Their torturous training dragged on for hours. After running through the gauntlet a dozen more times, Corvin was exhausted, his body numb all over. Even the clothes they had given him were scorched in places from the electric shocks.

  After the Trap Course came body training: lifting heavy boulders and walking as far as they could with them. Then, just before lunch, they had to spar with Roary, who enjoyed that part the most. He beat all three of them with wooden swords, laughing heartily the entire time.

  When the clock struck midday, they were finally allowed to wash up and change into a fresh set of clothes: simple white button-down shirts and brown pants. Only Corvin had boots; Stix and Urdu preferred to go barefoot, claiming their feet felt better and more stable without shoes.

  ***

  “And you guys had to do all this for years?” Corvin asked, his face pale as he sat on the bed he’d chosen.

  “Yeah. It never gets easier,” Urdu said with a heavy exhale. “I don’t even know if it made me stronger. He always beats me until I lose consciousness.”

  “I’d like to beat him at least once,” Stix hissed. “Just to show him how it feels. But my skills are useless. I need a teacher to help me learn better techniques or figure them out myself. But going on like this, it’ll never happen.”

  “If I may ask, what Icon do you have? You seem to explode with great speed,” Corvin said.

  “Oh, I didn’t tell you.” Stix pulled his shirt aside, revealing a bright white Icon etched into his skin above his heart: a simple triangle with a spear inside. “I’m a Spearman. It’s an Uncommon Icon, but not very useful in dungeons, too many tight spaces and narrow corridors.”

  “That’s amazing. I can’t believe they treat you the same as me. They’re insane! You’d be a lieutenant in any army,” Corvin said, shocked.

  “Well, to them I’m not that useful. And without anyone to help me awaken my skills, I’m as skill-less as you,” Stix admitted. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Eh, it’s fine. I know I’m useless. If it weren’t for this strangely strong body, I’d be dead by now,” Corvin said grimly.

  “I’ve been meaning to ask, how are you so big and strong for a nine-year-old human child? The ones I saw in my village would need to be at least twelve, maybe fifteen, to match your size. And you’re probably stronger than them, too,” Urdu said.

  “I was born like this. Maybe it’s my ‘demonic’ blood,” Corvin chuckled, sarcasm dripping from his tongue. “Or my gift. I learned I have something called Lesser Vitality. No idea what it does, though.”

  “Oh, well, at least you’ve got something,” Urdu chuckled.

  “I’ve never heard of it,” Stix said. “But if it has ‘vitality’ in the name, it’s probably tied to strength, endurance, or healing. Did you notice anything after being wounded, less pain, faster recovery?”

  “Hmmm, not sure. I was stabbed in the thigh and shoulder and bitten by three goblins. I barely survived. My wounds healed in a week, but that was probably Isolde, right?” Corvin said earnestly.

  “Damn, you’re nine, skill-less, and you killed three goblins? And survived with only those wounds?” Urdu said, shocked.

  “What? I thought goblins were beginner targets for adventurers or rookie soldiers,” Corvin said, confused.

  “Well, yeah, but those adventurers have Icons. You had nothing and killed three alone; a child,” Stix said, shaking his head.

  “It seems your gift made you stronger than an average human, probably tougher too. You saw your power level, right?” Stix asked.

  “Oh, yeah. It was at 10. No idea what that means,” Corvin admitted.

  “10? I’ll be damned. Mine’s 14,” Stix chuckled. “And Urdu’s at 16. See how strong you are?”

  “We’ve been training for years to reach those levels, and you’re already at 10,” Urdu agreed.

  “But who knows if that’s your ceiling? Without an Icon, you have nothing to grow your power with. Each Icon has a limit. For example, the strongest Spearman ever measured had a power of 73,” Stix added.

  “Yeah, blacksmiths reach the high twenties, and that’s it. So, you might already be at your limit. Who knows?” Urdu said.

  “Well, you guys are making me feel amazing.” He chuckled while shaking his head.

  “I think that your mind is your best weapon. You speak and think better and faster than most men I’ve met. Keep it sharp, maybe one day it will find us a way out.” Stix nudged him playfully, trying to cheer him up.

  “Yeah… I’ll keep it sharp.” Corvin sighed.

  ***

  Like that, the trio went to eat. Lunch was a plate of suspicious-looking meat and mashed potatoes. It wasn’t great, but at least they could eat plenty. Boridus wanted them useful, not starved.

  Corvin sat at the wide table staring at his meal like it was a cursed relic, before he took a careful bite. Across from him, Stix tore into his portion with sharp teeth, chunks of meat vanishing in seconds.

  “You know,” Stix said between bites, “you eat like a priest at a holy feast. All slow and polite. Drives me crazy.”

  Corvin raised a brow. “What’s wrong with eating properly?”

  Stix snorted. “Properly? You’re in a dungeon slave camp, not a royal banquet. Look at you, back straight, chewing like you’re judging the flavor. What’s next? Gonna ask for wine?”

  Corvin smirked. “If they served wine, maybe it would fix this horrendous aftertaste.”

  Urdu barked a laugh from his part of the table. “Oh, gods, he would! Bet he’d even swirl the cup and sniff it first.”

  Corvin chuckled, shaking his head. “I was raised to have manners.”

  “Manners?” Stix leaned forward, grinning like a predator. “You think manners will save you when a goblin’s chewing your leg off?”

  “They might,” Corvin said dryly. “If I ask nicely.”

  Urdu howled with laughter, clutching his stomach. “Oh, please, let me see that one day. ‘Excuse me, Mr. Goblin, would you kindly stop eating my thigh?’”

  Corvin smirked, stabbing his fork into the meat. “Laugh all you want. Manners cost nothing, and let’s not speak of goblins again. Green bastards.”

  “Oh, sorry, I forgot about your encounter with cute little goblins?” Stix teased, tail flicking.

  Corvin frowned, meeting Stix’s sharp gaze. “Cute, my ass. Damn monsters.”

  For a moment, silence stretched, then all three burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the bleak stone walls like a fragile spark of hope.

  Then, after the meal came lessons with Isolde.

  “Hello, dear Corvin. I’m sure these two already briefed you,” Isolde said as they entered an improvised classroom.

  “Oh, you mean how you were a spy all this time and pretended to be a nice old lady?” Corvin scoffed.

  “Hahaha, well, yes.” Her laugh dripped with mockery.

  “It’s your own fault for being useless,” she said, her grin twisting into something manic. “If you were strong, you’d be my comrade, maybe even earn your freedom. But now? You’ll be our little explorer.”

  Corvin shivered and backed toward the seats where Urdu and Stix were already sitting. Crazy bitch, he cursed inwardly.

  “Well, since we have a new student, why don’t we start with the basics today?” She chuckled darkly. “Stix, explain what dungeons are. If you do it poorly, I get to slice part of your tail for research.”

  What the hell? Corvin paled.

  Stix stood, sweat glistening on his forehead. “Dungeons are divided into three tiers,” he began. “First, naturally born phenomena. Second, remnants of old civilizations before the First Crusades or secret realm fragments. And third, divine or demonic proving grounds, older than the second tier and far rarer.”

  “Bravo! Now continue,” Isolde smirked.

  “Dungeons are considered treasure troves. Nations or wealthy families often buy several and conquer them slowly until they reach the boss room, where the dungeon core is stored. They’re filled with traps and dangers, but the greatest threat is the monsters that dwell inside.” Stix finished and sat down.

  “Good, you really learned everything. Well, after losing parts of your tail for a few months, I guess you finally decided to remember it all.” Isolde laughed, while Corvin’s eyes drifted to Stix’s tail, patches of missing scales told their own story.

  “But…” Isolde’s face hardened. “Who told you that you could sit down?” she screamed as Stix jumped to his feet.

  “Forgive me, Lady Isolde,” he stammered, trembling.

  “Aaaaah, I’ll think about it.” She yawned, then casually pulled a scalpel from under her desk. “Tell him about dungeon classification by difficulty.”

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  Stix twitched. Urdu behind him shivered. What is this place? This bitch is crazier than the guy from this morning. Corvin stared, unable to believe what he was seeing.

  “The dungeons are ranked by difficulty and rarity,” Stix began, voice shaking. “There are nine ranks, from F, the lowest, to SSS, the highest. Higher rank means more danger… but also more treasures.”

  “Okay, fine. You said it all. Sit back.” Isolde sighed.

  “See? I’m nice, aren’t I?” She turned to Corvin with a grin.

  Hell, you are. “Yes, very. Thank you for teaching me all this,” Corvin said, forcing a smile.

  “Well then, let me tell you about the dungeon you’ll be helping us with, the one we explore once a year. It’s A-rank. You’d need at least a full team with a Power in the low 100s to 200 to clear it properly. Since we don’t have that strength, our dear leader Boridus found a way to slowly clear the dungeon wings using bait and living shields, which, as you guessed, are you three.” She laughed loudly.

  “After five long years, we’ve managed to clear halfway. Made us crazy amounts of gold.” She laughed again.

  This crazy woman sure likes to laugh a lot, Corvin thought, staring at her.

  “So, you have eight months until we go again. This time, Stix and Urdu will be going. My task is to make you memorize everything about this dungeon and prepare you as perfect bait. Don’t die on me, okay?” she asked in a gentle tone that felt anything but gentle.

  “Well then, the dungeon we have is of the second type, a remnant of a lost civilization. It’s called the Eternal Tomb. Spooky name, isn’t it?” Isolde chuckled, her voice dripping with amusement. “The main enemies are strange automatons; constructs unlike anything we’ve seen before. But what truly unsettles me are the relics we’ve recovered so far. They’re… unnatural fusions of organic tissue and mechanical components, as if life and machine were stitched together by something beyond mortal craft.” She paused, eyes gleaming. “And that’s not even the craziest part. This all began when we stole ancient texts from a noble, we killed, records that spoke of something called the Omega Protocol. Supposedly, it was the pinnacle of that forgotten civilization’s power. A relic so advanced it could rewrite existence itself.” Her grin widened, sharp as a blade. “That’s why we must complete this raid, no matter the cost.” With that, she launched into a detailed explanation of the dungeon’s monsters, her tone almost feverish.

  Like that, their days passed, mornings beaten by Roary, afternoons tormented by Isolde.

  ***

  One day after the grueling training with Roary.

  Corvin collapsed onto his bed, sweat dripping like rain. His arms felt like lead, his legs like stone. Across the room, Urdu sprawled on the floor, panting like a dying beast, while Stix perched on the edge of his bed, tail flicking lazily.

  “Remind me,” Corvin groaned, “why do we keep doing this?”

  “Because Roary’s a sadist,” Urdu muttered, glaring at the door as if his hatred could burn through it.

  Stix snorted. “Sadist? Nah. He’s just compensating for something.”

  Corvin raised a brow. “Compensating for what?”

  Stix grinned, sharp teeth flashing. “You ever notice how he polishes those swords like they’re his lovers? Bet he whispers sweet nothings to them at night.”

  Urdu barked a laugh, rolling onto his back. “Oh, gods, you’re right! ‘Oh, baby, you’re sharper than ever tonight.’”

  Corvin chuckled despite himself. “You two are insane.”

  “Insane? No,” Stix said, leaning forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Just observant. And speaking of insane, Urdu, tell Corvin about your plan.”

  Urdu groaned. “Not this again…”

  “Oh, yes, this again,” Stix pressed, tail swishing like a whip. “Tell him how you’re gonna escape this hellhole.”

  Corvin perked up. “Escape? You’ve got a plan?”

  Urdu sat up, puffing his chest dramatically. “One day, I’m gonna break these slave bracelets, march out of here, and open the greatest forge in the north. Big enough to shame the Silverbear Tribe.”

  Corvin blinked. “That’s… ambitious.”

  “Ambitious?” Urdu grinned. “I’ll make weapons so fine even kings will beg for them. And the best blade? I’ll name it after you, Corvin. ‘The Iconless Fang.’ Sounds badass, doesn’t it?”

  Corvin laughed, shaking his head. “You’re insane.”

  “Insane? No,” Urdu said, wagging a clawed hand. “Dreams keep us alive.”

  Stix snorted. “Dreams don’t mean shit in this hellhole.”

  Urdu shot him a look. “Then why do you keep talking about your tribe’s mountains?”

  Stix froze, his grin faltering. “Shut up.”

  Corvin watched them both, a strange warmth blooming in his chest. For the first time since his mother’s death, he felt something like hope.

  But hope was a treacherous mistress.

  ***

  Eight months passed in a blink, and it was time for Stix and Urdu to leave for the dungeon.

  The barracks were silent, the usual clamor of training replaced by a heavy stillness. Outside, the sky stretched wide and endless, stars scattered like shards of broken glass. Corvin sat on the cold stone steps, knees drawn to his chest, tracing constellations he’d memorized from old books. Beside him, Stix lounged with his tail curled around his legs, while Urdu lay flat on his back, arms folded behind his head.

  “Tomorrow,” Urdu said suddenly, his voice low, almost reverent. “We’ll taste the fresh air of the outside world. Not this stale poison for the soul.”

  Stix snorted. “A nice breath of fresh air before dying in a stuffy dungeon. How romantic.”

  Corvin shot him a look. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not?” Stix grinned, teeth flashing in the moonlight. “Truth doesn’t care if it hurts.”

  Urdu chuckled softly. “Then here’s my truth: I’ll survive, and bring you back in one piece, Stix, my brother.”

  Corvin smiled faintly. “You swear?”

  “Damn right,” Urdu said, his grin wide and fierce.

  Stix laughed, tail flicking. “Fine, fine. We’ll survive at all costs. Better now?”

  Corvin smiled, then whispered, “Much.”

  For a moment, silence stretched, heavy with unspoken fears. Then Urdu sat up, his silver fur glinting under the starlight. “Promise me, Corvin. If by some chance we don’t make it… keep our dreams alive. Survive, escape. Find your happiness.”

  Corvin swallowed hard, his throat tight. “I swear,” he said, voice trembling but fierce. “I’ll carry them all.”

  Stix leaned forward, eyes burning. “Then swear it properly.”

  Corvin extended his hand. Stix clasped it, claws digging lightly into his skin. Urdu joined them, his grip firm and warm. Three hands bound together under the indifferent stars.

  “Until the end,” Corvin whispered.

  “Until the end,” they echoed.

  ***

  Morning came, and the two were gone. Corvin was left alone, drowning his sorrow and worries in memories of their laughter.

  Through those months of misery and pain, the three had grown close. Closer than brothers, closer than any of Corvin’s father’s children had ever been to him. Despite the torment, he still cherished his time with them.

  Unfortunately, his Power level hadn’t increased by even a single point. His body, however, had changed drastically. He could run longer, jump higher, and fight better, earning a few rare compliments from Roary before ending up unconscious on the floor.

  Luckily, since the dungeon raid had begun, Corvin spent his days resting and reading every book on dungeons he could get his hands on. Even after all this time, he still loved learning. Knowledge felt like the only thing he could truly gain in this cruel world.

  ***

  Like that, his quiet days slipped by until, one month later, the raiding party returned. But only Stix came back. His tail was almost entirely gone, and there was no sign of Urdu. The party seemed cheerful, celebrating their progress, while Stix looked like death incarnate.

  Corvin ran to their room and waited. When Stix finally limped inside, his eyes brimmed with tears the moment he saw Corvin.

  “What happened? Where is Urdu?” Corvin’s voice shook.

  Stix stood there, crying silently.

  “Where is Urdu, Stix!” Corvin shouted, his chest tightening.

  Through sobs, Stix explained what had happened. They had reached the furthest part of the dungeon yet, only to encounter a new enemy: a mechanical, four-armed golem that nearly killed the leading party members.

  The mage, Perry, had used Telekinesis to shove Stix into the monster’s path to save himself. Seeing that, Urdu lost all reason and charged the creature to protect Stix. The golem had already seized Stix’s tail in a crushing grip when Urdu attacked, distracting it for a moment.

  To save Stix’s life, Urdu swung the axe he’d been given, severing Stix’s tail and shoving him out of harm’s way, only to be caught beneath the golem’s merciless blows.

  Corvin sat there and cried. For months, he hadn’t shed a single tear, not once. He had sworn he never would again. But today, his heart shattered, and his soul roared in silent agony.

  “Fuck them all, Stix. Fuck them all. Fucking monsters.” Corvin growled. The kind, honest boy he once was had long vanished, replaced by a youth burning with rage and venom.

  “If I could, I’d kill them all with my own hands. You know that Corvin,” Stix said, voice heavy with defeat. “But there’s nothing we can do… except die for them.”

  “Guess dreams don’t mean shit after all,” Stix muttered, collapsing onto the stone floor. “No forge. No mountains. Just a pile of bones in a dungeon no one will ever see.”

  Corvin swallowed hard, his chest aching. He remembered Urdu’s grin, his voice full of fire.

  “Stix…” Corvin whispered, sitting beside him. “I swear… I’ll make them pay. All of them.”

  Stix turned his head slowly, eyes glinting with something dark. “I hope you do, my friend, I truly do.” He sighed. “But I feel like what awaits us is no different.”

  For a long moment, they sat in silence, two broken souls bound by loss. Then Corvin reached out and gripped Stix’s shoulder, his voice low and fierce.

  “We’ll survive, Stix. We must! And when we do… We’ll burn this whole world to ash.”

  Stix said nothing but sighed and limped away to wash the blood from his body, leaving Corvin alone, simmering in sorrow and fury.

  ***

  After Urdu’s death, Stix was never the same. He spent most of his time alone, barely eating, his once sharp humor dulled into silence. The barracks felt emptier without Urdu’s booming laugh, and the weight of his absence pressed on Corvin like a stone.

  Corvin tried again and again to talk to him, to comfort him, but nothing worked. Some nights, he’d sit across from Stix, pretending to polish his blade just to keep him company.

  “You should eat,” Corvin said quietly one evening, pushing a plate toward him. “You’ll need your strength.”

  Stix stared at the food, his yellow eyes hollow. “Strength for what?” His voice was flat, stripped of its usual bite. “To die slower?”

  Corvin clenched his jaw. “To live long enough to make them pay.”

  For a moment, Stix’s gaze flickered, a spark of the old fire returning. “You talk like Urdu now,” he muttered, almost smiling, but it vanished as quickly as it came. He shoved the plate away and turned his back.

  Corvin sat in silence, the words burning in his throat. He wanted to promise revenge, to swear they’d escape, but the chains on his wrists mocked him. So, he said nothing, only watched Stix’s broad shoulders trembling in the dim light.

  And so, the two lived on for another year, bound by grief and rage, until it was time for another raid.

  This time, Stix didn’t return. From whispers among the servants, Corvin learned that one of the warriors had fallen too. The raiding party stayed bitter for weeks, and neither Roary nor Isolde came to torment Corvin. Who had long since made his peace with Stix walking into his death.

  A month later, training resumed. Roary returned with a massive scar across his neck and chest. The sessions were easier now; Roary had lost some of his fire for cruelty.

  Isolde, however, was as deranged as ever. With no Stix to dissect, she turned her attention to Corvin, frequently taking blood and skin samples until his arms and legs looked like he’d lived in a mosquito nest.

  As time passed, rage filled Corvin’s ever-growing body. Two years since that fateful day, two years of torture and ridicule, had made him colder, more pragmatic.

  Unbeknownst to him, Boridus had decided to pause the raids until they could replenish their strength and find another warrior to fill the ranks.

  Seasons slipped by, and Corvin reached twelve years of age. For two years since Stix’s death, no one had come to take him for a raid. Until one day, Roary finally ordered him to prepare. Boridus, it seemed, had found his new party member.

  ***

  “Hello, Corvin, my boy. You’ve grown into a fine youth since I last saw you.” Boridus smiled broadly. “Guys, can you believe this tall bastard is only twelve years old?” He turned to his party, laughing.

  Corvin had grown to a meter seventy in the last four years, towering over many youths and even some grown men.

  A burly man, even taller than Roary, wearing a fur vest and leather leggings, stepped forward and tapped Corvin’s shoulder. “Good body, boy. Are you a Berserker too?”

  Before Corvin could answer, Isolde cut in sharply. “He’s Iconless. Leave the scum alone, Brent!” she barked, clutching her wooden staff topped with a green gem. Her healer’s robes shimmered faintly, and a thin tiara rested on her forehead.

  “Iconless? I’ll be damned.” Brent shook his head and moved to the back of the group.

  “Everyone, this is Corvin. He’ll be our explorer today, the last one we’ve got, so keep him safe, okay?” Boridus called out to the group.

  The party consisted of six: Boridus, whose Icon remained a mystery, Isolde the Healer, Brent the Berserker, Roary with his dual swords, who had never shown his Icon, Perry the Mage, and a Shieldbearer whose name Stix had never told Corvin.

  They boarded two carriages and prepared to head out. Corvin wasn’t allowed inside; instead, he sat outside on the rear bench.

  “Oh, yeah, forgot to mention,” Boridus shouted as the doors closed. “We’re not doing the A-rank dungeon today. We need to break in Brent, so we’re hitting a C-rank I bought recently. Bit dangerous since we have no idea what’s inside. Good luck!”

  The carriage doors slammed shut, leaving Corvin pale and silent. A dungeon they know nothing about, and they’re taking an Iconless kid? Top shit, Corvin cursed as the wheels rolled away.

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