The clash began the moment they stepped into the dungeon core chamber. The scorpion was monstrous, at least ten meters long, its large black carapace gleaming in the dim light. Its claws, outstretched and twitching, were each as long as River was tall. It was terrifying. But what truly chilled him was the sheer number of ants. They swarmed across the stone floor like a living tide.

  Albert stepped forward, slow and steady, his essence pulsing in a ring around him. River still didn’t fully understand what it did; Albert had tried to explain it once, something about reinforcement and resistance—but all River knew was that it worked. Ants lunged toward them, screeching as they threw themselves against shields and walls. Delvers hacked them down in flashes of steel, while Albert’s vines surged forward, yanking some creatures back before they could reach the front line. River stood at the rear, already channeling his magic. He couldn’t use lightning, fire, or even light. Not here. Those spells were too volatile. Too wide-reaching. He’d risk hitting his own front line—or worse, the weaker delvers in the back. So, he turned to something more reliable.

  Earth. He dug deep into the ground beneath them and began shaping volleys of jagged rocks, arcing them high over the front lines and slamming them down on clusters of ants. An artillery mage. Not flashy, but precise, Controlled. And right now, control was exactly what they needed. River pushed his consciousness outward, trying to get a better sense of the battlefield, and that’s when he realized:

  Amalia was no longer beside him.

  She was weaving through the swarm, her blade a blur of motion. Ants fell around her in rapid succession, slashed apart mid-lunge. When had she become so fearless?

  Then it happened. A sharp scream tore through the air beside him. One of the frontliners stumbled back, an ant latched onto his arm; it had slipped past his shield, driving its spiked legs deep into his flesh. Blood streamed from the wound. River reacted without thinking. He conjured a sharpened stone and launched it at the creature’s head.

  Crack.

  The ant’s skull exploded, blood splattering the floor as it crumpled backward. The delver grunted, nodded once in thanks, and rejoined the front, but River could see it. He was hurting. Despite their steady progress, it was endless. More ants poured into the room, their bodies clicking and chittering as they scrambled over the fallen. And now the scorpion moved. Slower than the swarm, but massive. And far deadlier. Amalia struck at its side, but her blade bounced harmlessly off its thick exoskeleton with a dull, hollow thud. River clenched his jaw. That thing was a fortress.

  Then, from the shadows, Iska struck. She burst from a darkened corner like a bolt of light. Cloaked in illusion and glowing faintly, she descended on the enemy line from behind. Illusion magic. That’s how she’d disappeared. Her sword gleamed as she tore through the ants. A rune on its hilt drew in essence, strengthening every strike. Each movement was fluid and precise. She was a blur—faster than anyone else on the field. Fueled by something River couldn’t name, maybe fear, or resolve. But whatever it was, it had hardened into steel, and it fueled her. River wanted to know her secret. That kind of resolve was mesmerizing.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  The enemy forces began to falter. Surrounded. Trapped. A perfect pincer. River watched her cut through the swarm with terrifying efficiency. She might be more dangerous than all of us combined, he thought. And then, it was almost over. Only the scorpion remained—surrounded, alone.

  Without its swarm, it didn’t stand a chance. The delvers closed in. Methodical. Precise. And in a matter of moments, the beast collapsed beneath their blades. Iska struck the final blow, her blade slicing through the back of its head with surgical precision. As the scorpion fell still, a collective breath escaped the team. A quiet sigh of relief, almost in disbelief. Everyone had expected more from a dungeon boss. Something harder. Something worse.

  But this time… they'd been stronger. The dust hadn’t even settled before they were moving again, collecting, cataloging, preserving. It was all so practiced and organized. No one spoke, but everyone knew their role. They spread out across the cavern, searching for usable materials. Tier Two dungeons were still considered resource-class, not meant to be destroyed. Their cores were left intact, the creatures within regularly culled and harvested for essence, crystal, and artifacts. This one seemed no different. They’d recovered a handful of usable materials; metals that the blacksmiths in Varosha could forge into weapons, preserved food, even drinkable water drawn from underground reserves.

  But the most valuable find?

  An egg. It would replace one of the many that had recently bonded, a small but vital victory in keeping Varosha’s traditions alive. No mutations. No corruption. Just pure, concentrated essence and manageable threats. And the mission? A success.

  Only one injury: a delver with a deep gash along his arm—but nothing life-threatening. He’d already bandaged it and was talking like he hadn’t just bled on the battlefield. River watched him quietly. This was what real delvers looked like: scarred but unshaken. River hadn’t earned that title yet. Compared to them, they were still just foreigners playing pretend. They had survived, but they didn’t truly belong. As they retraced their steps, making their way back to the surface, the night had fully settled in. The air was crisp, the fog thicker now, curling low across the rocky ground. They’d spent longer in the dungeon than River had realized. The constant pressure, the movement, the violence; it had made the hours blur. But something was wrong.

  The presence he’d felt before, that crawling sense of being watched—was no longer a single thing. It was fragmented. Now, he could feel multiple sources of wrongness, spread out like shadows around the edge of the fog. He walked quickly to Iska’s side and leaned in close.

  “Something’s watching us,” he whispered.

  She stiffened immediately.

  Her eyes swept the fog in every direction, her essence flaring just slightly, searching. After a moment, she let out a breath. “I don’t sense anything.”

  But River knew.

  He wasn’t wrong.

  And before he could say another word, they emerged.

  Shadows stretched and merged, forming twisted humanoid shapes.

  Eyes—glowing yellow—blinked into existence, piercing the fog like daggers.

  River felt his breath catch in his throat.

  A shiver ran down his spine.

  They watched, calculating, patient, choosing their moment. Was this how he was going to die?