Pocket Dimension SSS-Rank Dragon Tamer

Marek sat alone on the wooden bench near the resting area, bandages wrapped lazily around his arm—just for show.

His hair was still damp with sweat, but no one questioned him. Why would they?

He looked like every other exhausted knight who'd barely made it out alive.

A man walked over.

His voice came before he sat.

"Marek. You're alive, thank the gods."

Marek glanced up and gave a weak smile. "Barely."

The man sat beside him and let out a long breath. His name was Emil, a two-star knight and one of the few Marek could actually stand.

Not because Emil was particularly brave, or strong—but because he had once stood up for Marek when others mocked him for being Lucas's weak little brother.

Back when Marek first joined the training squads, Emil had offered him bread on the first day.

And when Marek failed a spar, Emil just grinned and said, "It's not the worst thing. You'll get better if you're too stubborn to quit."

Now, Emil looked at him with something between relief and disbelief.

"I saw the battlefield," he said. "It was... something else. Those Bowlers didn't stand a chance once that guy showed up."

Marek laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head.

"Yeah... I mean, I didn't really see it that clearly. I got knocked back pretty early. I think I blacked out for a bit, woke up near a dead one and just... ran here."

Emil blinked. "Seriously?"

"Yeah." Marek nodded. "I wish I could've helped, but I was barely holding onto my leg."

Emil sighed, "At least you're not dead. That's what matters."

They sat for a few moments in silence. Then Emil stood.

"Well, I should report back. They're trying to figure out who the mystery swordsman was. People are calling him a ghost, or a war spirit, or something crazy."

Marek shrugged, trying not to smirk. "I hope they find him. He saved all our skins."

Emil patted his shoulder and left.

The moment he was out of earshot, a voice echoed in Marek's mind.

"Oh, so now we're humble?"

Marek rolled his eyes. "Not now, please"

"No no, it's fine," Velkaroth said, clearly amused. "Lie to your friends and downplay your heroic massacre. What a humble vessel."

Marek sighed.

"You finished?"

Velkaroth paused dramatically. "Yes. But you really are bad at faking weakness. Next time, maybe at least pretend to limp?"

Marek leaned back and stared at the sky.

This is going to be a long life.

---

Valdren stood tall like a fortress, not just a city.

It wasn't just some border town—it was the center of commerce, culture, and defense for the eastern regions of the Kingdom of Varex.

Inside, the streets bustled with life.

Merchants shouted out their deals, kids chased each other between tightly packed stalls, and knights in polished armor walked side by side with commoners carrying crates of spices, fabrics, or glowing crystals.

The city never really slept. Someone was always selling, someone was always buying, and someone was always preparing for the next attack.

Varex itself was one of the three kingdoms on the continent, and its ruler, King Adelhard von Dreistadt, was a man known more for his iron reforms than his kindness.

They said he rose to power not just with the sword, but with laws that bent entire noble houses to his will. People respected him.

Valdren's mayor, Gerhart Immelmann, had been appointed directly by the king.

Gerhart didn't speak much in public, but he ran the city with brutal efficiency.

Marek walked through the crowded central street of Valdren.

He didn't stand out much anymore—not with his worn boots and calm face—but that was exactly what he wanted.

People were too busy to notice just another man walking through the merchant district.

Floating beside him—though unseen by anyone else—was Velkaroth, his wings flicking lazily as he soared just above street level.

"You know," Velkaroth muttered, "for a city this rich, you'd think they'd invest in more comfortable roads. My claws would hate this place."

"You're floating," Marek whispered under his breath.

"Exactly. Imagine if I wasn't. I'd sue the kingdom for emotional damage."

Marek rolled his eyes and kept walking.

"Mom."

Marek stepped through the front door and exhaled as the warmth of home wrapped around him like a familiar old coat.

Before he could even close the door behind him, he heard hurried footsteps from the kitchen.

"Marek!" his mother, Eliska Draganov, rushed over and threw her arms around him.

She was small and wiry, with tired hands from long days at the market and eyes sharp enough to see through any lie he tried to tell.

"You didn't send word. You're just lucky I didn't assume you were bones in a crater."

He hugged her back with a small smile. "Sorry, Mom. I wanted to, but I didn't really get the chance. Things got messy."

She pulled back and gave him that look. "Messy like the time you 'accidentally' ran into a monster nest with Emil?"

"Neither," he muttered. "Just... messy."

His father, Dorin, stepped into the room with soot still on his sleeves and a smith's hammer in his belt loop.

He didn't say anything right away—just nodded, then ruffled Marek's hair roughly.

"You look like hell, but that means you're fine." He smirked. "Dinner's ready soon. Go clean up, alright?"

Marek nodded. "Thanks, Dad."

He headed straight to his bedroom, shut the door behind him, and let out a sigh.

He sat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his face.

Then—

"So," Velkaroth's voice filled his mind, thick with sarcasm, "are we just going to keep pretending you didn't solo-kill a dozen Bowlers and then walk in here acting like you sprained an ankle?"

Marek didn't even look up. "I don't want them to know."

Velkaroth let out a slow, exaggerated sigh. "Fine. Hide your power level and play the weakling. Great plan, very anime. But we have bigger things to talk about."

Marek turned and sat back against the wall, folding his arms. "Alright. You said you had a reason for everything, so, go on. Explain why you picked me."

There was a pause. Then, Velkaroth's voice lost its usual teasing edge.

"Three hundred years ago, I gave power to a man. He was... idealistic. I believed he could unify the continent, end the wars, protect the innocent, blah blah blah. I gave him my power—all of it. You know what he did?"

"What?"

"He nuked an entire city to 'make an example.' He said the ends would justify the means. He said if people feared him, they'd follow him. Do you know what it feels like to watch your own power burn villages to ash while you're trapped inside the fool who used it?"

Marek stayed quiet.

"So, when they finally came to seal me away—and trust me, it took an entire alliance of mage-kingdoms and twenty archbishops—I didn't even resist. I wanted it. I needed time to sleep, to wait, to make sure I never chose wrong again."

"And then I come along?" Marek said.

"You didn't beg. You didn't plead. You just wanted to live. And when I gave you that sliver of power, you didn't use it for glory. You didn't wave it around. You fought because you had to. That's the kind of soul I'm willing to risk myself for."

Marek let the weight of the words settle. Then he asked, "And what exactly is this power?"

Velkaroth's tone shifted again, more focused.

"My core ability is called the Sanctum. It's a realm inside you—a pocket world, shaped by your will and your growth. The more you understand something, the more you can build it inside the Sanctum. Weapons, training fields, enemies to fight. Even time bends there, and what takes years outside might be a week in there."

Marek blinked. "You're kidding."

Velkaroth snorted. "Do I sound like I kid?"

"Yes."

"Fair. But this time, I'm serious. The problem is, you're weak right now. Your body can't handle entering the Sanctum fully, not yet. And even summoning things from it strains your mana. Right now, you can pull out one weapon. That's all."

"One."

"One."

Marek leaned forward and rubbed his temples. "I can barely wrap my head around the fact that I have a dragon inside me. Now you're telling me I have a whole dimension too?"

"Technically, it's inside me, and I'm inside you, so... yeah. Pocket dimension squared."

"Great. I'm carrying a god-tier Russian nesting weapons."

"Exactly. And with the right training, you'll be able to use everything inside. But you need to be patient. If you rush it, your body'll break before the power ever blooms."

Marek closed his eyes and muttered, "This is insane."

Velkaroth sounded amused again. "That's the correct reaction."

"And this is my life now?"

"Yup."

Marek groaned into his hands.

I really need a nap.