CHAPTER 108: CH 108: RETRIVING THE POWER- PART 1

A full day passed, and the Beginner’s Town—formerly locked under manipulation and fear—had begun to stabilize under new authority.

With the Lady gone and the truth revealed, there was a fresh tension in the air, but it was of a different kind. Not fear. Not oppression.

It was expectation. Possibility. Even hope.

King Gorgon had taken his place once more, but it was clear to everyone that he now stood beneath Fenrir in terms of command. Not that the people protested it.

The outsider had done what no one else could. He had challenged the system and won.

As the sun began to rise on the second day, King Gorgon stood beside Fenrir on the city’s southern gate, arms crossed and expression unusually grim.

"So. What’s your next move? Are you finally going to challenge the floor boss?"

The king began, his deep voice cutting through the still morning air.

Fenrir adjusted the leather strap across his chest, checking the small pack slung over his shoulder.

"Soon. But before that, I’m heading south. I want to check out the other city that exists on this floor."

He said, gaze still fixed on the horizon.

King Gorgon blinked, taken aback.

"What city?"

"The one to the south. Someone told me about it. Said it existed beyond the cliffs."

Fenrir said plainly, as if it was common knowledge.

The king’s brows furrowed.

"There is no other city on this floor. Whoever told you that was lying, or misinformed. The southern region is wasteland—infested with wild mana beasts and death traps. People who head there... don’t come back."

Fenrir’s response was a slight shrug, as if that detail didn’t matter.

"Then I’ll be the first one who does."

"Don’t be arrogant. Even you shouldn’t go rushing into a place where the land itself can kill you."

The king’s tone hardened.

"I’m not rushing. I’m just moving forward."

Fenrir replied.

King Gorgon let out a slow breath and looked at him.

"You’re serious about this."

"Completely."

There was a pause, the tension of two strong men weighing the risk and trust between them. Then Fenrir added.

"If you don’t believe me, I’ll tell you where the floor boss is. That way, if I don’t return in two days, you’ll know where to go."

King Gorgon looked like he wanted to argue more, but he knew it wouldn’t change Fenrir’s mind. No one could stop a storm by yelling at the wind. He finally nodded.

"Two days. If you’re not back by then, I’ll assume you’re dead."

Fenrir smiled faintly.

"I won’t be."

Without waiting for a reply, he turned away and began walking.

He could feel the weight of many eyes following him—soldiers, citizens, even children peeking through gaps in the gate. Some pointed. Others whispered.

A few called him foolish, while some seemed to admire him with awe and fear.

Fenrir didn’t slow down. He didn’t care what they said.

He welcomed it.

This was the burden of the strong—the weight of stares, the pressure of expectation, the silence of the road ahead. It didn’t scare him. It fueled him.

Only once the city walls had disappeared from view did he pull open his system map.

The landscape unfolded in glowing lines, and there—faint, flickering—was a dot deep in the southern region. No name. No marker.

But it was there. The place the system acknowledged... even if the people didn’t.

A hidden city? A sealed ruin? Perhaps an outpost lost to time?

He didn’t know yet.

But he was going to find out.

The journey ahead would be difficult—King Gorgon hadn’t exaggerated about the dangers.

The southlands of the first floor were a place of legends and warnings, of corrupted mana and warped beasts.

Fenrir had read enough scattered records in the system archives to understand the gravity of what he was walking into.

But none of that mattered.

Not if there was something worth uncovering.

Not if it brought him one step closer to climbing the tower and reaching his true goal.

The wind shifted, brushing his cloak behind him as he stepped onto a cracked path leading into the untamed wilds.

The map pulsed softly at his side. The dot grew clearer as he moved.

Whatever waited out there, Fenrir would find it.

And if death waited along the path?

Then death would have to move aside.

It took Fenrir nearly three hours to reach the outskirts of the second village.

He had relied heavily on the system map, weaving his way around clusters of roaming monsters and natural hazards that dotted the southern region of the floor.

His journey was quiet and efficient—by design.

Fenrir had no interest in wasting energy on pointless skirmishes, not when there was something more important waiting ahead.

When he finally arrived, he stopped at the edge of a crumbled archway that marked the entrance. The sight before him was nothing like Beginner’s Town.

This place was ancient—older, quieter, and long abandoned.

Cracked stone buildings lined the crooked streets. Vines had long overtaken most of the walls. Rusted lamp posts leaned to the side, and thick layers of dust coated everything.

The wind blew through the ruins like a whisper from the past.

There was no sign of life. Not even the sound of birds or insects.

Yet, Fenrir felt it.

A tug—faint but unmistakable—reaching out from somewhere deep within the city.

He knew this feeling.

"It’s here."

He muttered.

This was the place. The location where he had hidden a fragment of his power.

He marveled at the ease with which he had found it. It was like the world itself had laid out the path for him.

Was it instinct? Fate? Or just his bond with the power calling him back?

No matter the reason, he felt strangely content.

He stepped forward.

And the moment his foot crossed the boundary of the crumbled archway, everything changed.

The ruined city shimmered, rippled—and then faded like smoke.

In its place stood a thriving town.

Clean stone buildings rose proudly, their colors vibrant.

Guards in polished armor stood by the gate, chatting casually. Merchants yelled over one another from busy stalls. Children ran across cobbled streets, laughing. The air was warm and full of life.

Fenrir blinked slowly.

He had seen many illusions before, and this was one of the most elaborate. But that only made it more obvious to him.

"A city-wide illusion, huh? Overkill."

He said, arms crossed.

His words were full of criticism, but the slight smile tugging at his lips told a different story.

In truth, he appreciated the effort. Someone—or something—had gone to great lengths to mask this place, to protect whatever lay within.

The illusion was powerful, almost perfect. If it wasn’t for the call of his own power, even he might’ve second-guessed whether the ruins he saw were real.

He took another step forward, watching as illusionary townsfolk politely made way for him, their faces unnervingly cheerful.

"Let’s see who left all this behind."

Fenrir muttered.

He walked deeper into the heart of the city, his pace calm and measured, his senses sharp. Somewhere in this dreamlike facade, a piece of his strength was waiting to be reclaimed.

And nothing—illusion or not—was going to stop him from taking it back.