Sometimes, a person's perception can change several times within a short span of time.
Before defeating the Darkwraith, Darrick had believed they must be some of the Abyss's most elite warriors.
But after killing one and unlocking its entry in the Hunting Manual, his impression shifted immediately—so they were just mass-produced soldiers.
He still acknowledged their strength, of course, but their prestige had definitely dropped a few notches.
However, when he later encountered an entire squad of Darkwraith—watching them effortlessly slaughter Ghrus and Elder Ghrus, their blood-red eyes turning toward him—Darrick changed his mind again. The Darkwraith were absolutely terrifying!
It was like when the boss from the previous level suddenly reappears as a common mob in the next. The pressure was overwhelming.
By the time he came back to his senses, everyone was already sprinting down the main road. The third fire had been extinguished, the gates of Farron Keep stood wide open, and there was no point in fighting an enemy they couldn't possibly defeat.
He figured that Maru and her raiding party had probably chosen to face the Knight squad head-on—and paid dearly for it. As they ran in a panic, Darrick turned back for one last look.
Unlike the Golden Smith, the Darkwraith didn't recklessly pursue them.
Their movements were swift yet composed, carrying a strange elegance. Was this the calm of true strength?
Their direction matched the adventurers'—toward Farron Keep.
"They're after the Farron Undead Legion!" Darrick realized.
For a fleeting moment, he had the ridiculous urge to warn the Undead Legion. But a second later, he realized how absurd that was.
Even if the legends about the Undead Legion were true, there was no way they'd fear opponents of this level. And as for him—Darrick wasn't even sure he'd survive crossing the gate himself. Beyond it lay uncharted territory.
Better to worry about himself first.
Crossing the great gate, he noticed the scenery ahead didn't look all that different.
No—actually, it was better. The swamp was finally gone.
The terrain beyond was clearly mountainous. With the elevation came freedom from the mire, and a sloping path stretched upward before them.
Roger glanced back and, seeing no pursuers, let out a long breath. "Good thing they didn't follow us," he joked. "Otherwise, I was just about to try out a joke I heard last night over drinks."
Darrick was too deep in thought to respond, so the ever-considerate Antilly spoke up to fill the silence. "What joke?"
Roger grinned. "If you and your companion are hunting on a mountain and a monster shows up—and you've only got one arrow left—what do you do to escape?"
Antilly rolled her eyes. "Depends on the monster. If it's male, shoot the balls. If it's female, shoot the ass."
Roger winced, his hips twitching instinctively. "Wrong! The right answer is—shoot your companion. You only need to run faster than them."
Antilly raised an eyebrow, half-angry, half-incredulous that he'd openly admit such a thing.
Even Darrick gave him a look.
"Bullshit! I meant I'd cover the rear while you two escaped!" Roger protested, waving his fist indignantly.
"Sure, sure," Antilly replied with a smirk, mentally labeling him as terrible at telling jokes.
Still, inappropriate or not, the joke did help ease the tension.
As they climbed the path, they suddenly noticed dark figures crouched ahead.
"Monsters," Antilly murmured, glancing up at the sky. Her bird pet, sent ahead to scout, was signaling danger.
Roger gave Darrick a look, and the two crept up behind the creatures—striking swiftly.
Blood splattered; the monsters dropped dead without a sound. But not far away, another creature had witnessed everything. Hidden beneath a tree, its color nearly blending with the surroundings, it had gone unnoticed until now.
Damn. If that thing called for help, it could draw more enemies.
Roger prepared to throw a spell—but what happened next surprised them both.
The creature simply glanced their way, then lowered its head again, utterly disinterested, as if sleep was more appealing than dealing with adventurers.
"What the hell?" Roger muttered, turning to Antilly. "Same species as the ones in the Gourmet Zone?"
He was referring to the harmless Pokémon-like creatures from another area.
"The style's way too different…" Antilly muttered, wrinkling her nose.
These creatures were draped in sparse black feathers, their limbs thin and twisted—like a grotesque blend between crow and human.
[Hunting Journal: Monster Type]
[Name: Arakkoa (World of Warcraft)]
[Description: Once inhabitants of the Painted World, they fled their decaying homeland and wandered to Farron Fortress. Perhaps it is their homesickness that has made them so frail.]
For reference, all Hunting Journal entries were handwritten by Wade himself. But since he only half-remembered the lore of certain monsters—and the stories were so fragmented—he often improvised to fit the dungeon's setting. If any descriptions felt off, he offered his apologies in advance.
Whatever the case, these Arakkoa didn't attack Darrick's group.
"The Painted World… another term I've never heard before," Antilly muttered. "At this point, I'm getting used to it."
"Maybe all these places will show up in Dungeon eventually," Roger said while rummaging through the corpse of an Arakkoa. "I've got high hopes for this dungeon."
Darrick nodded. "The monsters here are definitely stronger than in other dungeons."
As they continued forward, they occasionally saw more Arakkoa lying flat on the ground. Since they didn't attack, the party learned to ignore them.
Until—
"There's a light over there," Antilly said, spotting a faint glow surrounded by a cluster of Arakkoa at a fork in the path.
Her eyes lit up. "Treasure."
"Wait, wait," Roger said quickly. "What if it's a trap? This is Sein Dungeon, after all."
How dangerous could something surrounded by passive monsters be?
...Then again, one of the Arakkoa did seem different—leaning against a wall rather than kneeling like the others.
But it looked just as weak as the rest. Probably fine, right?
Antilly thought for a moment, then snapped her fingers. "Go."
Her flying pet fluttered down toward the glowing object.
"Having a pet sure is convenient," Darrick said, unable to hide his envy.
"Your wolves could help too, you know. With a little training, I can show you how," Antilly offered generously. "Your wolves have a trace of monster blood—faint, but just right. Any stronger, and they'd go feral. Any weaker, and they'd be too timid. Honestly, their potential's impressive."
Darrick shook his head. He'd never wanted to bring the wolves into battle.
Combat meant injuries—and the idea of his pack getting hurt was something his instincts rejected completely.
"Shame," Antilly sighed, tossing him a small pouch. "Here—give this to them. It'll strengthen them, no side effects. Think about my offer seriously."
"Alchemy product?" Darrick asked suspiciously.
"Dungeon-made," she replied with a pout. "Rare stuff. I barely have any myself."
Hearing that it came from Sein Dungeon, Darrick relaxed a bit. After a brief back-and-forth, Antilly ended up stuffing the pouch into his pocket anyway.
He didn't plan to use it, though.
[Item: Rare Candy (M) x2]
[Description: A candy filled with energy. Feed it to your pet to slightly enhance its power. Every trainer who's tried it swears by the results.]
While they chatted, The Bird swooped down into the circle of Arakkoa and snatched up the glowing object.
The light immediately morphed into the shape of a twisted rod—a magic staff, perhaps?
It was heavy for her small size, but still manageable. Until—
The leaning Arakkoa suddenly opened its eyes.
"CAAAW!"
Its wings snapped open as it let out a piercing screech.
Instantly, the prone Arakkoa around it did the same.
"Not good! Fall back!" Antilly shouted, her expression darkening.
The chorus of shrieks was deafening—like stepping into Yharnam itself. Pairs of wings unfolded amid the cries, and the Arakkoa rose, clutching grotesque weapons in their claws.
They surged forward. The Bird didn't even have time to scream before being beaten to death by clubs.
Roger winced. "Please tell me you packed a resurrection crystal for that one."
"Of course I did—but she'll be dazed for a while after reviving," Antilly said grimly, cracking her whip and charging in.
Her pale skin flashed under the lashes of her whip against the dark-feathered foes—a scene that would've been politically incorrect in Wade's original world.
Roger sighed. "Let the queen vent some steam," he muttered to Darrick.
The awakened Arakkoa fought savagely, some even casting magic. It was a hard battle, but the adventurers triumphed in the end.
They pressed onward—and realized the same kind of ambushes kept happening.
So that's what it was: the passive Arakkoa earlier were just bait to lower their guard.
"Too cruel…"
If the Dungeon had a designer, that person must've had a rough childhood.
Eventually, they learned to snipe Arakkoa mages from afar with spells—preventing them from waking the sleepers.
Immersed in exploration, they suddenly realized something strange:
They were already approaching the fortress gates.
The group exchanged confused looks. Had they missed something? There must have been paths they hadn't explored—hidden routes, side areas. The pacing felt too fast—unnaturally so.
Darrick, especially, was baffled.
Where's the Great Wolf of Farron!? I haven't seen him at all!
You're not even in Farron Keep, are you!? Where did you go!?
"Are we about to meet the Farron Undead Legion?" Roger gulped. Even he was getting nervous.
The fight during Sein's rampage had left a deep impression on him. Who knew how terrifying the dungeon's reimagined bosses would be now?
Calling them 'monsters' feels disrespectful, he thought. From their lore, 'heroes' is the right word.
Forgive me, Lord Gwyn. Please don't burn me for that.
At that moment, a loud commotion—or rather, a battle roar—echoed from the fortress gates, drawing their attention.
When they saw what was happening, everyone froze.
A small-scale war was raging before their eyes.
At the front—dozens of Darkwraith. Even a handful of them could devastate a small city.
And their enemies—hundreds of Ghrus, forming an unbreakable defensive line.
The sounds of clashing steel, screams, and battle cries blended into a brutal symphony.
It was obvious—the Darkwraith's goal was the fortress that possibly housed the Farron Undead Legion. The Ghrus' purpose: to stop them.
But why hasn't the Legion come out themselves?
With the fortress so close, the adventurers made a silent, unanimous decision—
They'd sneak around the battlefield and quietly approach the gate.
Not a glorious choice. A true hero would've joined the fight, cutting through the enemy and knocking on the fortress door drenched in blood and valor.
But their curiosity burned too strong. They had to see what was inside.
If any gods were watching, please forgive them.
"Three… two… one…"
The three placed their hands on the gate—and pushed.
The massive doors creaked open.
Clang! Clang!
The sound of steel striking steel rang out from within.