Alfred and the rest of the team made their way through the winding forest path toward the dungeon site. The sunlight broke through the tall trees in golden streaks, painting the ground in patches of light. Birds sang softly in the distance, and a calm breeze rustled the leaves. It almost felt peaceful, almost.
But Alfred's thoughts weren't calm.
'What if these people aren't what they seem?' he wondered as his eyes shifted between the group ahead. 'Player killers… or adventurer killers. People who lure others in for the money or fame. Those who acted kind to me before either died or betrayed me. I can't trust them. Not yet.'
"Everyone, we're here!" shouted the D-rank adventurer at the front, his voice breaking the silence.
The group came to a stop near a wide opening in the ground. The entrance of the dungeon yawned before them, dark, cold, and breathing out a faint mist.
"Let's finish this already and go back," said one of the C-rank adventurers, stretching his neck as if it were just another routine job.
'Mm. They don't seem worried at all,' Alfred thought. 'Either they're confident… or stupid.'
The other B-rank clapped his hand on Alfred's shoulder. "Let's go, man."
Alfred took a deep breath, his expression unreadable. "Yeah," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the dungeon's dark mouth. "Let's go."
And with that, they stepped into the shadows.
They pressed deeper into the dungeon; the torchlight jittered against slick walls, throwing long, nervous shadows. The passage yawned ahead, cold and smelling of damp stone. Every step echoed like a small alarm.
"What was your power again?" the D-rank asked, trying to fill the silence.
"Metal magic," Alfred replied. "I can move metal with my will."
"That's… unusual," a C-ranker said, curiosity in his voice. "Never heard of it."
The B-ranker didn't bother with niceties. "I heard you killed a B-rank wolf with one strike. True?"
"No," Alfred said quickly. "Krestar and the others helped. I'm not what they say I am."
'Keep it low. Don't draw eyes,' he thought, letting his tone stay casual.
"How much did you get for that job?" the B-ranker asked, stepping closer.
"Seven gold and twenty silver." Alfred answered without hesitation.
Their footsteps hushed; the torchlight seemed suddenly too bright. Alfred felt their attention settle on him, the kind that bodes trouble. He stopped walking. Behind him, the group shifted, closing the small circle.
'I don't like this at all,' he told himself.
The B-ranker's smile thinned. "You carrying it with you?" he asked, eyes flicking to Alfred's belt.
"Yes," Alfred said. His voice was steady.
"Good," the B-ranker said, stepping forward until the torchlight caught the hard set of his jaw. "Be a good boy and hand it over."
"What, you're joking?" Alfred's reply was flat, a test as much as a refusal.
"I'm not joking." The B-ranker's hand went to his sword hilt. "Hand over the coins."
"No." Alfred didn't move his hands toward his pouch. He made no show of reaching for a weapon, he didn't need to.
For a breath the dungeon held, stone, torch, and the low hum of tension. Then the B-ranker lunged, blade drawn, the edge catching the torchlight with a cold, hungry gleam.
"Then you will die," he snarled.
They were close enough now that the smell of sweat and metal flooded the space between them. The D-ranker braced, the C-ranks fumbled for grips. In the torchlight, Alfred's expression didn't change; only the silence grew heavier, as if the cave itself was waiting to see which of them would move first.
"You got anyone waiting for you back home?" Alfred asked, steady.
The D-ranker broke into a derisive laugh. "What, like a family? Ridiculous."
"If you do, walk away now," Alfred said quietly. "Don't stick around, don't make yourself someone else's funeral."
"How dare you," the B-ranker snarled, stepping forward.
A crushing pressure rolled through the tunnel like a slammed gate.
"Activate the Eyes of the Golden Monarch," Alfred said.
[Activating: Eyes of the Golden Monarch]
Gold flared in his irises and the weight hit them. Their knees buckled; their limbs locked as if the air itself had become chains. The C-ranker's voice trembled out, "So it was you… I felt this over the kingdom before."
"Yeah," Alfred answered. "That was me. And do you know your mistake? You came thinking I was prey."
The B-ranker tried to force words out, "You bastard, you'll pay—", but his muscles refused him; the threat died in his throat.
Alfred drew closer, cold and deliberate. "This is what bothers me about you lot. You set the trap, and when it snaps shut you shout about revenge. Why? What have I done wrong?"
He let the silence hang a moment, then finished flatly, "Forget it. Let me just kill you all."
Alfred smiled, a thin thing that did not reach his eyes. "I'll start with the weakest," he said, voice low and steady.
The D-rank fell to his knees before him, eyes wild, hands clawing at the dirt. "Please, please, I have a wife, a child..." he sobbed.
Alfred didn't flinch. He raised his right hand, slow and absolute. Light gathered along his forearm, a bright, blade-thin line that hummed like a drawn string. The blade fell. It struck true; the D-rank's cry cut off and he slumped without a sound.
"Next," Alfred said.
The two C-rankers swore and scrambled back, voices cracking. "We'll give you everything, name your price, don't do this!" one begged. The other tried to bully through trembling lips, "You won't get away with...."
"Silence." Alfred's voice snapped like steel. "Both of you." He did not wait for them to bargain. The same white blade arced twice, surgical and cold. Both men went down before they could finish another word. Their bodies hit the stone and lay still.
Only the B-ranker remained. He stood a little apart, face drained of color but eyes clear, as if he'd already measured his fate.
"You… you could have left," the man managed, voice thin. "You could have taken the coin and walked."
"What happens in this cave dies with the cave," Alfred said softly, each syllable a deliberate measure. "You hunted me like prey. You chose to show your teeth."
The B-ranker's jaw worked. "If anyone hears of this, if the guild finds out, you'll be hung. You'll be...." He could not finish. His hands shook.
Alfred stepped forward. The glow at his irises flared a fraction; the pressure tightened like a wire. He plunged the spectral blade through the man's throat. The B-ranker's knees buckled; his last breath fluttered out with a wet sound. He hit the earth and did not rise.
Silence fell heavy and absolute. The faint echo of the strikes died into the stone. Alfred let the light die in his hands. He breathed once, slow and controlled, and looked down at the four sprawled forms.
He picked up the pouch at his feet, weighed it in his palm, and slid it into his belt. Then, with the same unhurried calm, he turned and walked deeper into the dungeon.
'I was always told heroes die for others,' he thought, the line almost a sneer. 'Now I'll see how the world behaves when it learns to fear the villain.'