The desert… a place that shows no mercy. Beneath a blazing sun, the golden sands stretched endlessly, shifting like a vast ocean boiling under the heat. In the midst of this unforgiving expanse stood a lone young man, seemingly unaffected by the scorching inferno surrounding him. His long black hair swayed in the dry wind, and his golden eyes gazed upon the horizon with an unreadable expression. His lean body bore countless scars—silent proof of the many battles he had endured.

  His name was Vierd.

  Strapped to his back was an old sword, its hilt wrapped in tattered red cloth, darkened as if soaked in blood. His steps were heavy, yet unwavering, as if he were an extension of the desert itself—an entity forged by its harshness. He knew he could not remain here for long.

  In this land, survival meant constant movement.

  "Vierd…"

  A rough voice called from a nearby tattered tent, weary but laced with an air of wisdom.

  Vierd turned his head toward the source of the voice before making his way to the tent at a steady pace. Inside, an elderly man sat cross-legged upon a worn-out mat, his frail frame cloaked in layers of thin fabric. His sunken eyes, filled with both knowledge and exhaustion, rested upon Vierd with quiet scrutiny.

  Vierd sat down without a word, placing his sword beside him. The old man exhaled deeply before speaking in a low, deliberate tone.

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  "You’re nearing your limit, boy."

  "I know."

  The old man studied him for a moment before asking, "How many times have you used your power?"

  Vierd lifted his hand and stared at it. Once strong and firm, his fingers had grown thinner, paler—almost lifeless. He already knew the answer, but saying it aloud gave it more weight.

  "Ten times."

  The old man closed his eyes briefly before opening them with a slow, measured breath.

  "Each time you use that power, a piece of your soul vanishes… And you will never get it back."

  Vierd showed no reaction.

  "I live in a merciless world. If I don’t use my power, I will be killed. If I do, I will die slowly. Either way, the result is the same."

  The old man did not refute his words, but his voice remained steady.

  "There is a difference, Vierd. One dies a victim… the other dies a monster."

  The wind outside howled, carrying grains of sand into the tent, as if the desert itself was listening to their conversation.

  Vierd let out a faint chuckle, devoid of amusement.

  "I don’t care whether I die a victim or a monster… as long as I live another day."

  Vierd rose to his feet, grabbing his sword and turning toward the entrance of the tent.

  The old man narrowed his eyes. "Where are you going?"

  Vierd paused briefly before responding in a cold voice.

  "A new Gate has appeared at the edge of the desert. I’m going to see if it’s worth the risk."

  The old man did not reply this time. He simply watched as Vierd walked away, leaving footprints in the burning sand while a small dust storm began forming in the distance.

  In this world, where unknown Gates appeared without warning and dungeons filled with monstrous creatures awaited those foolish enough to enter…

  Vierd was merely a man walking along the edge of destruction, every step bringing him closer to death.

  But he was not afraid.

  Because, in the end…

  Death was just another price to pay.