Pocket Dimension SSS-Rank Dragon Tamer

In the year 487 of the Celestial Era, magic no longer flickered weakly through the world—it surged.

The earth itself had grown thick with arcane power.

Entire races had awakened from myth: beastkin tribes, elemental spirits, and beast tamers.

But even in this age of miracles and monsters, not everyone was powerful.

Not everyone was chosen.

Marek Draganov was fifteen years old. He had a chipped sword, hand-me-down armor, and a rank so low it was almost a joke: a One-Star Knight.

Out of ten possible stars, one meant he had just enough training not to stab himself with his own blade.

He was certified, technically—but only because the city registry had a low bar for passing squires.

He stood awkwardly beside the east tower of Valdren, a fortified trade city near the northern wildlands.

From here, he could see the edges of his family's district.

That stone-roofed house by the southern wall, that was his. His mother, Lira, was a textile merchant, and his father, Stefan, worked as a tower craftsman who were both proud to have two sons sworn to the sword.

Well—one sworn knight.

His brother, Lucas Draganov, was a Nine-Star Mage Knight.

The name alone turned heads across the continent.

Lucas had completed the Trials of Rhondale at age sixteen, hunted wyverns barehanded, and once walked out of a cursed ruin holding a spirit's heart in one palm and a scroll in the other.

He was everything Marek wasn't—strong, composed, and respected. Even when Lucas left on a distant quest two years ago, rumors of him still reached Valdren.

Some called him a legend in the making.

Others just called him "Draganov the Radiant."

Marek sighed and rested his chin on the guardrail. I can't even get promoted to Two-Star.

Still, he showed up.

Today, his duty was simple: guard Watchtower South-5.

It was supposed to be a routine task—just in case a beast got too close, or some reckless wanderer tried to sneak in.

But lately, things hadn't been routine at all.

Marek leaned against the wooden post of the tower stairs. Beside him sat Captain Dragomir Valescu, a grizzled two-star knight whose left eye had long since stopped blinking.

"You ever think this job's a curse?" Dragomir muttered, chewing on dry bark. "We sit in this tower, day after day, staring at clouds and bird shit while real knights do real work."

Marek shrugged. "It could be worse. It could be stable duty."

"You did stable duty last month."

"I'm trying to forget that."

Dragomir snorted. "You've got decent instincts, Marek. Problem is, you were born in a boring city during a boring war in a boring part of the continent."

Marek gave a crooked grin. "Thanks for the inspiring words, Captain."

"Don't mention it."

They both sat quietly for a moment, listening to the breeze whistle through the cracks in the wooden walls.

Then—

"MONSTERS!" someone screamed from below.

Both of them were on their feet in a heartbeat.

Marek bolted down the tower stairs after Dragomir. Outside, soldiers were already running, scrambling toward the outer gate.

"What now?" Marek asked as he jogged behind.

A young scout met them halfway, panting hard. "Bowlers! Dozens of them! Coming from the eastern treeline!"

Dragomir cursed under his breath.

They made it to the outer watch wall, and Marek's heart skipped.

There they were.

Bowlers. D-Rank monsters, thick-limbed and hunched like apes, with skin like dry mud and glowing orange eyes.

Each one was already tearing up the forest floor—ripping trees, stones, and even whole signposts from the dirt and hurling them in long, brutal arcs.

One tree slammed into the side of a merchant cart, exploding into splinters.

Another flew over the wall entirely and crashed into the livestock yard behind them.

Marek ducked instinctively. "Why are they here?!"

Dragomir spat to the side. "They're getting bolder, just like the reports from across the kingdom."

---

The Kingdom of Varex. That was the land Marek called home—one of three great powers that split the continent of Ravendor.

Their knights were trained for defense, not for conquest.

Their magic was scarce and measured, not wild and flashy like the eastern realm of Rostova or the golden empire of Richers to the south.

But lately, even Varex was struggling.

And everyone knew why.

Across the Sea of Ash, to the west, there lay the Wildlands—an ancient, unexplored continent thick with mana storms and monstrous life.

The barrier of mist that once kept the monsters trapped in that cursed land had begun to thin in the last fifty years.

Now, the monsters were moving east.

No one knew why it was happening.

No one knew what was truly inside the Wildlands.

But Marek knew one thing for sure.

They were not ready.

We're cooked...

Below the walls, chaos had already erupted.

Farmers abandoned their carts and tools, sprinting through the gates as the horn calls rang from the towers.

On the parapets, teams of trained archers and siege engineers rolled out ballistae—massive iron-fletched arrows the size of fence posts.

Each could tear through a Bowler's skull, if it hit clean.

A roar came from beyond the tree line.

Then came the sound of thunder—no, not thunder.

Crashing.

A rock the size of a small wagon flew over the outer wall and slammed into the ground near the village square.

Dust and blood exploded into the air.

Marek froze for a heartbeat.

Dragomir didn't.

"MOVE!"

They both ran from the upper wall, sprinting down the interior stairs two steps at a time.

When they reached the rally yard, chaos had narrowed into purpose.

A hundred men stood in formation—spearmen, swordsmen, mounted riders.

Most were two- or three-star knights. A few had no stars at all, barely trained militia.

Marek's hands trembled as he strapped on his armguard.

He pulled the sword from its sheath and forced himself not to look at the blood on the stone from the rock impact.

He had survived a Bowler ambush three months ago, but barely.

That time there were only four of them.

This time... there were at least thirty.

"Keep your breathing steady," Dragomir said, checking the tension on his bracers. "Fear's natural, but don't freeze."

"I'm not freezing," Marek said, though his knees begged to disagree.

Across the yard, a large man in dark green plate armor rode forward. This was General Radek Muresan, commander of Valdren's standing defense.

He raised his sword and barked out orders.

"We will not let beasts trample our homes! You ride now, and you ride hard! Strike fast and stay moving! If you stop, you die!"

The mounted knights shouted in unison.

"FOR VAREX!"

The signal horn blasted.

The ground trembled as the charge began.

Marek's heart jumped into his throat. He rode near the rear.

The Bowlers had noticed.

They roared as they ripped up anything they could lift—stones, carts, tree trunks, broken fences—and hurled them toward the charging soldiers.

The sky rained with debris.

One man ahead of Marek vanished beneath a tumbling oak tree before he even screamed.

Another rider flipped through the air, his horse falling sideways with a brutal snap of bone.

But the rest kept riding.

Marek gritted his teeth. "ARGHH!"

He had never felt smaller in his life.

They ran hard, the ground trembling beneath their horses' hooves.

Around them, bodies fell.

Most of the Bowlers had been taken down by the ballistae, but the few left were desperate and dangerous.

"Keep close!" Dragomir yelled as he twisted his horse to avoid a flying log.

Marek's heart pounded in his chest as he dodged a rock that crashed just feet from him.

"This is madness!" Marek shouted over the roar of the battle.

"Madness or not, it's the only way!" Dragomir shot back. "If we don't push forward, they'll tear the city apart!"

Marek tightened his grip on the reins, focusing on every movement.

Another Bowler swung a tree trunk toward them. Dragomir ducked beneath the blow and urged his horse forward.

Marek followed.

They closed the distance.

Marek could see the Bowler's cracked skin and the wild fury in its eyes. The beast raised a boulder in both hands.

"Get ready!" Dragomir shouted.

Before Marek could react, the boulder flew through the air like a comet.

It struck with a brutal force that shattered the earth beneath them. Marek's left leg snapped beneath the weight.

"ARGHHH!"

He screamed, collapsing to the ground.

Behind him, Dragomir charged the monster.

"Captain!" Marek gasped, but Dragomir never turned back.

The boulder crushed him without mercy.

Marek's vision blurred. Blood pooled beneath him.

His leg was broken, and Dragomir was gone.