The journey to the Serpent Cave was a masterclass in awkward, simmering hostility.
Edward walked a few paces behind the other three. A silent, detached observer.
Chris led the way. His back was ramrod straight. His every movement was a theatrical display of his own importance. Flanking him were his two shadows.
A sneering mage named Luke. A burly, dim-witted knight named Peter. A perfect trio of aristocratic arrogance.
"Remember the plan, Ross," Chris said. He didn't turn around. His voice was laced with a fake, magnanimous authority. "You are our scout. You will move ten paces ahead. Your job is to identify and report any threats. A simple task, even for you."
Edward didn't reply. He just gave a slight, imperceptible nod.
'Scout,' his inner voice droned. 'A polite term for sentient tripwire. How thoughtful.'
He knew what this was.
The assignment wasn't "rehabilitation." It was a state-sanctioned assassination attempt. Subcontracted to a spoiled nobleman with a grudge.
The Headmaster got to wash his hands of the "Rankless problem." Chris's family got to clean up a stain on their son's honor. A neat, tidy, and transparent little scheme.
They reached the dungeon entrance. It smelled of wet stone and decay. The SerpentCave. A C-Rank dungeon. Notoriously filled with environmental hazards and venomous creatures.
The perfect place for a scout to have a tragic "accident."
"Alright, Ross. You're up," Chris commanded. A dismissive flick of his wrist. "Do try to be useful."
Edward walked past them without a word. The Shadowfang Dagger was a cold weight against his back.
The moment he stepped across the threshold, the world changed. The air became thick and heavy. The sound of dripping water echoed.
He moved ten paces ahead, just as ordered. His senses were on high alert.
He came to the first test.
A long, straight corridor. Its floor was suspiciously smooth. To an amateur, it looked like a respite. To Edward, it screamed "trap."
He slowed. His eyes scanned the floor. His enhanced Dexterity was more than speed. It was perception.
He felt it. A subtle give in the stone beneath his foot. A pressure plate. He saw the faint outlines of a dozen more.
He walked through the corridor with a calm, deliberate grace. His feet found the safe spots with an unnatural certainty. It looked less like avoiding a trap, and more like an intricate dance.
He reached the other side and stopped.
A moment later, Chris and his team emerged.
"Report!" Chris barked. "Any threats?"
"The floor is unstable," Edward said. His voice was flat. It wasn't a lie.
Luke, the mage, scoffed. "Unstable? It looks fine. Don't tell me you're getting scared already, Ross."
Chris smirked. "Patience, Luke. I'm sure he'll find a monster to faint at soon."
They proceeded. Their heavy footsteps clattered on the stone. Peter, the knight, stepped squarely on the first pressure plate.
Click.
A volley of poison-tipped darts shot from the walls. Peter yelped, bringing his shield up just in time. The darts pinged uselessly against the steel. Chris and Luke took cover behind him. Their arrogant smirks were gone.
They looked up. Edward was standing at the far end of the hall. His back to them. Completely unfazed.
"You knew!" Peter bellowed. His voice was a mixture of anger and a dawning fear.
Edward glanced over his shoulder. His expression was a perfect, unreadable mask. "I said the floor was unstable," he replied. He turned and continued down the corridor.
The dynamic shifted. The scorn was still there. But now it was tainted with suspicion. They followed, their movements far more cautious.
Their first encounter came a few minutes later.
Two massive, serpent-like creatures, Venomfang Vipers, dropped from the ceiling. Ten feet long. Oily black scales. Fangs dripped green venom.
"Vipers! Battle formation!" Chris yelled. Eager to reassert his command.
Peter moved to the front. Luke began chanting a fire spell. A textbook team executing a textbook maneuver.
It was too slow.
Before Peter had set his shield, before Luke had finished his incantation, Edward was already moving. A blur of motion. A shadow detaching itself from other shadows.
One viper lunged. Edward didn't retreat. He moved towards it. He sidestepped with a fluid, impossibly quick motion. The Shadowfang Dagger was in his hand. A sliver of pure blackness.
A soft hiss. The sound of silk being torn.
The viper's head, cleanly severed, flew through the air. It landed with a wet smack.
The second viper recoiled to strike. Edward was already there. He flowed around its defenses. A flicker of black. The second viper's head joined the first.
It was over in less than three seconds.
Silence.
Luke stood with his hands raised. The half-formed fireball fizzled out. Peter had his shield up, braced for an attack that would never come. Chris just stared. His mouth was slightly open. His heroic pose now looked ridiculous.
They looked at Edward. He was calmly wiping black viper blood from his dagger. He hadn't broken a sweat.
It wasn't a fight. It was an extermination.
"He… he's not Rankless," Luke stammered. "The system doesn't work like that. He's using some kind of cheat."
The scorn in their eyes was gone. Replaced by fear. This wasn't the pathetic janitor from the arena. This was something else. Fast. Silent. Terrifyingly competent.
He wasn't a teammate. He wasn't a scout. He was a weapon. A weapon they had no control over.
Chris's face was a mask of pure fury. His neat little plan to have Edward killed was falling apart. Worse, Edward was making him look like an incompetent fool.
"Press on," Chris snarled. "And Ross… try not to get in the way."
'Get in the way?' Edward thought, a flicker of cold amusement in his mind. 'My friend, I am the only reason you are not currently being digested.'
They continued deeper. The atmosphere was thick with tension. Chris, in his frustration, became more reckless. He pointed Edward towards every dark hole. Every suspicious tunnel. Each command was a desperate attempt to send Edward to his death.
And each attempt failed spectacularly. Edward navigated every trap, every ambush, with the same chilling efficiency.
They finally reached a massive, circular cavern. The air was humid. Thick with the stench of reptile and old bones. Piles of skeletal remains were scattered across the floor.
In the center, coiled atop a mound of treasure, was the boss.
A Basilisk. Fifty feet long. Emerald scales. A bony, regal frill. And its eyes, a pair of glowing, yellow orbs that promised a stony death.
Chris's fear was overshadowed by greed. His desperate need to reclaim his glory. The boss. If he could land the killing blow, his reputation would be restored.
"Alright, this is it!" he declared. "Peter, you draw its attention! Luke, prepare your strongest binding spell! I will strike it down! Formation Alpha! We take it down now!"
Peter took a hesitant step forward. He banged his sword against his shield. The great beast stirred. Its massive head rose.
But just as Peter was about to charge, a hand, cold and firm, landed on his shoulder.
It was Edward.
He had stepped forward. His gaze was not on the massive Basilisk.
Chris was livid. "Ross! What in the hells do you think you're doing?! Get back in position!"
Edward ignored him. He raised his hand. The Shadowfang Dagger held loose in his grip. He pointed it, not at the giant, obvious threat, but towards a dark, unassuming crevice in the far wall.
A faint, hungry whisper, a voice only he could hear, slithered into his mind.
"The real threat," the dagger whispered, its voice ancient and filled with a cold, predatory amusement, "...is not the mother."
Edward's own voice was quiet. But it cut through the tense silence of the cavern with the chilling finality of a closing coffin lid.
"It's the nest."