THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

David stepped through the shimmering portal of the dungeon gate, and the familiar weight of the Deadlands hit him instantly. The air was thick, oppressive, and as he took his first step, the eerie silence of the environment around him amplified the unsettling feeling in his chest. Night had fallen here, and the dim glow from the dungeon gate behind him quickly dissipated, leaving him shrouded in darkness.

Ahead of him stretched a surreal landscape. The once still, crimson river cut through the thick mist, its eerie red waters reflecting what little moonlight could penetrate the dense fog hanging in the air.

The ground itself was damp, spongy beneath his boots, with patches of moss clinging to the twisted roots of massive, ancient trees that towered over him like silent, looming sentinels. The leaves on the branches above, illuminated by occasional pulses of red from the river, seemed to drip with thick, dark sap. Every so often, the air would stir, carrying with it the faint, sickly scent of decay.

But David recognized it immediately. His sharp gaze darted around, noting the dark canopy that barely allowed the moon's light to filter through, and the way the scarlet-tinted waters seemed to pulse with a slow, rhythmic energy. This was no ordinary dungeon. "The outermost section… Blighted Bogs," David whispered to himself, the realization washing over him like a wave of familiarity. He had read about this place countless times in the novel. The crimson plains, the haunting mist, the thick, twisted roots of the trees that seemed to stretch out like claws — it was all too familiar.

In the book, the Deadlands had always been described as a place where the boundary between life and death blurred, where creatures born of pure corruption and mana roamed freely. The Deadlands were divided into various segments, each more dangerous than the last. The innermost sections were the domain of beings of pure mana, ethereal creatures that were neither friend nor foe, their motives as elusive as the magic they wielded. But this? The outer sections, where he now stood, were plagued by the taint of corrupted mana. Monstrosities of all shapes and sizes prowled these lands, their very existence twisted and deformed by the chaos that reigned here.

David's hand instinctively went to the hilt of his daggers, his senses on high alert. Though the area around him seemed devoid of any immediate threat, he knew better. In the Blighted Bogs, the danger wasn't always visible. The monsters here were patient, lurking in the shadows, waiting for the opportune moment to strike. He could already feel the oppressive weight of the mana in the air, thick and suffocating, seeping into his bones.

His eyes scanned the horizon, noting the faint glow of something deeper in the forest. He had to move, and quickly. Standing still for too long in these lands was a death sentence. As he began to make his way deeper into the bog, his boots splashing softly against the crimson waters, David steeled his mind. The trials had begun, and the Deadlands would test him in ways he hadn't anticipated.

But no matter what lay ahead, he was determined.

David approached the noble and commoner groups that had gathered on a patch of dry land, away from the ominous crimson waters. It was obvious to him—and apparently to some of the nobles as well—that this dungeon was merely an imitation of the real Blighted Bogs. The De Gor family had spared no expense in their test, replicating the treacherous environment where the empire itself struggled to maintain order. This wasn't just any test—it was a brutal survival challenge in a land meant to break even the strongest.

As David observed the group, a noble stepped forward with a confident stride, his chest puffed out with arrogance. His attire was striking—a deep crimson coat adorned with intricate golden embroidery, fitted snugly around his form. His collar was high, lined with a regal pattern, and his sharp black boots shone in the dim light. His hand rested casually on the hilt of a finely crafted sword, clearly a symbol of status as much as a weapon. His dark mustache curled slightly as he smiled smugly, surveying the group with a sense of superiority.

"I am Kyle Kar Gor, from the noble house of Kar," he declared with a voice that cut through the silence like a blade. He positioned himself at the center, as though he was meant to be there, demanding attention. The Kars, as most knew, were one of the prestigious branch houses of the De Gor family, renowned for their scouting prowess and survival skills—skills honed in the empire's most dangerous regions. Kyle was no exception, and as the second heir to his house, he wore his lineage with pride.

"Some of you may not have realized this yet," Kyle began, his tone dripping with condescension, "but we are standing in an imitation of the Deadlands... the Blighted Bogs." His words sent a visible wave of fear through the commoners. They exchanged glances, their faces pale. One of them, a young man, spoke up, his voice trembling. "Isn't this too much? How are we supposed to survive in the Deadlands?"

The noble standing next to Kyle sneered and moved swiftly. With a single powerful kick, he sent the commoner sprawling to the ground. The noble's boot pressed firmly against the commoner's chest as he growled, "Just listen, you impure breed."

Kyle chuckled darkly but didn't seem phased by the brutality. "As I was saying," he continued, his voice steady and commanding, "we are in the Deadlands now. But do not despair!" He paused, allowing his words to hang in the air. "I, Kyle Kar Gor, shall lead you all—noble or commoner alike—to victory." His declaration rang out like a beacon, bringing some small hope to the commoners who were desperate for any sign of leadership.

But David, along with the other observing nobles, saw right through Kyle's act. His speech wasn't about unity; it was about finding expendable bodies to throw into danger. The wicked grins of some other nobles confirmed that they shared this view. In quick succession, they began announcing that they would form their own parties, strategically picking out commoners to serve as nothing more than shields.

David had no time for such petty games. Without a word, he activated [Wolf's Grace], his form blurring into the darkness. Silently, he slipped away from the group, disappearing into the shadows. There was no need to play along with Kyle's charade—he had his own plans to execute.

Ashley's eyes widened in disbelief as David vanished from her sight. She had been watching him carefully, sensing his every movement. As a Grand Mage Master, her sensitivity to mana was second to none, and yet... David disappeared as if he had never been there. Not a flicker of magic, not a shimmer of energy. It was as though he had simply ceased to exist.

Her brow furrowed, and she stood frozen in place, trying to comprehend what had just happened. Could he have masked his presence that completely? The idea seemed impossible. While she was lost in thought, Brian noticed her distant gaze. Taking out his pouch, he glanced at her, confusion flickering in his eyes.

"What is it?" he asked, his senses suddenly on high alert.

"Did you see that?" Ashley whispered, pointing in the direction where David had been moments ago.

Brian frowned, turning his head to follow her gesture. "See what? Be clearer, Ashley. What did you see?"

"David…" she began, her voice trailing off as she tried to articulate the unsettling feeling gnawing at her.

Brian cut her off sharply, his voice laced with impatience. "David? Have you gone mad? I thought you spotted something serious, and you're babbling about David?" His grip tightened on his staff, which floated lazily by his side, ever ready for combat. "Stop fooling around. Set up camp. We don't know how many days we'll be stuck in this cursed dungeon."

Ashley's gaze shifted from the direction of David's disappearance to the others around them. The nobles and commoners alike were setting up camp, some muttering complaints, others simply moving in silence. She sighed, pushing her doubts aside. Perhaps she was just imagining things. After all, she had been under intense stress since they had entered the dungeon. For now, she would do as Brian said and focus on survival.

With a slight wave of her hand, she reached into her dimensional pouch. The sleek leather bag, though small, contained everything she needed—her camping gear, magical supplies, and a few enchanted trinkets. She pulled out her gear and began setting up her tent, but her mind continued to wander, her thoughts returning again and again to David's sudden disappearance.

Meanwhile, deep within the crimson Dead Forest, something moved. Its small form skittered across the ground, barely larger than an insect. Its body glistened with an unnatural sheen, its exoskeleton reflecting the faint, eerie light filtering through the forest canopy. Its eyes, glowing darkly with malevolent intelligence, scanned its surroundings. On its back, a peculiar symbol was etched into its shell—a mark of an eye, surrounded by flickering flames.

The creature paused for a moment, its tiny wings twitching as it sensed something in the air. Then, with a sudden burst of speed, it darted forward, vanishing into the forest's shadows, leaving an unsettling silence behind.