He needed air. Space. Movement.

Jogging through the quiet outer district, his breath steady and his hoodie pulled up, Jace found peace in motion. Until something off caught his eye.

In an alley tucked between two old storage buildings, the air shimmered.

A faint blue ripple, like heat waves off asphalt.

He slowed. “No way…”

A Gate.

The dungeon vortex pulsed silently—unmarked, unguarded, swirling with blue and silver tendrils.

He stepped closer. The rank glyph above the portal flickered weakly.

D-Rank.

His eyes narrowed. “Why isn’t this sealed?”

He crouched behind a crate and waited.

After a minute, a group of armored figures approached, laughing and talking.

Jace froze when he saw him.

Norman.

Fully geared up and wearing a new black crest: Obsidian Fang Guild.

“So that’s how he got in,” Jace muttered. “They’re exploiting untagged gates.”

He watched them enter, leaving no guard behind.

His heart pounded. Logic screamed at him to leave. But…

If they’re farming, that means unclaimed mana crystals are inside. I need money.

He looked down at his hands. Weak, but steady.

In and out. Fast.

Jace pulled up his hood, breathed deep—and stepped through the gate.

---

Inside the Dungeon

It was dim. Mist clung to the ground like a creeping fog. Cracked stones and glowing mushrooms lined the twisted path ahead.

Jace stayed low, ears sharp for any sign of monsters—or the guild.

After ten tense minutes of shadowing the group from afar, he found what he was looking for: a side chamber dotted with mana crystals embedded in stone.

Heart racing, he pulled out a small blade and began to extract them.

Clink… Clink…

One by one, he filled the bag he’d brought—lightweight but packed with enough crystal to sparkle in the dim light.

“Five more seconds,” he whispered.

Just as he zipped the bag shut, he heard it—

Footsteps.

Voices.

“Hey, I thought I heard something!”

Jace bolted.

Through corridors, over mossy tiles, past flickering torches.

Out. I just need to get out.

The blue vortex shimmered up ahead.

He burst through the Gate—

BEEEEEP!

An alarm flared.

Shit.

A klaxon screamed through the alley. Red glyphs pulsed on the walls.

“Unauthorized Exit Detected!”

Six armed guards in black Obsidian Fang armor rushed from a side entrance.

“There! Grab him!”

Jace dashed into the streets, weaving through alleyways, vaulting over crates. A pulse of mana shot past his ear—missed by inches.

He threw off his hoodie, ducked into a crowd, and disappeared down a market side road.

By the time the guards reached the plaza, he was long gone.

---

Later… City Exchange Center

Jace handed the sack to a bored-looking clerk behind a reinforced crystal window.

“Quality’s low,” she muttered after inspecting them. “Mixed grade. Best I can offer is 6,000.”

Jace nodded. “I’ll take it.”

He left with a wad of bills stuffed into his inner pocket, still panting slightly from the chase.

Was it reckless? Yes.

Stupid? Probably.

But now he had something he hadn’t felt in weeks:

Choice.

---

That Night

Jace stood in front of a worn-down house on the edge of the district. Overgrown weeds. A crooked mailbox.

But to him, it was sacred.

His grandmother’s old house.

The place where he first learned how to hold a blade, how to live with honor.

The place he lost when the debt collectors came.

He looked at the crumpled paper in his hand. The sale price: 5,800.

He stepped inside, the door creaking like a long-lost friend.

“I’m home,” he whispered.