Harem Points System: Every Touch Counts!

The merchants whispered quietly among themselves as he passed. There was something unnerving about him — not malice, but gravity. The kind of presence that made lesser men straighten their backs without realizing it. One of the older vendors bowed slightly without knowing why.

"You heading to the Spire, lad?" an armorsmith called from behind his stall, voice cautious but curious.

Xavier paused, glancing at him. "That obvious?"

The man chuckled, shaking his head. "Word travels fast when someone's mad enough to walk into that place solo. The Spire doesn't take kindly to pride."

"I'm not doing it for pride," Xavier replied flatly. "I'm doing it for progress."

The armorsmith blinked — then grinned faintly, half in admiration, half in disbelief. "You've got guts, kid. I'll give you that."

Xavier ignored him leaving the place. He moved to the Western gate. Outside it as he was told was the location of the dungeon gate...

When he finally reached the city's western gate, the world seemed to grow still — as if sound itself had been swallowed by the horizon. The air here was different; thinner, colder, and edged with a strange metallic sharpness that made each breath feel heavier than the last. A faint hum vibrated beneath the silence, a distortion in the air ahead. Then he saw it — a swirling vortex suspended between two ancient stone pylons, its spiral of silver and black mist bending light like a mirror of liquid glass.

"Gate of the Silver Spire," he muttered under his breath, his tone carrying both awe and resignation. The name alone sent a chill through his spine — not of fear, but of reverence. He had read of this place, of course. The legends spoke of gateways that bridged realms, dungeons that existed beyond mortal maps. But seeing it with his own eyes... that was something else entirely.

He exhaled slowly, feeling the faint tremor in his fingertips before stepping forward. As he crossed the threshold, the world folded around him. The hum became a roar, the air turned weightless, and for a fleeting instant, his vision fractured — thousands of mirrored reflections swirling, twisting, vanishing into light.

Then silence again.

He stumbled one step forward, boots crunching against unfamiliar ground. When he turned back, the vortex was already fading — its spiraling light collapsing inward until nothing remained but a soft shimmer that dissolved into the air.

A frown crossed his face. "That's not supposed to happen… unless—" His eyes narrowed, his expression tightening. "This is a double dungeon."

The realization was unnerving, but not enough to shake his composure. A hint of curiosity flickered in his gaze.

"So be it," he murmured, adjusting his grip on the dagger at his belt. Whatever this place was, he would handle it.

As he surveyed his surroundings, the change from the city's outskirts was staggering. The world inside was an entirely different realm — a vast expanse of mist-laden plains stretching as far as sight could reach. The air shimmered faintly with ethereal particles, making the horizon blur between reality and dream. Jagged black ridges of volcanic rock jutted from the earth like the ribs of some ancient beast, their surfaces glistening faintly under the pale sunlight that seeped through the fog.

The silence here was profound, broken only by the low whisper of wind coursing through the uneven terrain. It carried a chill that nipped at his skin, carrying with it the scent of iron and ash.

And then he saw it.

Far in the distance, beyond the rolling haze, rose the Silver Spire — impossibly tall, impossibly perfect. Its needle-like structure pierced the heavens, a tower of pale stone that gleamed faintly, almost alive. Light danced upon its surface in haunting, fluid patterns, as though the tower itself were breathing. The spire's upper half vanished into the clouds, its base shrouded in the same ghostly mist that veiled the land.

It was breathtaking — beautiful in its desolation, yet oppressive in its presence. The sight of it evoked both wonder and unease, as if he were standing before a monument built by forgotten gods to mark the grave of an age long lost.

He could feel the weight of its existence pressing against him even from miles away — the kind of presence that made the air hum and the ground feel faintly alive beneath his boots.

The Silver Spire awaited.

Xavier stopped and took a slow breath. The faint metallic tang of mana drifted through the wind — the scent of the dungeon's presence, ancient and alive.

"Silver Spire…" he muttered quietly. "Let's see what kind of beasts you hide."

He adjusted his daggers again, their hilts fitting snugly in his grip as he started down the long dirt path. The wind picked up behind him, tugging at his cloak. Somewhere back in the city, the noise of the crowd was already fading — replaced by the low rumble of gossip and speculation.

***

Meanwhile a few seconds ago...

At the highest balcony of a tower, Lloyd leaned against the rail, watching Xavier's silhouette shrink against the horizon. His lips curled into a half-smile, cold and mocking.

"So… he really went through with it," he murmured.

A voice beside him replied — a lean man with dark hair and sharp eyes. "Sir Lloyd, the Silver Spire's still sealed from the last incident. Are you sure he'll even come out alive?"

Lloyd didn't answer right away. He watched the faint shimmer of mana in the distance — the glow that marked the dungeon's unstable barrier.

"Alive?" he repeated softly. "That's the point. I want to see how long he lasts."

The other man frowned. "You think he's a threat?"

"Oh, he's definitely a threat," Lloyd said, his tone calm but dangerous. "The kind that makes people forget who used to be on top."

He turned away from the railing, his cape flicking behind him as he began walking back into the hall. "If he returns from that place… we'll make sure the guild never forgets where it stands."

The subordinate hesitated before following. "And if he doesn't?"

"Then the Spire saves us the trouble, the spire if you don't know is a tri affinity double dungeon, Xavier dies there," Lloyd said simply, his smile widening faintly as the torches dimmed around him.

****

Back inside the dungeon, Xavier's footsteps fell steady against the cracked earth. He didn't rush — he didn't need to. Each step forward was measured, deliberate. His body pulsed faintly with restrained mana, his aura so condensed it made the nearby grass shimmer faintly as he passed.

He could feel it — that faint whisper in his veins. The call of the hunt.

Diana's essence had unlocked something inside him, but it was up to him to sharpen it. The Spire would do exactly that — test his instincts, his body, his limits.

The horizon glowed faintly with the Spire's reflection as clouds darkened overhead. The wind carried faint echoes of the guild's chatter, but he didn't look back. Not once.

The world around him seemed to hold its breath — waiting.

Because by the time Xavier returned, if he did… nothing about this city, nor the people watching him leave, would ever remain the same.

The air was unnaturally still. The faint hum of mana drifted through the barren terrain, vibrating like the breath of something ancient beneath the surface. Jagged rocks littered the ground, blackened and gleaming faintly under the waning sun. Each step Xavier took echoed against the stony silence, his boots grinding against dust and shards of obsidian.

When he finally came to a halt, he slowly scanned his surroundings—the narrow valley path that split between two cliffs of basalt, sharp as blades against the crimson horizon. A faint shimmer of energy prickled at the edge of his senses, the kind that warned of lurking danger rather than promised it.

He drew his dagger. The polished edge caught a glint of sunlight, flickering like a line of silver fire. His voice came low, calm, but edged with steel.

"This should be the point."

For a few seconds, nothing happened. Then the earth shuddered.

The tremor rippled beneath his feet, spreading outward. The ground cracked open as deep rumbles rose from below—slow, guttural, like the growl of slumbering beasts being disturbed. Then, one by one, the shapes began to rise.

Massive rocky limbs broke through the soil, fragments of basalt tumbling away as the creatures pulled themselves from the earth. They stood upright—towering, broad, each easily three times the size of a man. Their bodies were formed entirely of volcanic stone fused by mana, glowing orange veins of molten light running through their cracks like arteries of fire.

Xavier's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Basalt Golems," he muttered under his breath.

He had studied enough before coming. The Silver Spire's outer perimeter was infested with them—guardians of stone that acted as both sentinels and scavengers of intruders. Tough, relentless, and nearly impervious to blunt force. Their cores were buried deep within their bodies—hitting it required precision, speed, and power.

They were the first monsters that marked the Spire's territory. The first wall he had to break through.

As the first golem's eyes lit with molten glow, the temperature around him rose sharply. The scent of ash and scorched metal filled the air. Each movement they made sent pebbles skittering down the slopes. The ground trembled beneath their synchronized steps—a slow, pounding rhythm that mirrored a heartbeat made of stone.