NOVEL NEXT Chapter 92: Preparations...
Soon, he stood before the tall, multi-tiered building etched in glowing gold glyphs, with clear quartz windows and an eerie, white radiance hovering around its entrance.
He walked in.
A white-robed attendant took one look at Mia's condition and called in a specialist immediately. She was rushed into a crystal ward, surrounded by soft light and enchanted tools.
Ethan stood silently as the top-tier healer—a man with glowing blue eyes and floating golden runes orbiting his wrists—finished his diagnosis.
"Internal organ trauma. Mana burn. Spiritual backlash. Energy channels fragmented."
The healer looked at Ethan with a frown.
"She forced a forbidden technique. Her core's on the verge of collapse. If we don't treat this, she won't even be able to channel essence again. Ever."
Ethan didn't flinch.
"How much?"
The healer looked at the crystal tablet and spoke calmly.
"Two hundred and twenty thousand Gold Crowns."
Ethan's eyes narrowed, but his face remained unreadable.
"Breakdown?"
"Full restoration elixir—crafted from four mythical ingredients: 180,000. Soulweaver Array to stabilize her spiritual sea—40,000. We'll begin treatment upon payment."
Ethan glanced at the card tucked inside his coat.
Three thousand.
That was all he had.
Not enough.
Not even close.
He also needed a license to operate in the city. Gear. Clothing. Base potions. Room fees. Even stabling Kaeryx's physical form would cost him another fifty thousand if he summoned the dragon in the open.
It was a lot.
But Ethan didn't panic.
Pressure?
Sure.
But this… this was life.
This was freedom. No Drakethorne chains. No waiting for approval. No need to play obedient son.
He was strong now.
Strong enough to carve his own path.
Strong enough to solve every one of these problems and still keep climbing.
The grin returned to his face.
He looked down at Mia, unconscious but stable now.
"Just wait a little," he whispered.
"I'll handle the rest."
With that he left the place
*****
Valeron Cross—the capital of awakened dreams and broken ambitions. Sprawling buildings lined with glowing sigils towered into the sky, and mana-powered carriages darted through paved roads. Neon signs buzzed quietly even in broad daylight, casting faint hues of blue and violet over the clean marble streets.
Ethan walked with his coat fluttering gently behind him, his steps steady, calculated.
This was the beginning.
He arrived at the central branch of the Valeron Awakened Association, a sleek, white structure laced with elegant runes etched into its stone. The entrance opened automatically as he approached, revealing a cool, well-lit lobby filled with bustling applicants, receptionists, and guild recruiters. Everything smelled of polished steel and paperwork.
A woman seated at the registration desk looked up at him.
She wore a navy blazer with the association's crest—a silver eye over a rising star—pinned neatly to her chest. Her hair was pulled back in a professional knot, and her voice carried a practiced courtesy.
"Welcome to the Valeron Cross Association," she said, fingers hovering over a glowing crystal interface. "Are you here to register as an Awakened?"
Ethan nodded. "Yeah."
She scanned his face briefly, then gestured to a translucent pedestal with a glowing white orb embedded in its center.
"Please place your hand on the mana crystal and infuse a stream of your mana. Just enough to trigger classification."
He stepped forward and placed his palm on the orb.
Mana surged gently through his veins—controlled, deliberate. The orb glowed, then pulsed once with a soft click.
DING!
A thin line of light extended from the orb to the desk. The woman looked at the results on her display.
"Confirmation complete. Mana classification: Rank 1 Awakened."
She looked back at him. "Congratulations, Mr…?"
He paused. Then smiled faintly.
"Leon Grimveil."
"Alright, Mr. Grimveil." Her hands moved quickly. "I'll need to record some information. Please confirm the following details…"
She went through the process with calm efficiency—birth date, identification number, place of origin, emergency contact. Ethan provided answers, sometimes improvising carefully, weaving Leon Grimveil's life with the ease of someone used to adapting.
"Done. Your Awakened License is being printed. Please wait a moment."
After a short mechanical whir, she handed him a sleek black card with a glowing rune etched onto its center.
Name: Leon Grimveil
Rank: 1
Affiliation: None
Status: Cleared for Active Duty
"This license will grant you access to Rank 1 missions. For higher-rank missions, your license must be upgraded through official evaluation or merit-based submission."
"Got it."
He tucked the license into his coat and made his way to the side wall of the Association lobby.
There, a large Neon Mission Board shimmered. Holographic listings floated in colored rows, shifting every few seconds. The top ranks—4 and 5—were grayed out for him. Only the bottom section, tinted faint green for Rank 1, remained active.
Each listing detailed a mission request—location, estimated danger, reward, and party status.
Most of the Rank 1 missions had been taken. Others blinked "pending team formation." Some were grayed out, marked "solo not allowed."
Ethan scrolled through quietly.
[Rank 1 - Goblin Nest - Location: Sector 9 - Status: Team Incomplete]
He paused.
This one had been taken… but the team still needed one more person to qualify for entry.
Goblin dungeons were considered unstable. The Awakened Association prohibited solo entries due to high casualty rates, even for Rank 1. It didn't matter that Ethan could solo it blindfolded.
He wasn't Ethan Drakethorne here.
He was Leon Grimveil—a nobody.
But that was fine.
Being a nobody and rising to the top here, free and unchained, was better than being a Drakethorne back in the Great Labyrinth. No expectations, no obligations, no family watching his every move.
Not once, despite everything he'd been through, had he ever regretted breaking away.
He tapped the listing. The hologram expanded.
Guild: Desperado Guild
Mission Type: Raid
Objective: Clear the Goblin Nest
Reward: 800 Sols + Material Rights
Status: Accepting One (1) Member to Reach Entry Quota
Perfect.
Most parties didn't accept strays—but when desperation meets urgency, even nobodies get a chance.
Ethan turned toward the address listed beneath the request. A small guild office in the western district. He didn't waste time.
By the time the streets began to buzz louder with early evening traffic, Ethan had already left the Association building behind, walking toward the Desperado Guild branch.
The goblin dungeon had spawned inside Valeron Cross's outer perimeter.
That meant it needed to be cleared immediately.
And Ethan was already on his way.
Ethan flagged down a cab—an older model with rust around the mana nodes and a dull blue rune flickering near the bumper. The driver barely looked up before jerking his thumb to the back seat.
"Where to?"
Ethan gave the coordinates listed on the mission board. The driver nodded, and the cab rumbled to life, pulling away from the main road and weaving into the denser sectors of Valeron Cross.
The city blurred past—layers of polished infrastructure and spiraling towers, holographic adverts flickering in the distance, and crowds pulsing like veins through every corner. It was a city of ambition, one that never truly slept, powered by mana, greed, and the thrill of dungeon loot.
Soon, the high-rises gave way to lower walls and open plazas. Military presence grew thicker. Spell cannons mounted on watchtowers, mana suppression lines humming quietly beneath the stone, and patrolling awakened units outfitted in tactical gear.
The cab came to a halt.
"End of the line. Sub-gate Square."
Ethan stepped out and paid without a word.
The gathering point was exactly as described—an open square just before one of Valeron Cross's secondary sub-gates. The portal itself shimmered in the background, a swirling rift of pale green, anchored by control runes and guarded by sentries in reinforced robes.
Dungeon teams milled about in loose groups. Some were chatting loudly, laughing. Others sharpened weapons, adjusted gear, or summoned familiars to their side. Every team had a look—matching emblems, color-coded armor, or signature cloaks that made them easy to identify.
Ethan walked past them quietly.
No armor. No emblem. Just dark clothes that looked too casual for a dungeon raid, a high-collared coat and gloves that made him seem more civilian than combatant. But his stride didn't falter, and his presence turned a few heads despite the lack of flair.
He spotted them in the far corner.
A sleek panther sprawled beside a tall man with golden blond hair. His posture was too relaxed to be humble—arms folded, head tilted as he examined the passing crowd with a smirk.
That was Rynel Vaen.
"Ah, you're the extra," Rynel said when Ethan approached. His tone carried the same smug sharpness as his posture—casual, but condescending.
"I thought we'd be getting someone competent."
The panther beside him yawned, revealing rows of glowing fangs.
Ethan didn't respond. His gaze moved past him, scanning the rest.
Garron Flintblade was hard to miss—armor scratched from old battles, an axe taller than most men strapped across his back, and a face like a chiseled rock. He grunted, unimpressed.
"No guild? No sponsor? You better stay outta the way, rookie. We don't do babysitting."