He hadn't gone far when the sound of scales scraping against stone echoed around him. From the shadows of the caves on both sides, Lizardmen emerged—one after another—surrounding him with crude spears and jagged blades in their hands.
Alan smiled.
Dainsleif hummed softly, its power rising in response.
"Welcome," Alan murmured.
"I was getting bored anyway."
He moved.
Alan deliberately refrained from using any skills. No magic. No buffs. Just pure swordsmanship.
This wasn't a reckless choice—it was intentional.
His Sword Mastery had already reached basic Level 9, and he intended to push it to its limit. If he could reach Level 10, it would evolve into Intermediate and then into Advanced Sword Mastery, unlocking a legendary title—
Sword Saint Candidate.
It was an powerful title that every combat class would love to have.
That was his goal.
Steel met scale.
Alan's blade traced clean arcs through the air, each swing precise and efficient. He stepped in, cut down a Lizardman, pivoted, and severed another's arm before it could react. His movements were smooth, refined, almost artistic.
No wasted motion.
No hesitation.
[ Lizardman Warrior – Level 164 defeated ]
[ Lizardman Spearman – Level 169 defeated ]
Blood sprayed across the canyon floor as bodies collapsed one after another.
More Lizardmen rushed in, drawn by the sounds of battle.
Alan welcomed them.
Each clash sharpened his technique.
Each kill refined his instincts.
His grip grew steadier.
His footwork more precise.
His blade faster.
This wasn't just combat—
It was training.
And Kesan Canyon was the perfect Training ground.
From atop a cliff, a rugged man watched the battle unfold below.
"…He's improving fast," he muttered, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword.
His sharp eyes never left Alan.
"He's perfect to be my agent of revenge," the man whispered.
His name was Piaro—a former Knight-Captain of the Red Knights, the elite order of the strongest empire on the surface: the Saharan Empire.
It was no exaggeration to say that the Red Knights had played a decisive role in turning the Saharan Empire into the dominant power of the era. Piaro belonged to the generation when the Red Knights stood at the absolute peak of their strength.
But everything had been taken from him.
He had been betrayed by his own vice-captain.
Because of that treachery, Piaro and his fellow knights were hunted down, forced to scatter and flee. Many died. The survivors disappeared into the shadows.
Piaro himself had been left broken—his body and his life ruined.
Since then, he had been hiding in Kesan Canyon.
All he wanted now was revenge.
To kill Asmophel, the traitor responsible for his downfall and his current wretched state.
But the world was still searching for him. Too many eyes were watching, too many enemies hunting his name. He couldn't reveal himself—not yet.
And so, he needed another blade.
An agent of revenge.
As Alan cut down another Lizardman below, Piaro's eyes narrowed with grim resolve.
"Yes…" he murmured.
"You'll do."
As the sun dipped toward the horizon, painting the canyon walls in shades of crimson and gold, Alan finally emerged from the narrow passageways and broken ravines.
Before him stood Loran Falls.
A colossal curtain of water thundered down from an impossible height, mist rising like drifting clouds. The roar of the waterfall drowned out all other sounds, and the air was heavy with moisture and mana. Even compared to Earth's Angel Falls, this was on an entirely different scale—vast, overwhelming, and awe-inspiring.
Alan exhaled slowly.
"So this is Loran Falls…"
It had taken him an entire day to reach this place.
Not because the distance was long—but because the canyon itself refused to let him pass peacefully.
Monsters had poured out nonstop. Lizardmen, spider-beasts, and creatures crawling out of hidden caves along the canyon walls had swarmed him again and again, drawn to him as if by instinct.
And Alan had welcomed them all.
He hadn't used a single active skill.
No flashy techniques.
No magic.
Only pure swordsmanship.
Each swing was precise. Each step measured. He focused on posture, timing, and control, forcing himself to rely solely on fundamentals. The endless battles had ground away at his weaknesses, refining his instincts through sheer repetition.
A system notification quietly appeared before his eyes.
[ Sword Mastery has advanced ]
[ Sword Mastery: Intermediate Lv.2 ]
He smiled faintly.
"Worth it."
He was still far from his goal, but the path was clear.
Only eight more levels remained until Advanced Sword Mastery.
And once he reached Level 10…
A legendary title awaited him.
Sword Saint Candidate.
Alan ignored it focusing on present and turned his attention back to Loran Falls. The thunderous cascade crashed endlessly into the pool below, mist swirling through the air like drifting clouds.
He stared at the deep pond beneath the waterfall and frowned slightly.
"According to that elder ghost, the second fragment is inside the lair of the mermen living here," Alan muttered.
Mermen.
They were nothing like the beautiful creatures from fairy tales. No shimmering tails or gentle songs—only walking, talking fish-like monsters with sharp teeth, slick scales, and cold, predatory eyes.
Wherever there was water, there were mermen.
They were scattered across the entire continent, inhabiting rivers, lakes, swamps, and seas. But the mermen of Kesan Canyon were infamous—even among their own kind.
Their levels were among the highest.
Level 180.
Normally, that alone would be enough to deter most players. But Alan merely checked his own status.
Level 195.
He was far ahead of them in raw level. And more importantly, mermen fought with claws, tridents, and poison-infused attacks—making them perfect training opponents for sharpening real combat experience.
Alan walked to the edge of the pond. Without hesitation, he pulled out a chunk of raw meat and tossed it into the water.
Splash.
The moment blood seeped into the pond, the water began to churn violently.
Ripples spread outward, then exploded into chaos.
Dozens of humanoid fish burst out of the water, their scales glistening, mouths lined with jagged teeth. They tore into the meat with savage ferocity, shredding it in seconds.
Then, slowly, their yellow eyes locked onto Alan.
"Human…"
"Give us your heart!!"
They shrieked in clear, fluent language—unlike most monsters.
Alan smiled.
"Come and take it."
The mermen screeched in fury as they lunged at him.
At first, there were only five of them.
Alan stepped forward, sword flashing as he met them head-on.
Steel clashed against bone and scale.
But as the fight began…
More ripples appeared on the surface of the pond.
Then more.
And more.
One by one, additional mermen rose from the depths, drawn by blood, noise, and the promise of fresh prey.
Their numbers kept increasing.
Alan's smile widened.
Perfect.