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- Samrat Bhavan, Delhi -
- April 20, 1937 | Night
That night, long after the quiet dinner and soft moments with his family, Aryan stood alone in his bedroom at the Samrat Bhavan. The walls hummed gently, resonating with the silent anticipation in the air. It had been months since he last entered the dungeon realm—months of work, politics, walking among the people, and waiting. But now, something within him stirred.
He could feel it in his bones. The roadblock he had been pushing against for so long was finally cracking. The threshold to Tier-5—the next great step in his power—was within reach.
Without hesitation, he summoned the portal with the help of the system.
"System, open the dungeon portal to the dark forest."
| Ding. Responding to Host's request… |
| Opening Dungeon Portal… |
The portal opened with a low thrum, casting a pulsing silver-blue light that danced on the marble floor. He stepped through.
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- Dark Forest, Dungeon World -
The Dark Forest greeted him like an old friend—silent, vast, and thick with mystery. The air was cold and damp, the kind that clung to your skin. Trees stretched impossibly high into the sky, their leaves a deep indigo, drinking in what little starlight filtered through the misty canopy. The forest was darker here than he remembered. Denser. He had spent months navigating its twisting paths, but even now, it revealed only fragments of its true size.
Curious, Aryan soared into the sky.
As he broke through the canopy and kept rising, the truth unfolded before him. The forest stretched in every direction, endlessly—seemingly, larger than all of Earth's continents combined. He had already guessed during his earlier explorations that this forest was even more massive than the previous goblin infested forest, but seeing it's size was almost disbelieving for him. Infact, he wasn't even close to the mountain ranges in the distance he had once marked as his goal, when he first entered the forest.
Even from the sky, the paths were confusing, shifting. The forest resisted being understood. Detection skills and his photographic memory helped little, but still he was having a hard time mapping out the forest. Whatever laws governed this realm did not play by the rules of the outside universe.
Aryan descended again, deep into the heart of the forest. This place felt different from the outskirts. The air here was heavier. Not just in weight, but in presence. The shadows were deeper. Even the silence felt alive.
A few steps in, he encountered the magical beasts.
The beasts came—massive, snarling creatures of muscle, fang, and arcane energy. He knew them. Tier-5 magical beasts, the kind that could destroy cities if unleashed back in his world. But Aryan didn't draw his weapon. He didn't call upon fire or light or force or any of his other abilities.
He fought them with his body.
Flesh against fang. Fist against scale. He let himself feel every blow, every strain of muscle. It wasn't just about testing strength. It was about syncing it. For years he had built himself across every path—magic, energy, tech, spirit—but none of it would matter if his core, his physical self, couldn't keep pace.
He moved like a storm. Not wild, but with purpose. His strikes were clean, precise, final. Even in their ferocity, there was no rage—only resolve.
The system still marked him as Tier-4 (Peak). That was the broad measure, the safe estimate. But Aryan knew better. Numbers didn't tell the whole story. In a fight, intelligence, adaptability, and intent could turn the tide—and many beings in higher tiers, especially ones without minds, couldn't match him on that front.
After the skirmish, he walked on. Deeper.
And then he found it.
A clearing opened ahead—silent, still. Unlike the others.
It was a graveyard.
Massive, ancient, covered in broken stones and blackened grass. And within it, the dead stirred.
Hundreds of them. Maybe thousands. Some still wearing rusted armor, others twisted by dark sorcery. Eyes glowing, limbs creaking, hatred simmering in their hollow chests. It wasn't just a fight waiting—it was a siege.
Aryan didn't flinch.
He smiled quietly. This… this was what he came for.
If he was to break into Tier-5, it wouldn't be through quiet meditation or slow refinement. It would be through fire. Through challenge. Through the grind of flesh and spirit.
He took a breath, deep and steady. The ground trembled under his feet.
And then he stepped forward—into the graveyard of the forgotten, ready to carve a new chapter in his journey.
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Aryan didn't hesitate.
As the first wave of undead surged toward him—skeletal giants wielding rusted greatswords, shrieking ghosts, and clawed ghouls—he raised his hand. Energy flared from his body, a calm yet intense glow pulsing from his core.
He didn't waste time.
In one smooth motion, he activated his energy absorption. The curses, necrotic magic, and death auras—the very essence of the undead—flowed into him, breaking apart and being rechanneled into pure, clean force. The shadows tried to cling to him, but they couldn't.
He focused.
A sword formed in his hand—not made of steel or stone, but of light. Pure, cutting, radiant. It shimmered with condensed energy, humming with his will.
And then he moved.
His feet barely touched the ground as he dashed forward, body balanced between power and grace. He spun, leapt, dodged, and sliced. Each strike was purposeful, clean, and final. Bones shattered. Spectres faded with a single slash. Ghouls shrieked as they dissolved into dust. He didn't stop to admire the destruction. He didn't need to.
This wasn't a show.
It was focus.
His agility carried him through narrow gaps. His strength allowed him to cut through even the toughest of undead with ease. His dexterity ensured not a single movement was wasted. He kept moving forward, each step bringing him closer to the heart of the graveyard.
And then he saw it.
A massive tombstone, half-buried in dark soil. Cracked, but still radiating an overwhelming presence. Death energy poured out of it like a waterfall—thick, cold, ancient. His body tensed instinctively. This was no ordinary structure.
It was a gate.
He stepped through.
Inside, the air changed. It wasn't just death—it was purpose. The energy here was heavier, more focused. The undead that emerged were different—larger, stronger, and armored in bone and shadow. They moved with more coordination, more intent.
He didn't falter.
With every motion, he refined his control. Light flared brighter around his sword, and each impact broke not just bodies, but the dark spells binding them. Their energy became fuel. Their resistance—a test.
He passed through them like a storm in silence. Finally, he reached a wide hall carved from obsidian stone. At its center stood a lone figure—still, calm, and watching.
It wore a dark hood. Long robes whispered with every shift of air. Bony hands rested on a staff pulsing with deep violet light.
Aryan's eyes narrowed.
He activated his Analysis skill.
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[Entity Identified: Lich Sovereign – Tier-5 Peak]
[Traits: High Intelligence, Advanced Necromancy, Domain Control]
[Threat Level: High]
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The Lich spoke, its voice like dry leaves rustling in a crypt.
"You do not belong here, stranger. You've made the gravest mistake by entering, uninvited, the domain of this Great One."
Aryan didn't reply immediately.
He studied the creature—not just its power, but its presence. This wasn't some mindless monster. It was a ruler, an ancient being, steeped in power and pride. A being that had stood unchallenged for ages.
But Aryan didn't step back.
He tightened his grip on the sword of light.
"I didn't come here for chit-chat, Mr. Bones or whoever you are," he said quietly, smirking. "I came here for a challenge. A fight that could push me further."
The Lich tilted Its head, amused. Then laughter echoed through the tomb.
"Hahaha… You are a strange creature."
"But your reasons don't matter. What matters is this—soon, you will join my legion."
"You will grow, that I promise… but in death."
The tomb trembled.
Aryan smiled. Just a little.
Finally, a real challenge.
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The Lich didn't wait.
With a flick of his skeletal fingers, a glowing array flared to life in front of him—its pattern ancient, swirling with dark power. Two figures emerged from the light.
The first was massive, black Dragon.
Its black, decaying scales shimmered with dark energy, each movement heavy with power. Its eyes glowed with cold intelligence, and its very breath felt like a curse.
Aryan narrowed his eyes and activated Analysis again.
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[Entity Identified: Death Dragon – Tier-6]
[Traits: Dominion of Death, Unmatched Physical Strength and Durability, Corrupted Breath]
[Threat Level: Extreme]
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A Death Dragon. And, Tier 6 or more specifically God level at that.
Before Aryan could observe more deeply, the second figure stepped forward—tall, broad-shouldered, and clad in twisted armor. A knight. Undead, but oddly composed. His presence was silent but suffocating. His sword, long and blackened, pulsed unnaturally.
Aryan scanned him too.
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[Entity Identified: Deathbound Knight – Tier-5]
[Traits: War Forged, Relentless Combatant, Bound Soul]
[Threat Level: High]
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But something was off.
It wasn't the power level—he'd faced Tier-5s before. It was the sword. There was something ancient about it. Something watching. Waiting.
Aryan's breath caught for a second.
This wasn't just a fight. It was a test of survival.
Without wasting another moment, Aryan summoned thirty shadow clones, each one splitting off into precise formation.
Ten moved toward the dragon.
Ten surrounded the knight.
The remaining ten flanked the area, observing, adapting, ready to assist.
Aryan himself stayed back, eyes locked on the Lich. He didn't charge in blindly—he needed to understand how they moved, how they thought. This wasn't just brute force. It needed strategy.
The Death Dragon let out a roar that shook the chamber. Then, it fired.
A storm of black flames surged forward. Aryan's clones moved fast, some absorbing parts of the breath with energy manipulation—but the death energy proved much trickier than he could imagine. A few were incinerated instantly. The rest learned fast, adjusting their flows, using their control to bend the death energy around them instead of taking it head-on.
They couldn't absorb it all. But they could survive it.
Then they struck back.
Energy attacks flew through the air—not just raw force, but mixed. Aryan's clones had taken fragments of the death energy, blended it with Power Cosmic, kinetic bursts, and pure light. The result was unstable—but powerful.
The fused energy raced toward the dragon, the knight, and the Lich himself.
The Lich's eyes widened slightly.
He raised his staff. A shield snapped into place—thick, violet, and ancient. The energy blast hit it hard. Cracks ran across the surface. It held—but barely.
The Lich chuckled, low and amused.
"Impressive. I underestimated you."
His voice echoed with something close to respect.
"Let's correct that mistake."
He waved his hand.
The knight charged forward, faster than expected for something dead.
The dragon took flight, jaws glowing again.
And the real battle began.
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