CHAPTER 121: DEN PROTECTOR

Meanwhile, back in the villa nestled within Silver Blade City’s outer cliffs, Nolan stood barefoot outside the front archway, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the distant road like a man watching the horizon for an approaching storm.

The wind stirred his coat lightly. Behind him, the villa was silent—too silent.

This is all bullshit.

He rubbed his temples. Lirazel had been repeating the same thing for the last three hours: "They’re coming, Nolan. The enemy is near. They’re coming."

Coming? When?!

He kicked a rock off the edge of the stone path. It tumbled down the slope, disappearing into the brush below. Nolan paced.

"Where the fuck are they?" he muttered. "She keeps saying they’re coming. But are they? Seriously? Is this just another goddamn false alarm? Is this what I was not sleeping for? Is she telling me the truth about how the invader would sense them? To stand here sweating while some cryptic succubus oracle keeps whispering riddles like a broken record?"

He was breathing hard. He hadn’t even realized how tense his chest was until he exhaled. He looked up to the sky, half-expecting something to fall out of it.

Suddenly—

His feet left the ground.

"Wh—WHOA—WAIT!"

Nolan flailed midair. The force that lifted him wasn’t violent, but it was disorienting. His body rose slowly, like gravity had changed its mind.

"LIRAZEL?! LIRAZEL!" he shouted, panicked, spinning as he tried to steady himself. "WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?! AM I BEING ABDUCTED?! IS THIS YOU?!"

But there was no answer. His coat flapped against his legs as he floated higher.

"This is NOT the time for arcane experiments! I swear if this is one of your weird dimension-probing rituals again—!"

Then, just as abruptly as it began, he stopped midair, suspended. Everything around him froze—like time had become thick.

Nolan’s breath hitched.

Something was... activating.

His pupils dilated sharply.

Then—

Ding.

"Use ’Internet Data,’" he whispered instinctively, the cheat command flowing from his lips like a reflex.

His eyes glowed electric blue.

Suddenly, the world burst into layered information—transparent, holographic, system-level overlays painted over reality. Every object, every lifeform nearby now shimmered with readable metadata.

He turned slowly.

There, in green wireframe and text: Lirazel Aerewyn – Lust Dragon Succubus, Mana Beast (stage 9).

Next to her: Merael, Alchemical Attendant (Stage 5), Currently brewing Stamina Potions.

Even the fish in the nearby pond had labels.

He frowned, then turned his gaze inward.

His own profile appeared:

Nolan Flamire

Race: Human (Modified – Lust Dragon Lineage)

Title: Dungeon Den Guardian – Lust Dragon Variant

Authority: Full Access to Den Floor 1.

He blinked, a little impressed, but not concerned with the personal summary.

"Not bad. But not now."

Something else flickered on the far side of his view—a marker.

Hostile. Unknown origin.

His sight zoomed in without movement—like a drone camera diving toward a target. He passed trees, rivers, fields—until suddenly, the image snapped into place.

A creature stood beneath the cliffs near the ancient marshes. A humanoid, but not.

Its body was a fusion of aquatic nightmare and abyssal royalty.

Skin of rippled, slick scales glistened under faint moonlight—deep navy blue, glimmering with faint traces of bioluminescence.

Long frilled fins ran along its arms, back, and jawline, each movement stirring them like silk underwater. Gills opened and closed steadily along its ribcage.

Its face was elongated, alien and intelligent, with lips drawn back slightly to reveal thin, needled teeth. Its eyes gleamed like deep-sea pearls, reflecting light in odd, rhythmical pulses.

The moment Nolan laid eyes on it, he knew.

That wasn’t a coincidence.

That thing... was coming for him.

Suddenly, the creature’s head jerked up.

Its pearl-like eyes narrowed.

"...Huh?"

It stared directly at Nolan’s vision feed.

"Someone... is watching me?"

The creature hissed.

"No, no. It cannot be!"

Behind it, from the shadow of a crumbling well, a figure climbed up—a beggar-like man, face covered in dirt, clothes torn and soaked in old blood.

"Ey," the man said cheerfully, "I already turned the most of the knight army into joining my Demon Spawns. Just a matter of time now till all of them were infected by my underwater curse magic. Let’s wait till the moment’s ripe. Three full blood rites, and our first Dungeon Beast will reach its growth peak."

But Yxthul’s voice, now shaken, interjected. "Master... please... don’t speak further."

The beggar blinked. "What?"

"I said don’t talk!" Yxthul snapped. "Someone’s watching us!"

The beggar looked around, confused. "Watching us? Who?!"

"I don’t know!" Yxthul’s tentacles writhed slightly. "But I can sense it! The gaze—it’s not physical, it’s informational! Like... a reverse probe. This isn’t scrying—it’s something else!"

"What does that mean?"

Yxthul’s eyes narrowed. "They’re in Silver Blade City... I can feel it now."

His expression twisted into something far uglier.

"No... worse..."

"Worse? What do you mean worse?" the beggar asked.

"This—this is the mark. The mark of a Dungeon Den forming. The watcher... they’re not just a threat... they’re the opposite of what we are. They’re a Guardian."

The beggar went pale. "A Dungeon Den Guardian?" He knew what they were; they were just creating a creature that was a normal Dungeon Master, but the opposing side was already creating a Dungeon Den floor guardian?

Yxthul nodded slowly, claws twitching.

"Then... then what do we do?" the beggar asked.

"There are many of us, right?" he added with a forced laugh.

But Yxthul shook his head slowly.

"This one... is different."

"I must go."

"What?"

"I must go and kill him before it awakens fully. Before its Den stabilizes and reaches summoning strength. Once it matures, we can’t destroy it without losing half our force... no... all our forces!"

"You mean..."

"Yes," Yxthul hissed. "What you’re reading in this moment—these beasts—are not spawns. They’re Den-floor constructs. And if I don’t eliminate their core before it ascends..."

He didn’t finish.

He vanished.

Meanwhile, on the silver Blade City, Nolan stood frozen in his suspended field of vision, watching the entire conversation unfold.

"Den-floor beasts?" he whispered.

As the image flickered, his perspective locked on the creature again.

He examined the nameplate now floating above it.

Target Identified: Deep Ones – Mana User (Stage 7)

"Oh, so you’re just seventh stage?" Nolan muttered. A sneer crawled across his lips. "You’re talking all that ’kill it before it matures’ nonsense like you’re some kind of boss-tier villain."

He leaned closer toward the projected image, eyes narrowed.

"Buddy... you come at me alone?"

He smirked.

"You’re dead."

But just then—

Yxthul’s voice echoed again, more distant, more frantic.

"Georan," he ordered, speaking to the beggar. "Kill the rest of the army. Slaughter them all. Drain them until their essence flows into the land. I need that power."

"And once you do—once you kill them—I’ll be the one to take his vision. He won’t see me anymore. I’ll see him."

Nolan’s face dropped.

His breath caught.

"No—wait."

The image panned back to the battlefield.

Varros.

The army.

They were limping, exhausted, and far too weak to defend themselves.

Nolan saw their markers flicker.

The system showed their levels dropping rapidly—already victims of the second formation Yxthul had prepared.

And now... they were walking into slaughter.

"Oh no."

The holographic map flickered, showing red trails weaving toward the soldiers—spawns, more than thirty, crawling from the forest.

"Oh no, no, no—"

His heart pounded.

He saw Varros’s name flicker to yellow.

Condition: Critical Danger.

Nolan’s pupils contracted.

Then, only two words escaped his mouth.

"Oh... shit."