Arthur’s boots sank slightly into the soft, damp moss as he pushed aside a curtain of vines. Beyond them, a large stone entrance loomed, its lintel was cracked and weather-worn, carved with runes that were mostly faded and were indecipherable. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and decay, and a faint cold draft wafted from within.

“A dungeon, huh?” Arthur muttered under his breath, brushing moss off the weathered carvings on the entrance of the dungeon. He could feel faint traces of mana being ejected from the entrance. His lips curved into a half-smile. “Looks unexplored.”

He’d heard of dungeons in the outside world, every kingdom had its fair share of them, but most were already stripped bare of resources, they were either controlled by noble families or royals who taxed adventurers for the privilege of entering. This one, tucked away in the depths of the Ancient Realm, could very well be unexplored. That meant one thing, the final reward might still be unclaimed.

Arthur adjusted the strap of his sword across his back, then slipped inside.

…

The interior was as oppressive as the entrance promised. The walls were roughly hewn stone, slick with moss in places, covered with vines in some places. Cobwebs hung like curtains, and the air carried the damp chill of a cavern that hadn’t seen the sun in millennia. His boots echoed faintly against the uneven ground as he went deeper into it.

It didn’t take him long to notice footprints, and there were lots of them. Pressed deep into the dirt and stone dust, overlapping each other in messy trails. Arthur crouched, brushing a hand across the ground, it was still fresh.

His brows drew together. “Plenty went in…” He scanned the tunnel behind him. “But none came out.”

That little detail made his instincts prickle.

He rose again,and decided to push deeper into the dungeon.

…

The tunnel eventually widened, and the sight before him made him pause.

A vast hall stretched open, its vaulted ceiling shrouded in shadows. Torches flickered along the walls, though Arthur couldn’t tell if they were lit by those gathered here or by some ancient enchantment. The walls themselves were grotesque, decorated with yellowed skulls, piles of bones, chained skeletons dangling like grotesque ornaments, and rusted armor fused to stone. Faded tapestries hung in tatters, their depictions long lost but still haunting in a ghostly way.

Dozens of figures were already assembled at the hall, scattered in groups across the chamber. There were dragons in humanoid forms, tall and haughty with eyes that looked at others with contempt. Elves stood in their group with cold elegance, their eyes wearily glancing around. 

There were also dwarves who were talking to one another, their beards were long and braided. Beast-kin leaned against pillars, their ears swiveling restlessly. Humans also stood together in small groups. And among them all, Arthur even spotted a few demons, there were at least three of them, everyone else maintained some distance from them.

The atmosphere was tense but restrained. Everyone kept to their groups, the silence punctuated only by low murmurs and the occasional hostile glares exchanged across the hall.

Arthur’s entrance drew a few glances. People assessed him for some time, then dismissed him, returning to their conversations. The hall was filled with strong people, most wouldn’t waste energy sizing up every new arrival.

But one voice cut through the murmur.

“Hey! Arthur! Over here!”

Arthur turned his head toward the human group. A familiar figure was waving both arms enthusiastically.

“…Finn?”

Finn’s grin stretched wide as he waved harder. “What are you standing there for? Get over here!”

Arthur couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. It was good to see a familiar face after the chaos of the last few days. He walked over, slipping through the crowd until he stood before Finn.

Up close, Arthur took stock of him. Finn’s aura had sharpened, it was stronger and steadier than before. Arthur’s eyes narrowed slightly in surprise. “You’ve hit Fifth Circle.”

Finn puffed his chest out proudly. “Not bad, right? Guess this realm’s not stingy with its opportunities.”

Arthur chuckled. “You’ve been busy I guess.”

“Busy staying alive,” Finn corrected, though his grin never faltered. He gestured broadly at the others gathered around him, there were seven humans who were standing with him, a mix of mages and warriors, each wearing cautious expressions. “Let me introduce you. This is my crew for now.”

The group gave Arthur curious glances. One of them, a tall warrior with a scarred jaw, grunted. “Another martial artist? Hope you’re sturdier than the last guy we had. We don’t need weaklings.”

Arthur didn’t rise to the jab, and ignored him completely, making the warrior angry. The people present here couldn’t gauge his strength as he was using Chi concealment, otherwise the warrior wouldn’t have dared to question his strength.

Finn clapped him on the shoulder with a laugh, as if smoothing over the warrior’s bluntness. “Don’t worry about him, Arthur. He’s always grumpy before a fight.”

Arthur tilted his head, glancing around at the room again. “So. What’s going on here?”

Finn leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “It’s due to dungeon rules actually. The entrance won’t open unless enough participants gather. Apparently, the magic that seals it needs a certain amount of life signatures before it activates. So… we are waiting for more people to arrive.”

Arthur frowned slightly, but didn’t comment on it. 

Finn continued, pointing towards the demons. “You should’ve seen the tension when the demons walked in. Half the room almost went for their throats.”

Arthur’s gaze flicked to the corner where the demons were talking among each other. They stood apart, their mouths curved in sneers as the others pointed at them. Their presence was like oil spilled into water, unwelcome, but not easily removed.

“And yet everyone’s still here,” Arthur muttered.

Finn shrugged. “Greed’s a strong glue. Nobody wants to risk losing the dungeon’s treasure, so nobody wants to act first and weaken their strength by fighting them.”

Arthur gave a faint nod of acknowledgment. His eyes lingered on the grotesque decorations of the hall, then he turned back to Finn. “How long have you been here?”

“Less than a day,” Finn replied. His grin softened into something a little more genuine. “Honestly, I didn’t think I’d run into you again so soon. After Brightwater…”

Arthur’s smile vanished and asked seriously. “What happened after I left?”

Finn scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Things got messy after you left. The Church really stirred things up, but… well, I’ll fill you in while we wait.”

Arthur nodded, his tone lighthearted. “Good. I want to know everything.”

…

As the two of them caught up, the hall remained restless. Groups eyed each other, they clutched their weapons which gleamed faintly in the torchlight. It was a fragile peace, held together only by the promise of treasures of the dungeon beyond the sealed doors.

Arthur stood with Finn as the hall slowly grew more crowded. Time passed in a blur of murmurs, footsteps, and the occasional sharp clash of words between rival groups. More and more people streamed in, sometimes in squads of five or six, sometimes as duos, but rarely alone.

Arthur noticed that those who came by themselves were either visibly overconfident, or radiated such power that others instinctively gave them a wide berth.

Finn leaned close and whispered, “See that elf? She came in alone. Rumor has it she killed a S-Rank wyvern by herself on the way here.”

Arthur glanced briefly, his gaze cool. The elf in question stood near a wall, her pale hair almost silver in the torchlight. She didn’t look their way. Arthur smiled faintly. “Well, not many walk into a place like this alone if they don’t have the ability to back it up.”

Finn gave him a lopsided grin. “Guess that makes you the same.”

Arthur didn’t reply, and just shook his head.

…

Hours ticked by, the oppressive silence in the chamber broken only by the occasional sound of boots, talking, or the faint crackle of torches. Meanwhile, Arthur caught up on what had happened in Brightwater.

Arthur listened silently, his jaw tightening at certain details, but his face remained unreadable.

Suddenly, the hall started to tremble. Dust and small stones started falling from the ceiling of the hall.

“What the hell?” one dwarf barked, gripping the handle of his axe.

The vibrations grew sharper, the stone floor quaking beneath their feet, making several people stumble. The torches flickered wildly, shadows dancing grotesquely across the skull-lined walls.

The ground gave a low, groaning rumble, as if the dungeon itself were waking up.

Then, with a deafening crack, parts of the wall split open. Crumbling stone and debris fell as new tunnels started to appear around the people, and there were at least thirty of them.

The entire chamber became a ring of black tunnels, each one large enough for ten men to walk through abreast.

The hall went still. As several groups glanced at one another, some appeared suspicious, and some excited.

A beast-kin warrior muttered, “Trials. It has to be the dungeon’s trials starting.”

An elf narrowed his eyes. “Or it might be a trap.”

Either way, people began moving towards the tunnels. One group after another split from the hall, choosing tunnels and vanishing into the dark. Some went quickly, eager to reach whatever reward lay within. Others lingered, watching carefully which paths others chose.

Arthur tilted his head at Finn and the group. “We should also choose one and go.”

Finn’s grin dimmed slightly, replaced by seriousness. He looked at the others in their crew, raising his brows in silent question.

The scarred warrior grunted. “Better to move than wait and get surrounded. Let’s pick one.”

The others nodded in agreement.

Arthur and the warrior stepped forward without hesitation, walking toward one of the nearest tunnels. Finn fell in beside Arthur, the rest following them closely.

…

As they crossed the threshold of the tunnel, darkness covered them.

The tunnel was pitch black as the torches from the hall were gone. The air was stale, carrying the faint, acrid scent of rot.

The group slowed, eyes straining to adjust. Then one of the mages muttered an incantation and raised a hand. A small fireball flickered to life above his palm, casting faint orange light down the corridor.

“That’s better,” Finn said, though his voice carried a little tighter than usual.

Arthur said nothing, his senses stretched outward, Chi flowing quietly through his body as he probed the air.

Behind them, the sound of footsteps echoed. The group turned sharply, their weapons half-drawn, only to see another group stepping into the same tunnel.

The scarred warrior snarled. “Tch. This tunnel was ours.”

One of the newcomers, a lanky elf with pale green eyes, raised a brow. “Unless you made it yourself, it belongs to no one.” His voice was smooth, but there was a sharpness to it.

The tension spiked instantly.

Finn raised both hands, stepping between them quickly. “Relax, relax. There are enough tunnels for everyone. If they want to follow, let them. No point fighting amongst ourselves before we even see the first trial.”

The warrior spat to the side but backed off, muttering curses under his breath.

Arthur’s eyes, however, weren’t on the other group. His gaze was fixed forward, into the darkness ahead. His ears caught a faint sound, carried by the tunnel.

It was the sound of growling. It was low at first but was becoming much louder as time passed, indicating whatever was causing it was coming closer.

The mage’s fireball flickered as he stiffened. “What was that?”

The scarred warrior unsheathed his blade with a metallic hiss. “Finally, I get to fight something!”

Finn tightened his grip on his sword, giving Arthur a quick look. “You hear it too, right?”

Arthur nodded slowly, his voice was low. “Yeah. And it’s getting closer.”

The other group who arrived later also got ready to fight.

A few moments later, two faint, burning eyes opened in the darkness ahead of them.

***

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