned adventurers who had survived the Tower for over a year. Being in a party with them was already an incredible opportunity—I wasn’t about to start arguing over loot.

  “What about extra members?” I asked. “We could use at least one more person.”

  Muradin snorted. “Unfortunately, Darwyn’s the only reliable elf I know.” He slapped Darwyn’s back in return, making him choke on his drink.

  I chuckled. “I actually have someone in mind. If you’re open to it, I could introduce them.”

  Muradin grinned. “I trust your judgment, Erynd. Next week, same time, we regroup.”

  Darwyn nodded. “I’ll bring my sister too then.”

  Muradin stretched his arms with a satisfied groan. “Alright, enough of this serious talk! Let’s enjoy our drinks—the night is still young!”

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  “As long as you’re paying,” I quipped.

  “Of course!” Muradin grinned, raising his mug. “But next round? Your treat, Erynd.”

  I sighed. “Fine.”

  Darwyn smirked. “Good. Because Muradin drinks like a bottomless pit.”

  Muradin beamed. “Damn right I do.”

  ***

  As the night wore on and the drinks kept coming, Muradin and Darwyn started getting drunk. And when dwarves and elves get drunk, they start talking about things they really shouldn’t.

  They spilled all sorts of juicy secrets—from political conflicts among the elven nobility, to a legendary weapon forged by a famous dwarven smith, and even whispers of a secret monster hunt being planned on the third floor of the Tower.

  But one particular story caught my attention.

  “The Lich King…” I muttered. “Are you sure?”

  Darwyn, his face flushed red from ale, slammed his mug on the table. “Of course I’m sure!” he slurred. “What, you mean to tell me you don’t know?”

  I frowned. “Know what?”

  Muradin chuckled. “Oh boy. Here we go.”

  Darwyn leaned in, lowering his voice. “The Lich King is dead. Slain by an elite elven knight squad.”

  I blinked. “That doesn’t make sense…”

  Darwyn raised an eyebrow. “You doubt me?”

  In the game, Lich King had always been treated as a myth, a legendary monster whose domain was long lost, buried beneath ancient ruins that no one could access. There was no recorded event of anyone ever reaching his throne, let alone defeating him.

  But here, in this world… he had been defeated?

  Muradin let out a low whistle. “Looks like our little druid here just had his mind blown.”

  I ignored him. If this was true, then there was a possibility that many other monsters existed—ones I had never even heard of before.

  The game had clear lore, with fixed dungeons, known bosses, and predictable enemy placements. But now, I wasn’t so sure. If the Lich King, a supposedly unreachable entity, had been slain, then what else was out there?

  Hidden monsters? Unrecorded dungeons? New, undiscovered threats?

  A shiver ran down my spine—not from fear, but from excitement.

  This world held secrets beyond my knowledge. And I was determined to uncover them all.

  But before any of that could happen, I needed to grow stronger.

  In Dreadspire, every race had its own path to grow stronger. Dwarves crafted powerful equipment, Dragonians made offerings at the Dragon’s Altar to perfect their stats and skills, and Wizards collected spellbooks and visited the Academy.

  As for druids like me?

  The fastest way to get stronger… was to learn a new spell.

  That thought brought me back to my last conversation with Instructor Vallen. Her words had lingered in my mind like a warning that refused to fade.

  “Druid spells are permanent, Erynd,” she had said, her voice firm but careful, like she was picking her words with precision. “Once learned, they cannot be changed. You must choose wisely.”

  I remembered how she paused then, studying me as if trying to unravel my thoughts.

  “I noticed your first spell choices were… unusual,” she added delicately.

  Unusual. That was a polite way to put it. Most druids followed well-worn paths, picking spells that complemented one another, that aligned with traditional druid teachings.

  Me? I had taken a very different approach—one most would call reckless… maybe even foolish.

  “And for your next spell,” she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly, “you need to think even more carefully. Your spell build will determine how far you can truly go. The wrong combination could limit your potential.”

  She leaned in a little closer. “Have you already decided what your next spell will be?”

  “I have,” I replied without hesitation.

  Instructor Vallen tilted her head. “May I ask… which spell?”

  I hesitated for a second. Then I told her.

  Not everything, of course—I didn’t reveal the full build I had planned. But I did give her the name. The one most druids wouldn’t even consider choosing.

  The reaction was immediate.

  “What?” Her eyes widened in disbelief. “Erynd, I… I’m not trying to interfere, but… are you sure about this?”

  Her voice cracked—confused, almost pitying. “That spell? Erynd… that spell is practically useless.”

  I didn’t answer.

  Not yet.

  Because only I understood what that spell was truly meant for.

  that useless?

  you are definitely way more useful than that spell! ??