The trip to the dungeon itself wasn’t quite as horrible as Ren had imagined.

  First, they teleported to the region called Emberfall.

  Thanks to Prosperous Guild’s resources, they had locked down several lands and territories across the map. In Towerbound, players could teleport instantly to any major city or town—if they had a hearthstone bound there.

  The guild owned one massive city and several smaller towns, all vital hubs of shops, trade, and services that fueled their economy.

  Naturally, each of those towns also had guild-bound hearthstones, making travel fast.

  Well, fast to the right place. What happened after that was another story.

  Emberfall was beautiful—scorched red forests, misty valleys, and rivers that steamed in the cool twilight.

  Most players loved it.

  Ren hated it.

  Because traveling meant one very specific nightmare: Kodos.

  Big.

  Fat.

  Swamp-sloshing lizards.

  And they stank.

  Even when they weren’t loudly releasing gas like biological artillery, they still smelled like a boot left in a bog for a year.

  Prosperous Guild wasn’t rich enough to blow fortunes on gilded war-stallions or nightmare steeds. No, they bought Kodos—cheap, dependable, disgusting.

  The only saving grace?

  Storage.

  Kodos had an absurd amount of room to physically strap gear onto them.

  In Towerbound, players were lucky enough to have personal space bags—small magical inventory fields that could hold far more items than their size suggested.

  They came in different tiers. Beginner bags were about ten by ten slots—perfect for new players lugging around basic potions and low-tier gear. Advanced bags could reach one hundred by one hundred slots or higher, holding thousands of items, each compressed neatly into inventory grids.

  Ren, as the top alchemist in Prosperous Guild, already had one of the biggest bags available—a one-hundred-twenty-by-one-hundred-twenty spatial grid, massive by normal player standards. Enough to carry reagents, herbs, potions, ingredients, and half a mobile laboratory if he needed it.

  But even his gigantic bag had limits.

  Mounts, like the poor swampy Kodos, didn’t have magic storage. Anything you wanted carried outside your personal bag had to be physically strapped onto the beast. And Kodos had a lot of scaly real estate to work with.

  Ren had taken full advantage.

  He strapped a four-person luxury tent with weather protection enchantments. Roll-up carpets enchanted for warmth and softness. A travel-size hookah illusion setup for maximum morale. Genie arrays that floated plates of imported snacks and cheeses. A magical zither illusion for ambient bard music. And most importantly, a plush, rune-stitched bedroll capable of adjusting its temperature and softness automatically.

  If he had to spend three miserable days out here, by the gods, he was going to do it in style.

  ‘No way I’m living like some dirty-edgy “real adventurer,”’ Ren thought smugly.

  ‘I’ll be the pampered merchant who actually survives the trip.’

  When the others mounted up, they glanced over his ridiculous setup.

  Lil doubled over laughing. Moss shook his head with the air of a man deeply disappointed by life choices. Cassien offered to swap his saddlebag of rations for “literally anything luxurious you’re hauling.” Gareth muttered something about “soft hands” and kept riding.

  Ren didn’t care.

  He wasn’t here to win style points.

  He was here to not die and buy so much cheese the French economy would feel it.

  To that end, he had layered himself with every possible anti-monster protection he could afford. There were standard guild-issued protection amulets, but Ren had added quick-deploy shield barriers, emergency teleport blink stones, and a ring of automated defensive glyphs that could trigger in layers around his camp.

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  He was practically a walking fortress disguised as a traveling apothecary.

  ‘Gotta not die,’ Ren reminded himself grimly as the first night loomed.

  ‘Fancy cheese. Imported, smoked, aged cheese. Focus, Ren.’

  He secured the camp, activated the protection arrays, and climbed into his luxury bedroll under a canopy of illusionary stars.

  Maybe tomorrow they’d run into goblin ambushers or giant Emberfall predators.

  Maybe he’d die a painful, screaming death.

  But tonight?

  Tonight, he would sleep like a king—wrapped in luxury, snacking on brie, dreaming of cheddar victories to come.

  The road from Emberfall to the dungeon wasn’t particularly dangerous.

  And really, why would it be?

  Guilds were crawling all over the place, all desperate to be the first to clear the new dungeon.

  And wherever there were adventurers, there were people happy to smash anything dumb enough to wander close to the road.

  Troll? Free loot.

  Goblin? Free XP.

  Harpies? Free target practice.

  Stick to the roads, you were fine.

  Wander into the woods, you were on your own.

  Ren’s group wasn’t wandering.

  They were on a tight, miserable, no-stops timeline.

  Prosperous Guild wasn’t just aiming for a clear. They were racing for the First Clear.

  And First Clears weren’t just about giving Victor something to brag about, though Ren was pretty sure Victor was already drafting his speech.

  First Clears meant exclusive loot.

  One-time rewards.

  Exclusive equipment, bonus experience boosts, unique titles, and sometimes secret questlines—things you literally couldn’t earn after someone else got there first.

  First Clears weren’t bragging rights.

  They were power.

  And Prosperous Guild desperately needed the boost.

  Ren understood.

  He just wished they hadn’t dragged him along for it.

  Three random monster attacks on the way already, and every one of them made the group more tense.

  Ren still hadn’t gotten off his Kodo once.

  He fired off lazy healing spells from his saddle, kept everyone alive just fine, and didn’t even wrinkle his robes doing it.

  He wasn’t here to win Best Healer of the Year anyway.

  His cleric level was a sad little 10.

  Realistically? Not dungeon material.

  But his Level 76 alchemist level said otherwise.

  In Towerbound, level 10 was the threshold—the real start of the game. That’s when everything changed. Players could finally unlock their elite combat class, shaping how they’d fight, survive, or dominate. But just as importantly, they could pick their professional class—the economic, crafting, and support lifepath that let them manipulate the world in quieter, subtler ways.

  Professional classes came with their own skill trees, tools, and independent EXP gain systems. Leveling one didn’t boost your main class directly, but it did grant passive bonuses, unlock crafting synergies, and occasionally give hidden quests that bled into the rest of the world.

  Ren, though? He’d never really fought. Never delved into dungeons like the others. Not after what happened last time—the time he died. That memory had been enough to keep him tucked away, safe behind walls and workshops. Which meant one thing:

  All of his EXP came from potions.

  Thousands of them. Healing draughts. Mana elixirs. Buff infusions. He’d practically drowned in cauldrons and recipes, leveling faster than most combat players just through sheer repetition. His Alchemy skill was absurdly high. His tool proficiencies were maxed out. His potion crit rate was bug-level broken.

  He wasn’t a fighter.

  But he was something better.

  A force multiplier.

  And according to the global rankings, he was the number one alchemist in the world.

  The others didn’t need him to battle-heal.

  They needed him for a specific moment inside the dungeon—a crafting ritual site hidden deep in the labyrinth.

  The dungeon’s main gimmick blocked outside healing potions, scrolls, buffs—pretty much everything.

  If they wanted supplies to survive the final boss, they had to craft them right there, on the spot, using raw ingredients they found along the way.

  No pre-packed potions. No mass-produced scrolls.

  You either had a good enough alchemist to brew what you needed at the ritual site—or you died.

  And Prosperous Guild?

  They didn’t have another alchemist who could pull it off.

  They had tried someone else first.

  Specifically, Adhir—Victor’s girlfriend.

  On paper, she looked okay.

  Level 52 cleric.

  Problem was, her alchemy was a pitiful Level 20.

  Practically a hobbyist.

  They’d thrown every boost they could at her.

  Guild bonuses, top-tier gear, crafting guides handed to her on a silver platter.

  Didn’t matter.

  She wasn’t good enough.

  She failed, the raids failed, everyone went home pissed off.

  No amount of favoritism could fix that.

  And Adhir had definitely gotten favoritism.

  She got the best crafting stations, best raid slots, best opportunities—because she was dating Victor.

  Nobody said it out loud, but everyone knew.

  Ren didn’t even really blame her.

  It wasn’t her fault Victor was an idiot about keeping guild business and personal life separate.

  It just made things messy.

  She wasn’t the only one.

  For a while, the guild had chased government incentives—real-world tax breaks for hitting diversity quotas in gaming.

  Sounded good on paper.

  Helped some players get in the door.

  But monsters didn’t give a crap about your race, your religion, your pronouns, or your favorite pizza toppings.

  They cared whether you could survive.

  And if you couldn’t?

  Well.

  Respawn timers were equal opportunity.

  The top guilds figured it out quick.

  Real life subsidies didn’t mean a thing when a boss was one-shotting your support line.

  Ren shifted in his saddle, patting the heavy bags crammed full of reagents, base ingredients, and emergency supplies strapped to his Kodo.

  He wasn’t here for politics.

  He wasn’t here for drama.

  He was here to get to the crafting ritual, brew up a survival kit so good they’d weep, survive the dungeon, and build himself a castle made entirely of imported cheeses.

  ‘Survive. Brew. Cheese,’ Ren reminded himself grimly, watching the faint silhouette of the dungeon grow larger through the Emberfall mist.

  The others rode ahead, silent and focused.

  Ren hung back a little, letting his Kodo plod along comfortably.

  Because one thing was certain:

  They might make it. They might wipe. But Ren? Ren was damn well going to survive in comfort.

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