The moment Akira stepped into the dungeon, a familiar darkness enveloped him.

The stale, dry air hung heavy in the cavernous halls. Akira moved like the wind, weaving through the twisting corridors and stone labyrinths. Dust trailed from his light steps, and the long black cloak he wore fluttered behind him like the wings of a specter.

Suddenly, from the shadows, several monsters lunged out—War Shadows with glowing eyes and wicked claws slashing through the air.

But Akira didn't break stride. Without even glancing at them, he lashed out with a few casual punches.

Yet those "casual" strikes tore through the air like thunderclaps. Each punch held crushing power, the sharp howls of wind sounding almost like the scream of the dungeon itself.

One after another, the monsters were pulverized. Their forms shattered like clay dolls under a sledgehammer, inky black blood and fragments of bone splattering the walls in a grotesque pattern.

By the time the last corpse hit the ground, Akira was already gone.

Left behind were only twitching remains and a group of stunned low-level adventurers peeking from the corners, who wasted no time rejoicing in their "fortune" as they scurried forward to gather monster drops.

— — —

Meanwhile, somewhere atop the great walls surrounding Orario.

A lone figure emerged from within the stone itself, his body seeming to merge with the structure as he landed silently on the thick wall.

He stood at the edge of the city, staring down at the streets with sharp, discerning eyes.

The Orario before him was far different from the vibrant, heroic city he once remembered. Though the surface still glittered with the illusion of prosperity, a deeper heaviness clung to the atmosphere. It was the lull before a storm—oppressive, suffocating.

"Tch. So this is what's become of Orario…"

The man's voice was rough, gravelly. His words dripped with contempt, the bitterness of someone who had seen too much.

With one glance, he could see the rot festering beneath the surface of the city.

The anticipation he once felt for facing a worthy new generation of adventurers was replaced by cold disappointment, like water freezing over his spirit.

Footsteps of patrolling guards echoed in the distance.

The man's frown deepened. He stepped back, then vaulted cleanly over the edge of the wall.

He landed without sound in a darkened alley. There, away from the prying eyes of the world, he stripped off his travel-stained black robe.

His true face was revealed—a man in his forties, body thick with muscle, face etched with scars. Above one eye ran three deep claw marks, old but unmistakable—marks of battles fought long ago.

This man was known as Zald, once one of the mightiest adventurers under the banner of the Zeus Familia, back when that Familia stood at the pinnacle of power.

After the defeat at the hands of the Black Dragon, Zald and Alfia had vanished beyond the edge of the world, beyond the reach of mortals.

There, near the boundary known as "The Knot," they waited for their end—until he appeared.

A certain male god.

Erebus.

That god brought with him a plan—mad, ridiculous, and impossibly ambitious.

And yet… it was a spark. A gleam of insanity that lit up the darkness that had become Zald's life.

Now, as Zald stood within the city walls once more, his thoughts churned.

"Use us as stepping stones, huh?"

He smirked, the look in his eyes cold and sharp. "Then show me—show me that you've earned the right to walk over us. Show me you're worthy to surpass us."

That was the pride of the old kings—the titans of the past. Their bodies might be weary. Their legends may have dimmed. But even now, they would never let just anyone trample their legacy.

If this so-called hope of Orario wasn't worthy… then Zald would wipe it all away. He would burn it all down and wait for someone—anyone—strong enough to rise from the ashes.

"Foundation… or destruction?"

Zald chuckled lowly. "Let me witness it… with my own eyes."

He ruffled his hair, tied a shredded piece of his robe around his head, and pulled out an old eyepatch to cover the scar.

With most of his face concealed and now wearing the attire of a humble rookie adventurer, Zald stepped back into the crowd.

— — —

As Akira's footsteps echoed through the empty chamber, a faint breeze suddenly stirred behind him, brushing past his shoulders and sweeping into the hollow expanse of the Wall of Sighs.

A crackling sound—sharp, like glass fracturing, pierced the silence.

Goliath's eyes snapped open.

Snap—!

A jagged fracture appeared instantly on the crystal-clear wall. It was followed by a series of deep, oppressive banging noises, like something ancient and furious rousing from slumber, eager to burst forth.

Then—

BOOM!

A deafening crash split the air as a hole exploded open in the crystalline surface. From that dark void, a massive head with vicious canine fangs protruded through, its breath thick and heated like smoke from a dormant volcano awakening.

"ROOOOAAARRR—!!"

With both monstrous hands pressing against the weakened wall, Goliath's enormous body began to force its way out. The cracks around it widened like spiderwebs under pressure, until—

CRASH!

The entire wall shattered in a rain of fragments.

And thus, the tyrannical, grotesque form of the monster rex emerged in full.

Goliath had returned!

"It's been a while, Goliath..." Akira muttered calmly, his tone light, yet beneath it ran a current of unrestrained excitement and barely-contained anticipation.

He loosened the robe draped over his shoulders and slipped it into his [Backpack], revealing his combat-ready attire beneath.

The towering Goliath, standing at over seven meters tall and ranked by the Guild as a Level 4 entity, instantly recognized the one who had humiliated it before.

A burning red glow flared in its eyes like embers reigniting, and without warning, it charged.

BOOM—!

Gone was the sluggishness of its initial emergence. Goliath thundered forward with terrifying speed, slamming its heavy right fist toward Akira. The sheer pressure in the air screamed like steel being torn apart.

But this time, Akira didn't need magic.

Magic power surged through his veins like a raging flood, gathering in his right arm with explosive force.

A brilliant blue light erupted outward, luminous and deep, like the boundless ocean. It wrapped his fist in a stream of pure arcane energy, mysterious and violent.

Then, he struck. With every ounce of his strength, Akira hurled his fist forward.

BOOOOM—!!

The colossal black fist of the Goliath met Akira's compact, magic power-charged fist in midair.

Two forces—disproportionate in size—clashed in a spectacle of raw might.

A deafening shockwave burst outward. The impact generated a violent hurricane, a maelstrom of pressure that rippled through the entire room.

Cracks spidered along the floor, chunks of wall crumbled, and the ground trembled as if the dungeon itself was groaning under the weight of their clash.

"ROAAAAAR!!!"

Goliath howled, its muscles bulging grotesquely as it poured even more power into its attack, desperate to overpower the challenger before it.

The force of the clash was too much. Akira's feet began sliding backwards, digging two deep grooves in the shattered stone floor, dust and rubble kicked up in waves. Yet Akira's expression remained composed.