Ming's wounds throbbed with every movement, but stopping wasn't an option. The system's reminder burned at the edge of his vision:
> [Quest Progress: 30%.]
[Time remaining: 64 hours.]
Three days. Less, if his body gave in before the quest was finished.
The dungeon stretched ahead like a grave. Its walls were rough stone, jagged edges glistening with moisture. Drops of water fell from above at steady intervals, echoing into the silence. Bones littered the ground in some corridors—some animal, some human—cracked and splintered as if gnawed clean.
Ming steadied his breathing and pressed deeper.
The air grew colder the further he went, damp enough to sting his lungs. The floor sloped down into uneven steps, forcing him to slow his pace. He moved carefully, senses sharpened, each torchlight flicker throwing long shadows that looked like figures waiting just beyond reach.
A scraping sound pulled his focus. Ahead, a pack of pale creatures crawled from the dark—hound-like, ribs pressing against their thin hides, their claws clattering against the stone. Their eyes gleamed faintly in the torchlight.
Ming tightened his grip on the dull blade. His body screamed against the idea of fighting again, but hesitation meant death.
"Come, then," he muttered, lowering his stance.
The first hound lunged. Ming stepped into Soul Sense, the world slowing just enough to catch the arc of its claws. He shifted with Soul Step, sliding past its charge, and drove the blade into its side. It yelped, thrashing, but he ripped the weapon free and struck again until it stilled.
The second beast leapt before he could recover. Its claws grazed his arm, tearing cloth and flesh. Pain flared, but he twisted his body, letting momentum carry the blade across its throat. Warmth spilled across his knuckles.
The others hesitated at their fallen kin, but hunger drove them forward.
The fight was chaos—blood, snarls, the clash of bone and steel. Ming's movements were ragged, his body slower than his mind wanted, but his rhythm held. Soul Sense whispered before each strike, and Soul Step carried him just far enough from killing blows. When the last beast collapsed, he dropped to one knee, chest heaving, blade dripping with blood that wasn't all theirs.
> [Quest Progress: 42%.]
He clenched his teeth. Not enough.
Shoving the corpses aside, he pressed deeper.
The dungeon widened into a cavern. Stalagmites jutted from the ground like teeth, and a faint blue glow came from crystals embedded in the stone. Ming approached one, brushing dirt from its surface. It thrummed faintly in his palm—stronger than the scraps the beasts left behind.
> [Material Acquired: Faint Soul Ore.]
His lips curled into a grim smile. This was what he needed. Proof the system hadn't sent him here for nothing.
He scavenged what he could, breaking shards loose until his arms ached. Each piece shimmered faintly before sinking into his inventory. But the cavern was far from safe. More beasts stirred at the sound, their growls echoing through the stone.
Ming steadied his stance, blade in hand once more. His wounds burned, his ribs screamed, but his eyes stayed sharp. Every step forward was agony, but it was also progress.
The dungeon wasn't alive.
But it was merciless. A place built to swallow men whole.
And Ming had no choice but to carve his vengeance from its depths.
These materials were just the beginning.
But Ming didn't know what awaited him in the deepest part was a monster like no other.
Would he survive this confrontation?