Tu’ei was quiet. Too quiet. Perhaps it was always like that even along the paved path to the dungeon. Occasional crunches of leaves were the only sounds from nature. The lights pierced through the tall canopy making the forest look like a light show.

  Arlene didn’t feel light-hearted anymore. She had looked forward to just doing some normal adventuring dungeon to wind off with Wattyson, but now something of horror lurked within the dungeon. Whatever was in there had haunted adventurers to delirious and… bodies mangled all over. The thought gnawed at her. Unconsciously, her free hand brushed against Neciel’s headband on her.

  Her cape fluttered lightly against the blowing leaves as her mind thought back to Tamare—to the mound. Would the supernatural really be involved like this? Recalling what she had learned about vampire from Wattyson, how they fought hard to conceal themselves from other people, it seemed unlikely. The main culprit according to what she had known thus far was something that mutated from ‘excess mana’ from the north.

  Her steps were light as much as a feather. Her hand was resting on her longsword’s hilt as she strode forward. Her pupils scanned her surrounding, darting all over. She wasn’t even in the dungeon yet, but she felt if the dungeon was now capable of killing in droves, the idea of a stampede didn’t seem ridiculous. If it occurred, she would be ready.

  Glancing to her partner, Wattyson looked unassuming as always. His white robe trailing across the paved dirt below as he clicked his staff. Somehow him clicking it didn’t make any sound, despite the hard soil. She wasn’t sure if he was doing it intentionally or not. His eyes weren’t fully opened.

  Such an attitude got her worry much more. It wasn’t much for herself but for him. She could handle it. She had the strength and the experience, but him? She wasn’t entirely certain. His fight at the Mound wasn’t a mistake—it terrified her that someone could be that ruthless immediately.

  But him fighting with Gavituth spoke a different tale to her. He was… not serious? Aloof was the only word resonated with her. Fighting with branch rather than using the same strength he did against Neciel. It nearly killed him. He was still human after all.

  If him fighting the supernatural brought up the strongest of him, but against anything but that didn’t? Even an apex predator? He didn’t use the same strength. Perhaps that style of fighting hadn’t clicked with her yet. However, she didn’t want to take any chances with this dungeon as it was. She resolved herself to stick close to him as much as possible.

  She was leading him earlier, but now she was pacing herself alongside him—just a few meters in front. Her free hand pressed against her breastplate, and whispered out a small chant. A small golden light illuminated briefly around her, granting her physical protection.

  Her hand then flicked and pointed to Wattyson sneakily, chanting the same for him. The light didn’t come. Rejecting other people’s chant of protection was possible, but judging his nonchalant reaction—he didn’t even register it. Unconsciously, she paced beside him now.

  Scratching her head, she wondered how did he reject it. Alas, question for later, perhaps she could propose it to Anire to research further on him.

  “Hey,” Wattyson spoke mid yawning, “Should we have invited Anire to this?”

  Arlene shook her head, “No. She’s probably doesn’t want to be disturbed from her research right now. Besides… I don’t know her capabilities in dungeon diving that much. It’s best this way.”

  Her eyes turned sideways to Wattyson. Jabbing at his shoulder with a light fist. “I didn’t know the stoic Watty was fond of Anire. To the point of suggestion an invitation of her.”

  “Not a chance.” He blocked the jab with a brush of his hand. “To be honest, inviting her would bring some merits to me.”

  “Oh? Such as?”

  “I don’t have to pay attention to solving puzzles in dungeon. She can do it in my stead with you.”

  Rolling her eyes, she gave his shin a light kick. “There won’t be any puzzles in this dungeon. Veia told me it’s pretty straightforward.”

  Her shoulder loosened as her eyes calmed. That brief exchanged brought some levity to her mind. It was something she could fall back on if her worries were too much.

  The path wasn’t long now. A few more zigzag along the track of trees and bushes were all that left of nature until they found a structure. High, but not enough as fortified, spanned along both sides. Looking up they saw two wooden watch towers along the gate, and the mountain above. The dungeon rested beside the foot of the mountain.

  Hot air blowing from behind that wall brushed against their skins. A contrast to the cold atmosphere in this thick forest. Getting closer now, chatters inside were thunderous. Orders. Reports. Medic.

  Approaching the small gate, a sentry of two stood before them. They held a halberd in front positioned upright. Their attire was leather covering the top torso with a jacket of yellow over. Right where the heart was, were stitched emblems of a shield with two swords behind it. The shield itself bore a checker pattern with a lion at its centre.

  Wattyson tensed. His grip was tight around the staff. To him, they weren’t to be trusted. They weren’t military… judging from their attire and lack of helmet protection. This wall, gate and watchtowers looked clumsily put together like woods being nailed at hastily. Bandits perhaps? It wasn’t out of the question. A new source of lucrative income was something to gatekeep. It was something he would’ve done.

  Arlene kicked his shin again as a nudge. To her, those people weren’t strangers. They were staffs of the Adventurer’s Guild. She saw the poor craftsmanship of this so call outpost and clicked with it immediately—they were building it to prevent others from dungeon diving without preparation. Veia had said this peculiar dungeon was deadly and an anomaly.

  The two staff noticed the coming duos. Their hands trembled slightly with their lips quivering.

  “Halt!” One of the staff shouted. “Present your ID!”

  A very authoritative stance they took, one born out of necessity. Their eyes told a different story—they had just ordered the Chosen One. Tales of Arlene had painted her to be of benevolence person, but even they couldn’t tell if they had crossed the lines earlier. They weren’t trained militarily or anything. Staffs they were and human at the end of the day.

  “Here,” Arlene slipped a hand into Wattyson’s robe and then her bag, bringing out two of their IDs. She took a step closer and gave to them two handed. Years of being the Chosen One had taught her to identify how other perceived her. She knew they were terrified.

  The sentry bit his lip as his now steady hands took the cards. He beckoned his other sentry to come over, giving her one of the card.

  Arlene’s ID was of no surprise to them: SSSSSSSSSSSSSSS+ Rank in everything. They were cleared for entry even without any quest registration.

  The female sentry squinted at another ID. She elbowed her fellow sentry to scan it over. Wattyson was only C rank. His only high rank was A+ on Fire, and B on Earth. Everything else was average. They both glanced over to him—the supposed sage conjured up in their mind over his attire.

  “M-Miss Chosen One?” The man’s lip trembled. “We can’t let Mister Wattyson in. N-Not without a guild authorization!” His leg quivered as Wattyson narrowed his eyes at him. A look of challenge froze that male sentry.

  Arlene elbowed Wattyson’s ribcage. “Knock it off!” She took out that glass panel to show both of them. The glyphs lighted up at the sight. “We’ve got authorization and registered with Veia of the Adventurer’s Guild. We should be okay to go in, yes?”

  The female sentry nodded her head like it was about to fall off. “Y-Y-Yes! Of course!” She stepped to the side and flourished her halberd, pointed to the inside. “You may pro-proceed!” Her voice kept hitching in pitch. Her eyes turned to her frozen sentry and let out a heavy stomp, pushing him out of the way. “Please! Come right in!”

  Arlene locked her arm around Wattyson as they walked in. Fearing what he might do in a shabby hub of authority.

  “What are you doing?” Wattyson asked, his voice hung low.

  “Making sure you won’t do anything stupid.”

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  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because your hatred for any organized authority is leaking, O’ Grand Chaos.”

  “I would never! I love authority, bureaucracy, and all the other stuffs aligned with them! I wou—“

  “Lies.”

  “…Alright you got me.”

  Passing the long drawn out tunnel of the gate was a sight of people running everywhere with goals in minds. All around them were tents of all colours. All those colours corresponded with who they were, and what guilds they represent.

  Yellow was of course the adventurer’s guild. There were Explorer’s Guild of green, Miner’s Guild with steel grey, The Holy Helios Church had crossed yellow circle with spikes, and black with red outline showing a lion with a sword standing atop of an eagle; Bavasr’s crest.

  The kingdom’s military was here? That could have explained why Toulasi was militarized. If that was the case, she didn’t want to be near those tents. Acting on her own now granted her the freedom to decide how to proceed with Wattyson.

  They were the few that Arlene could recognize immediately. However, her attention soon turned to the tent of red cross—a universal symbol for health. She needn’t go there. The tent was open enough for her to see the injured inside.

  Those with missing limbs laying on the makeshift beds. Some didn’t suffer any injury at all, but their body wobbled all over. Like they didn’t remember how to operate their bodies at all. Their arms and legs jerked without rhythm. Their limbs tried flanking one another like they had a mind of their own. Veia’s words echoed in her. Those were perhaps the people still delirious.

  She stopped herself from going—thinking her own presence would demand her to stay behind there. Instead, she pulled Wattyson with her to the adventurer’s guild tent. More information was needed for the dungeon. It was also ideal to get a map and few equipment if there were any.

  Pushing the rough leather flaps, she went in to a sight she wasn’t expected. It wasn’t busy, rowdy, or frantic. It was quiet. Sleepily quiet. Few adventurers crouched over from afar tending to their own businesses with a stack of boxes. A person with yellow vest leaned on a crooked chair as he rested his legs on the table filled with maps and small wooden dolls shaped like small army men. He had a hat rested on his face. Snoring aloud in his deep sleep.

  Only three were inside this tent that could house a few dozens. She could see a lot of bags and satchels left behind on the ground or on the chairs. She probably came at a downtime. Perfect. She could just ask for what she needed and left before Wattyson glared at people.

  Faking a cough loud enough to catch the two adventurers’ attentions. The guild staff sleeping didn’t wake.

  “Hey, Hello!” She waved at the two. “Do you have any maps or equipment for this dungeon? I could use one.”

  The female adventurer patted her male counterpart and returned to her task. She passed the baton of guiding the duos. That male adventurer though, looked stiff. His eyes were on the robed man next to Arlene, then immediately flicked to hers.

  “Y-Yes! Of course!” He walked over to the table, pushing aside all the military dolls and scrolls stacked atop. “Sorry, this is a bit disorganized right now. I’m sure the map is around here somewhere…”

  “No worries!” Arlene replied as she rested her hand on the pommel. She let go of Wattyson’s arm and walked over to him. “Need some help…. Uhhh?”

  The male adventurer glanced, but it was to Wattyson first then Arlene. “Naciv. My name’s Naciv.” His voice was carefully articulated lowly. He pointed to a side next to Arlene. “I think there’s a map there.”

  The whole table was a cluttered mess which was strange; the whole table was long with plenty of clear space. Why was everything cluttered up in one spot? She pushed aside the military dolls and books, scrolls and other paper parchments. Still couldn’t find it.

  She beckoned to Wattyson. “Help me out, will you?”

  Wattyson exhaled out lazily and nodded. He stepped toward them, clicking his staff along the way.

  Arlene was still pushing and scanning through all the parchments. She had found maps but they were stamped with outdated label. She glanced to Naciv if he had found it. She found something else about him. With every click, Naciv shuddered. She could see how his entire hair bristled up with every steps Wattyson took.

  “You okay?” She nudged to Naciv. “You don’t seem well.”

  “W-What? Me? I’m ok—“ Another clicked stunned him like a hiccup. “—I’m okay! Honest!”

  She then pointed to Wattyson. “Would you stop scaring people?!”

  “What? I’m just walking to you.”

  “Stop clicking your staff then.”

  “…Fine.”

  Wattyson put himself away from Arlene with Naciv in between. “Move it.” He ordered as he shuffled through the whole mess.

  “Yes An-,” Naciv felt a side eyes from Wattyson, “Sir. Yes, sir.”

  Wattyson looked through the parchments, then thought of something. “So what am I supposed to look for exactly? I know it’s a map… but how do I know?”

  Naciv answered immediately. “It has a marker label; Approved. If you see that, then it’s the right one.”

  “Interesting system… then why the hell are all of these aren’t marked, but stamped?” He lifted up papers with the outdated stamp.

  “I… I don’t know! I’m just an adventurer!”

  “So the approved are marked… which is easily counterfeit, but outdated versions are stamped?” He shook his head as he backhanded the book like it owed him money.

  Arlene couldn’t argue with that logic. It was something she had pointed out in the past too with her old party members. Remembering it made her giggle. A dumb thing they all had argued and bantered over. Wattyson wasn’t one of them. She wished not to replace her old members, but to build new one with Wattyson.

  “I found it!” Naciv raised it with his two hands like a holy gospel. He turned the map over… to Wattyson. “Here you go, Ana— Lor— Sir!”

  “Hmm.” Wattyson tapped and flicked the map upon receiving it. “Seems legit.”

  Was Wattyson that frightening Naciv defaulted to him upon success? Arlene reckoned she really needed to keep him close so he didn’t sow disorder among this shabby hub.

  “I can’t read this.”

  Arlene rolled her eyes and clicked her tongue. “Give it here, you goofball.” She yoinked the map off him. In her hand was the map with layers of pages. One drawn in its entirety from the top, and another sort of like a cube—floors upon floors lapping with one another. There was one clear denominator. All of them were pretty straightforward. One entrance with three lanes all ended in the same exit to a deeper floor.

  She put the map down onto the table, and traced along the drawing. Her eyes scanned for any legends or marked of traps and enemies on the map. There were barely any. She narrowed her eyes. Just because there were barely any didn’t mean there weren’t at all. It could be they weren’t mapped enough.

  While Arlene was skimming through the map, behind her was another scene entirely.

  Naciv was shivering like a dog in the freezing cold. He felt his arm warmer and warmer from Wattyson’s grip.

  “So,” Wattyson whispered, “Did you find anything useful? Specifically, to what I ask?”

  Naciv gulped, and his heart again hammered out like a mechanical clock. “I…”

  “Yes?”

  “I-I can confidently say there aren’t any supernatural factions involved with corrupted blood near Toulasi.”

  “In Toulasi…,” Wattyson let go of his grip, “Then you suspect they are in the north—the Far Tundra?”

  “My information doesn’t go that far, sir. I only operate in Toulasi… and you know I can’t ask my peers about the north by saying I’m working for you. They’d eat me!”

  “Hmmm… then who would you suggest I seek for that information?”

  “I uhh… then you ca—“

  Arlene rolled the map with haste. She stomped her foot as she turned to them, loud enough to interrupt them without knowing. “Alright! Let’s go, Watty!”

  Wattyson nodded and left before her. Arlene caught up to him and locked arms with him again, putting him back on her warmth leash. Exiting that tent, Arlene could hear a loud winded sigh of relief.

  “Did you do something to that poor adventurer, Watty?” Her side eye turned inquisitive.

  “No? Why would I?”

  “Hmmm… would you?”

  “I wouldn’t bother.”

  She laughed it off. “Of course… you’re not exactly the sociable type after all.” She pushed the thought of his usual grumpy expression in a sage attire just threw people off.

  Rested her hand on the hilt, she thought now of the dungeon. How exactly should she proceed? With speed? No, that would expose them to danger more.

  The map didn’t exactly sell her on how reliable it was either. This whole hub was clumsily built—who’s to say the map wasn’t the same? Whoever ordered the construction of this makeshift hub probably cared for result rather than quality works. The scouts, fearful for their lives, only reported back with questionable maps. She bore no hatred to them, but disappointment to whoever ordered them. These things could cost more lives if not treated meticulously.

  The entrance of that dungeon was that of one entering the mineshaft. Except this mineshaft was guarded by three in full chainmail armour. They sported some long standards in front and basinets with visors. Coloured in yellow except one in black and red; Adventurer’s Guild and Bavasr.

  They held a hand out before slamming them to their hearts. “Praise Helios!” It was their way of greetings. “Is the Chosen One entering the dungeon?” They bowed their heads slightly to her and to Wattyson too, much to his surprise.

  Arlene returned the bow. “Praise Helios. Yes, I am. Great works, you two.” She held out the glass panel. “We are authorized to enter. May we proceed?”

  The guild leaned over and nodded. “Of course!” He turned to the Bavasr. “This isn’t a problem, yes?”

  “Of course, it isn’t!” Bavasr’s bellowed out a laugh and stepped aside.

  A loud wail rang out behind the duos. “Wait!” A weak voice caught them. “You can’t enter!”

  It was the same man that slept in the adventurer’s guild tent. He fell to his knee and gazed upward to the mountain. He panted frantically. “You cannot enter! Not like this!”

  “Why is that?” The guild guard spoke first, flourished a hand to Arlene. “She is the Chosen One, and is here with her companion. Why can’t she enter?”

  “Th-This dungeon,” that man didn’t take that moment to breathe, “has been classified as A+ rank. By protocol, the party now need to… to… oh blimey.” He fell to all fours. “Need to have five people at the very least. I know you’re the chosen one, but rules are rules.”

  Arlene crouched down. “Surely you understand this dungeon is too dangerous. My companion and I are enough for this.”

  He toppled over, sprawling on his back. “I’m aware, but I cannot let you proceed… rules are rules. They are there for a reason! If more people go with you, it could help with other tasks.”

  “Other tasks such as?”

  “Finally mapping that damn dungeon for once, and other intel we could gather. Few more pairs of eyes could accomplish this. Please know this isn’t applied to you only. It applies effectively just ten minutes ago before I…”

  “Fall asleep?”

  “Yes!”

  One of the guild guards walked over. “Ser Hecruz. This is an embarrassing display of our guild. Please get up.”

  Hecruz shut his eyes. “No.” He exhaled steadily. “Let me lie here. Bask in the few warm rays that managed to penetrated nature’s protective embrace.”

  “Ser Hecruz, please.”

  “No!”

  Arlene walked over to Wattyson, and glanced at the two other guards. They were still willing to step aside and let them in, but Arlene gestured to them no. She sighed and turned to Wattyson. “Looks like we’re going to ask Anire to join after all… and two others.”

  Wattyson stroked his chin. “Quite.” He gazed to the dozens of tents. “Or you can just grab one here?”

  “You kidding? I can’t put people I don’t know their capabilities of in danger!” She puffed her cheeks while crossing her arms. “What? Do you want to actually talk to people?”

  Half of Wattyson’s face played a crooked smile. “Let me talk to a few.”