The city of Patrain was a sprawling labyrinth of stone and steel, a hub for those who lived by the blade and died by the coin.
It was a city of harsh contrasts—where the golden spires of the cathedral cast long, indifferent shadows over the soot-stained alleys of the industrial district.
But tucked away from the clatter of the mercenary guilds and the metallic stench of the slave markets sat Ozuna's Inn.
It was an anomaly in a city of stone: a sanctuary that smelled of rosemary, roasted mutton, and the faint, unmistakable ozone scent of high-grade mana catalysts.
Arthur pushed through the heavy oak doors, the bell above the frame chiming a weary, mournful greeting. He looked every bit the ghost of a hero.
The high-tier [Herculean Plate Armor] that had once defined his silhouette was gone, reduced to slag in the mountains and discarded like a broken promise.
He was dressed in the salt-stained rags of a common laborer, his face smudged with the charcoal and grit of a labourers.
Behind the bar counter, a man with shoulders like an anvil and hair the color of cooling ash was polishing a tankard. This was Airgid, a retired swordsman whose reputation in the borderlands was whispered with a mix of respect and fear.
He didn't look up immediately, his rhythmic polishing suggesting a man who had found peace in the mundane, but the moment Arthur's shadow crossed the threshold, Airgid's hands stilled.
The old swordsman's gaze swept over the boy. He didn't see the Level 172 blacksmith he had seen a month ago. He saw a man whose presence felt like a flickering candle in a hurricane—weak, depleted, yet possessing a core of heat that defied the laws of the world. A Level 10 body should not have a soul that heavy.
"Arthur," Airgid's voice was a low, resonant rumble. "You look like you crawled out of a dragon's gullet and found it too cold outside."
He didn't wait for a reply, his sharp eyes catching the subtle tremor in Arthur's hands. "Alfia! Meteria! Nana! Arthur has returned, though he seems to have left most of his weight on the road!"
The sound of hurried footsteps erupted from the kitchen and the upper floor. Three girls burst into the common room, their presence bringing a sudden, radiant warmth to the dim inn.
Alfia, the elder, clutched a staff of weirwood, her eyes sharp with the intellectual fire of an aspiring Great Magician.
Beside her was Meteria, her younger sister, whose gentle aura hummed with the invisible whispers of the spirits.
Tailing behind them was Nana, the aspiring swordswoman, her hand already instinctively resting on the hilt of a practice blade.
"Arthur!" Meteria cried, her hands flying to her mouth. She rushed forward, her eyes scanning his tattered clothes with a healer's scrutiny.
"What happened? Your mana... it's so thin! It's like a thread about to snap!"
Alfia stepped closer, her brow furrowed as she reached out a hand, sensing the magical fluctuations. "This isn't just exhaustion. His fundamental stats have been restructured. Arthur, look at me. Who did this to you? What kind of curse requires a sacrifice of this magnitude?"
"And why didn't you take us along?" Nana complained, though her eyes were brimming with unshed tears of relief. "We told you the outside world were crawling with shadows!"
Arthur took a seat by the hearth, the warmth of the fire finally beginning to thaw the unnatural chill in his bones. He gave them a wry, tired smile—the smile of a man who had seen the sun from the inside.
"Bad luck, mostly," Arthur lied gently. "I ran into something in the mountains—an ancient resonance that required a sacrifice to survive. To keep my foundation intact (Undefeated King's Apprentice Class), I had to burn away my accumulated strength (The stats come along with levels). I'm starting over from the beginning."
He kept the truth locked behind his teeth. He didn't mention the [Prince of the Eternal Sun]. He didn't mention the Red Knights or the Saharan Founder. To these NPCs, those names were not lore—they were death sentences.
"Starting over?" Alfia's eyes flashed with a protective, fierce light. "Then you aren't going back to the wilds alone. You're barely strong enough to swing a sword, let alone defend yourself against the carrion-eaters of the Gray Marsh."
"She's right," Meteria added, gripping Arthur's hand. Her touch felt like a cooling spring, a soothing balm to the molten heat still simmering in his chest. "I've made a contract with a Lesser Sylph. Alfia has mastered the third-tier Fire Bolt. We will be your shield until your strength returns."
"This time, I'll be your rearguard," Nana declared, puffing out her chest. "I won't let anything touch your back again!"
Arthur looked into their eyes and felt a cold knot of anxiety tighten. In the world of Satisfy, he was a Player. If he fell, he lost a level and a few items—a setback, or most the Undefeated King's apprentice class, nothing more.
But Nana, Alfia, and Meteria? They were the "souls" of this world. If they died, they were gone forever. Their laughter, their dreams, the way Alfia bit her lip when she studied a complex spellbook—it would all be deleted, replaced by a cold, digital silence that no patch could fix.
'I can't let them come,' he thought. 'I'm a Legend, but they're... they're real.'
'And if they get hurt?' Arthur whispered internally, his mental voice desperate.
Ciel responded, her voice devoid of emotion yet terrifyingly efficient.
Arthur let out a slow, steadying breath. He looked at the three girls—his makeshift family in this digital realm. "Fine. But you listen to me. If I say run, you run. No arguments."
They nodded happily, the tension in the room evaporating. For them, there was nothing better than the chance to walk alongside the man who had saved their lives and their city.
Before heading into the wilds, Arthur sought out the market. Amidst the shouting vendors and the smell of spice, he found the stall of Branaby, the miscellaneous items merchant.
Arthur started with small talk, purchasing the essentials: animal fat oil for lanterns, hemp ropes, tarpaulins, and sharpening stones.
Arthur was a celebrity in Patrain, the "Hero" who had stood his ground during the Goblin Siege and save the people of Patrain from a monster disaster. Seeing Arthur use Branaby's goods was the best advertisement the merchant could ask for.
[Affinity with Branaby +10]
[Affinity with Branaby has reached 60. Branaby will now share local gossip.]
Branaby glanced around, making sure no guards were within earshot, and leaned over his counter. His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper.
"There's been talk, Arthur. Strange activity in the old ruins to the north. Folks say they've seen lights—ghostly, blue flames—at night. The city guard is too busy licking their wounds from the goblin siege to investigate, but someone with your... reputation might find it interesting."
[Hidden Quest: Strange Activities in the Dark]
Grade: S+
Description: Investigate the ruins outside Patrain. Find the source of the lights.
Reward: Progression in the 'The Dark within the Light' chain.
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Lights in the ruins? Could be bandits, could be an enthusiastic hermit throwing a rave."
Branaby snorted. "A rave? In those cursed rocks? That's a mental image. But no, the air feels... heavy up there. If it's a treasure cache, remember who told you. If it's a pile of old rocks and an angry raccoon, well, bring me back a souvenir."
Arthur laughed, his first genuine laugh since the mountains. "Deal. I'll try to check upon that ruins and bring you back a souvenir, Branaby."
The journey began under the amber glow of the afternoon sun. The first leg was easy, traveling through the rolling hills and well-guarded farmlands that fed Patrain. But as they pushed north, the landscape began to sour.
The lush greens faded into the sickly grays of the Gray Marsh, and the air grew cool and damp, smelling of ancient pine and stagnant water.
Arthur led the way, his eyes constantly scanning the tree line. Behind him, the girls were a whirlwind of activity. Alfia was lecturing Nana on the proper way to sense mana in the wind, while Meteria walked in a peaceful trance, her fingers occasionally brushing the bark of passing trees to greet the local spirits.
As the sun hung low on the horizon, casting long, distorted shadows across the desolate landscape, they reached the edge of a rocky outcrop. In the distance, the ruins stood like a jagged tooth against the darkening sky.
The structure was ancient, its stone walls crumbling and overgrown with bioluminescent vines that pulsed with a faint, sickly blue light. Strange symbols were carved into the weathered basalt—runes that seemed to shift and squirm if you looked at them too long.
"Branaby wasn't kidding," Arthur muttered. The air here wasn't just cold; it was wrong. It was thick with a dark aura that made the 'Red Energy' in his chest growl in response. It felt like standing near a predator that hadn't noticed you yet.
"The spirits are quiet here," Meteria whispered, her face pale. "They're not gone... they're hiding."
"Look at the mana flow," Alfia pointed out, her staff glowing faintly. "It's being sucked into the center of the ruins. It's like a whirlpool."
Arthur looked at his party. They were tired, their muscles aching from the day-long trek. His own Level 10 body was screaming for rest. Despite the pull of the quest, he knew the cardinal rule of survival: never enter a dungeon on an empty stomach and an exhausted mind.
"Alright, ruins," Arthur said, looking at the crumbling towers. "You've been here for a thousand years. You can wait one more night. Girls, we'll camp here. We'll set up behind that large stone wall—it'll block the wind and hide our fire from the ruins. If something is watching, I don't want to give it a target."
As they began to set up the camp, Arthur sat against the stone wall, looking at the glowing blue ruins. He could feel the [Prince of the Eternal Sun] class reacting to the darkness ahead. This wasn't just a quest; it was a confrontation.