The team pushed deeper into the dungeon.
Their boots sank into layers of damp moss and cracked bone as they moved cautiously through the shadowed landscape. Mist still clung low to the ground, but now the silence was different. Not calm. Tense. Like the dungeon itself was watching them.
Allen walked near the back again, not because he was ordered to—but because that was where he belonged, for now.
He could still feel the sting from Darius's earlier words. That cold stare. That open disdain. But something had shifted, however slightly. No one mocked him after the boar fell. No one clapped either, but they hadn't laughed. And in this world, silence sometimes meant progress.
The group paused briefly to recover and regroup near a jagged ridge where twisted trees bent like they were whispering secrets to the dark.
A whisper reached his ear—low, grumbling voices up ahead.
"More monsters," one of the scouts reported. "Moving together. They seem smart."
Darius frowned. "Coordinated behavior. Like the dispatch said."
That wasn't normal for a C-class dungeon. Not for this type.
Allen knew that...everyone did.
A few of the slayers tightened their grips on their weapons, eyes scanning the edges of the fog. These weren't fresh recruits. Most had seen enough blood to know when something wasn't right.
Suddenly, a shriek split the air—then two more joined it.
They came fast.
A swarm of four-legged beasts burst through the fog. Not massive like the boar, but sleek and fast. Their skin shimmered with a hard, crystalline sheen. Eyes glowing blue. Claws long and curved.
"Crysthounds!" someone shouted.
"Defensive line! Form up!"
The formation kicked into gear. Shields raised, blades out.
Allen found himself back in it again. No time to think.
One hound lunged at him. He sidestepped, letting it pass, then stabbed down with his dagger. The blade scraped but didn't pierce.
Too shallow.
It whipped around and charged again, faster this time.
He ducked, shoved his shoulder into its side, and it toppled off balance just enough for another slayer to cut it down.
Allen nodded a quick thanks—but the man didn't respond, already moving to the next.
They weren't partners. They were barely teammates. But here, that small moment mattered.
The fight dragged on. Blood spilled. Shouts echoed. Magic burst in violent flashes that lit the gloom in bursts of red and blue.
Allen moved fast, darting between rocks, using the terrain. He couldn't overpower the hounds, not directly, but he didn't have to. He distracted, exposed, harassed—until others could land the killing blows.
One by one, the creatures fell.
And then… it stopped.
Their group had taken damage—two slayers badly wounded, another unconscious—but they were alive. Breathing.
Darius stood at the front, breathing hard, blood on his gauntlet. His jaw was clenched, and for a second, he just stared at the bodies.
Then he turned and barked, "Status report."
Voices answered quickly. Injuries called out. Names checked. Allen's name came up once—no injury, still active.
Darius's eyes flicked toward him. But again, no comment, he said nothing to him.
They rested briefly, just enough to treat the wounded.
When they moved again, the dungeon seemed different.
It was till dark, still deadly—but quieter. As if they were approaching its heart.
Allen walked in silence.
His arms ached. His breath was short. But something warm sat heavy in his chest.
He had fought, though it was not brilliantly or effortlessly but it was enough. He wasn't just the bag-boy anymore. And even if they didn't say it, even if no one cared to look his way—he knew it. He had faced the beast, stood his ground, and bed in the same dirt. And next time? He would do it again.
------
The group moved deeper into the misty cliffs. The fog thinned gradually, revealing a cracked stone bridge stretching across a ravine. A dull red glow pulsed faintly beyond it.
Allen's breath caught. The air changed.
It felt heavier here—denser. The temperature dropped slightly, though no one mentioned it aloud. The group moved cautiously, boots crunching softly over loose gravel.
On the other side of the bridge, nestled within a hollow of jagged rocks, they saw it.
A creature lay coiled like a sleeping god. At first glance, it seemed like a mound of dark stone, but then its chest rose and fell in a deep, slow rhythm.
Four legs, layered in bone-like armor. A long, whip-like tail curled protectively around its form. Its head bore two large horns curving backward, and faint black steam hissed from the gaps in its plated hide.
It was asleep.
No one spoke for a long moment. Even Darius stood frozen, watching the monster slumber. Then—
The familiar hum of portal magic buzzed behind them.
A gate shimmered into existence at the edge of the path they'd just crossed.
The exit.
One by one, the slayers turned to look at the captain.
Darius's face was unreadable. Then he slowly stepped forward, eyes locked on the beast.
"That thing," he muttered. "If we kill it, the loot could be worth a fortune. Mana crystals, essence cores… possibly a rare drop."
"Captain, we don't even know what rank it is," said one of the higher-ranked slayers, his voice tense. "It's not worth the risk. We've done our job. Let's go."
Darius didn't respond.
Allen narrowed his eyes. He could feel it too. This thing wasn't like the Titan Boar. It was worse—much worse.
He stepped forward. "That thing isn't C-Class. If we wake it, we might not make it back."
Darius turned slowly to look at him. The corner of his mouth twitched. "Didn't you have your big moment already, rookie?"
Allen's jaw clenched. "And I want to keep breathing long enough to have another."
The captain looked around. No one spoke up. The exit pulsed gently, its light a whisper of safety behind them.
Then Darius smiled. "I have a better idea," he said quietly.
Allen frowned. "What—?"
But then two slayers moved behind him. Before he could react, they grabbed him—one on each arm.
"What the hell are you doing?!" He struggled, but they were faster, stronger.
"Orders," one of them muttered without looking him in the eye.
"Captain!" Allen shouted, rage and confusion boiling in his chest. "Are you serious?!"
Darius didn't even look back. "You want to prove yourself, right? Wake it up. Distract it. We'll flank it once it's focused on you."
"You're lying."
Another shove.
He stumbled forward—closer to the beast. The smell of its breath hit him like rot and sulfur.
Allen whirled around. "You cowards!"
But by the time the words left his mouth, they were already running—Darius in the lead, the rest of them sprinting toward the glowing portal.
"No!" he shouted, lunging after them—but it was too late.
The portal flared and vanished as the last one passed through.
And Allen was alone. He turned, chest heaving, staring at the slumbering monster.
Its eyes opened.
A low rumble rolled through the cave as the beast slowly raised its head. Glowing red eyes fixed on him, and for a heartbeat, the world stood still.
Then it roared.
The very walls shook. Allen staggered back, covering his ears.
His heart pounded in his throat. His dagger felt like a toothpick in his hand.
"Damn you, Darius," he whispered.
But his eyes were steady now. And the fear that gripped his spine began to loosen.
Because somehow—deep in that swirling storm of dread—he felt something else.
"Fine," he muttered. He dropped into a stance, dagger low. "Then I'll do what you couldn't."