The revelation that he wasn't actually crazy, that the system was actually something real, didn't help in any way. It only seemed to spike his rate of confusion.
The next day arrived quicker than Alexander expected. A black jeep rolled down the street and eased to a stop by a low bar.
Seven people sat inside, faces blank and expressionless in the grim morning light. Leather creaked as they shifted; the smell of oil and old metal leaked from the vehicle's vents.
"Boss, is that the guy?"
a burly man in leather armor asked, peering out from the van's window.
Outside, a young man with messy black hair was doing push-ups on the sidewalk—counting aloud under his breath.
Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt; his breath came steady and controlled, his muscles working through the repetition.
Another hunter, also in leather, scoffed.
"Who is this creep? Does he really think push-ups will help when he faces a level-three goblin?"
Laughter bubbled through the car. To them Alexander looked like a naive kid—someone who'd recently awakened and believed lifting weights could make him a monster-slayer.
Merlin, the fighter who'd asked the question, wore his sneer as a badge.
They all wore leather armor, making them look awkward in a civilian vehicle. As if they should have been on horseback instead.
One man looked in place though, he wore a black suit with gold—rimmed glasses. He didn't laugh with the others.
The agent watched Alexander with a cold, focused gaze.
A gaze that was calm, and not amused.
"Does it matter whether he thinks push-ups will help?" the suited man asked, voice flat.
"What matters is that we retrieve the fragment from that dungeon, and we need him for that."
Alexander was approaching his hundredth pushup. Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight—he pushed past the burn until the system chimed in the corner of his vision.
Instinct told him to check the prompt, but he closed the system window manually.
He was little embarrassed that the team had seen him doing such an idiotic thing. But from his previous experience, it couldn't be helped.
He walked over to the van, wiping his hands on his pants.
"Uh… hey, guys." He waved, awkwardly.
There was no response, only pairs of cold gazes staring back at him.
The interior of the vehicle was tightly packed—seven people somehow folded into the space—and a huge metal crate rested between them like a relic.
"Alexander—you made it, and on time this time,"
the suited man said, and his stern face shifted into a practiced smile. He pushed his glasses up his nose and extended a hand.
"I didn't introduce myself last time. You can call me, agent Vermin."
He turned to the others with quick, efficient gestures.
"This is Rufus—D-rank tank.
That stern kid over there is Merlin, one of our fighter class.
Lana's our mage.
Chris is the assassin, Victor the healer, and finally Baxter is the other fighter."
His voice was clipped and businesslike, as if reading off a file.
"You'll get to know them when we all face monsters together. Now, sign this."
Another folder was handed to Alexander. He recognized the thin, official paper—boilerplate waivers and the FBH imprint at the bottom.
He scanned quickly: a liability clause, a non-disclosure addendum.
The text said, without mercy, that the Bureau wouldn't be responsible for anything that happened to him.
He could almost sign away his own existence with this document if he wasn't careful.
He put his name to the line with a small, reluctant flourish.
"Okay, now that everything's settled, let's earn some cash."
Vermin's voice turned brisk and a little too eager.
The other hunters let out low chuckles; their eyes flicked to Alexander like he was a walking wallet.
The jeep pulled up to a small structure, surrounded by guards with essence blasters.
Clearly built only to monitor the gate.
The compound smelled faintly of ozone and machine oil; metal clattered somewhere in the distance.
In the center of the yard a round circular portal pulsed on a pedestal. It was an active gate.
There were no other hunters, usually they would be all around trying to form parties. Or they would simply join a party from the hunters online forum.
The guards moved with practiced vigilance.
Alexander studied the gate, paying attention to the color as this was the factor directly proportional it's rate of danger.
Blue meant calm, not a lot of monsters and the lowest chance of a dungeon break.
Yellow meant a little bit crowded, while red meant overcrowded. An imminent outbreak.
The ring before them, however, shockingly didn't sit comfortably in any of those categories.
It flickered, an uncertain blur of shifting colors. Like some kind of rainbow.
As if the gate itself was unsure how many monsters lurked inside, or when an outbreak would happen.
"Sir Vermin—what kind of gate is that?"
Alexander asked quietly, nodding toward the wavering colors.
Vermin flashed a cold smile and didn't answer. Instead, he slipped something—a small envelope or folded bill—into a guard's hand as they passed.
The guard's shoulders loosened. A bribe, thin and practiced.
The other hunters snickered and headed for the entrance.
"Just hurry up and join us,"
Vermin said.
"We don't want anyone left behind now do we."
Alexander picked up everyone's supplies, their water, rations, and a small pack of glow stones, just in case the dungeon didn't have any.
Then he watched as Vermin opened the metal crate. Inside lay a massive arm piece, a gauntlet of interlocking plates etched in ancient runes.
It looked like a relic from a temple-ruin. There was no overt glow, but Alexander felt mana pulsing faintly across the metal like a heart, right around where the runes were etched.
They stepped through the gate in formation.
Light swallowed the group whole for a heartbeat; the ground blurred beneath their feet. When his vision cleared, Alexander found himself standing in a cavernous dungeon.
The air here was...off. The torch-illusion of illumination stones or glow stones dotted the walls, casting long, wavering shadows that danced happily and made the place feel alive.
"It's been a while since I entered a dungeon," Lana muttered, her soft voice low.
"It's a scary place for the weak—and a treasure trove for the strong," Baxter the fighter added.
A deep tremor ran through the stone, like a beast turning over in the deep. Dust fell from the arches above.
Alexander stumbled, steadying himself with a hand on a carved pillar.
"What the—" he breathed.
However, the hunters around him barely flinched. Vermin's face remained composed, and impassive.
Rufus simply tightened his grip on his shield. The lack of alarm from the others made Alexander alarmed.
Their reactions made the tremor feel worse.
It was unnatural, like everyone else knew something he didn't, and they were hiding it.
But why would they do that to a poor helpless, weak D–rank hunter?
Dungeons were not supposed to tremble like this. They were not supposed to look like they were about to collapse.
Alexander tried to trace the pattern of the situation.
He remembered signing two documents. First, the NDA and the liability waiver. Off-the-record. No one responsible if he died.
The logical conclusion pressed at his mind: if this was "off the books," and the Bureau had organized the raid, no one would hear of him if things went wrong.
No funeral, no investigation. Just erased.
He swallowed bile.
But he had to keep moving. So, he followed. They moved deeper , the light from the glow stones flickering over rough walls and abandoned columns.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. The dungeon's mouth fell away behind them.
No monsters had attacked yet. That was another unusual fact.
Typically creatures would test new entrants the minute someone crossed the threshold. Silence stretched like a held breath. It was clear this was no ordinary gate.
The dungeon trembled again, stronger this time. Pebbles skittered across the floor and the hunters froze when they finally saw other life forms.
Red eyes reflected from the shadows—a hint of movement before the sound.
Something slithered and then sprang into view. Monsters that looked like dogs, their red fur looking like blood.
Iron plating welded to their jaws making their snarls sound like grinding gears.
Their eyes glowed with a malignant hunger.
Rufus stepped forward and raised his shield.
The others snapped into position with the efficiency of veterans.
"Here they come, everyone into positions!"
He barked.
With the tank at the front and the damage dealers behind, a fierce battle was about to take place.