Captain Veylor had prepared himself to see monsters.
He had prepared himself to order a defensive formation.
He had not expected to see survivors walk out of the mutated F rank dungeon.
Blood streaked their faces, clothes were torn.
Several had crude bandages made from ripped fabric.
Some limped. Some leaned on each other.
But they were standing.
They were breathing, that alone was a miracle.
Arthur took two steps out of the portal.
The moment his foot touched solid ground, his legs shook.
Not the dramatic kind. But the quiet kind where muscles simply refused to obey.
His dagger slipped from his fingers and hit the ground with a dull clink.
He barely noticed.
The adrenaline that had kept him upright inside the dungeon began to fade.
Fast. Too fast.
As his vision swam.
The noise around him blurred.
For a moment, the only thing he could hear was his own breathing.
Slow, ragged and heavy.
"So… I'm outside once again ," he muttered hoarsely.
