Chapter 119: The Messenger

Bruce straightened a fraction, his eyes sharpening as he focused down the long, empty road. In the distance, little more than a moving speck at first, a silhouette came rushing forward. Horse and rider, cutting across the dusty path with purpose.

’There you are,’ Bruce thought quietly. ’The messenger of this stage. The one meant to deliver the dreaded words: Dungeon Outbreak.’

He didn’t move. Didn’t shift. Just watched, calm and unblinking, as the figure drew closer and closer.

And when the silhouette finally came into focus, Bruce paused.

A girl rode toward him on a snow-white horse — striking enough that even he had to acknowledge it. She sat with straight, confident posture, moving with the natural ease of someone who’d spent her whole life riding. A simple cowboy hat shaded her eyes, but not enough to hide the sharpness in her features.

Her horse was just as eye-catching. Its coat gleamed under the sun, each stride strong and controlled, muscles rippling smoothly beneath clean white fur. The animal looked disciplined, powerful — the kind of mount trained for speed, not show.

A breeze rolled in from the sea, carrying the sharp scent of salt. It tugged at the girl’s jet-black hair, sending strands streaming behind her as she rode. The horse’s white mane whipped beside it, the two colors cutting through the road like twin streaks of shadow and light.

Against the quiet, simple backdrop of the seaside village, she looked almost out of place — focused, urgent, and riding straight toward him.

….

However, as the girl’s gaze met Bruce’s, a flicker of concern crossed her face. The worry etched onto her beautiful features hinted at a story untold.

Within her eyes, a reflection of loss and pain appeared, as if the weight of the world had settled upon her shoulders. It was evident that Bruce was the sole adventurer who had emerged victorious from the treacherous dungeon that claimed the lives of countless others.

In that fleeting moment of recognition, the girl’s worry became palpable. She couldn’t fathom how all the other Awakened, apart from Bruce, had met their untimely demise within the depths of the dungeon. The enormity of the situation hung heavy in the air, leaving her questioning her own fate and the fate of the entire village as she brought with her, bad news that she wasn’t so sure that Bruce would be able to handle.

Meanwhile, Bruce gasped at the breathtaking scene of the girl riding her majestic horse closer and closer to him.

Soon, the girl reached him and stopped her horse right beside him. Her eyes gave that place where the dungeon portal was once located, a subtle glance.

…

After the horse came to a stop, it let out a loud neigh, signaling its relief. The cowgirl carefully dismounted, using the saddle as a brace as she lowered herself to the ground. Once on solid earth, she cast a lingering glance at the spot where the dungeon vortex had once twisted the air, now nothing but empty space, before turning her worried gaze toward Bruce.

Her face, still beautiful despite the tension tightening her brows, carried the weight of everything she feared. She hoped, desperately, that things weren’t as bad as they seemed. Then, with a breath steadying her voice, she approached him, respect clear in her posture.

“Adventurer Sir,” she began, urgency threading through her tone, “what about the other adventurers? We are in dire need of your assistance at this very moment.”

Even as she spoke, her heart began to sink. Bruce stood alone. One man. One survivor. She refused to believe that the others, people she knew, people she trusted, had all been lost. A part of her clung to the fragile hope that maybe, somehow, they had escaped and were simply delayed.

Bruce gritted his teeth and clenched his fist in a sorrowful posture. In truth, he felt no real grief, none of this was real, and he’d never had much sympathy for anyone who wasn’t related to him in the first place. But in a trial like this, one that played out like an RPG, appearances mattered. His reactions mattered. Villagers trusted faces, not truths.

With a deliberately crestfallen expression, he spoke in a low, hoarse voice, “I am sorry to disappoint you, but the rest of the adventurers met a valiant end fighting a horde of mutant wolves in the dungeon. I was fortunate enough to handle the remaining few.” His tone, his body language, everything fell into place. She believed him.

Yet the news broke what little hope she had been holding. The adventurers had been their shields, their defenders… and now they were gone. Her gaze flicked over Bruce, doubt creeping in. Could he alone stand against the creatures pouring from a sea dungeon? Could one Awakened turn aside a disaster?

Regardless, she knew she had no choice. Refusal meant death for everyone. Even if they tried to flee at full speed, the dungeon creatures would outrun them with ease.

In an attempt to steady her trembling heart, she inhaled deeply before speaking again. “Adventurer Sir, a dungeon has emerged deep in the sea and gone unnoticed until now. All the monsters within it have broken free, endangering our village. We promise to reward you with all our treasures if you can buy us enough time to reach safety.”

Her eyes glistened with desperation as she pleaded.

Bruce sighed, understanding he really had no choice in how to answer.

“Alright,” he agreed, then paused. “What is your name?”

“Selphie, Sir,” she answered, relief washing over her face. Though still uncertain whether even a single Awakened could make a difference, she clung to the fact that he had agreed. At this point, they needed any sliver of hope.

But upon hearing Selphie’s name, a strange pang stirred in Bruce’s chest.

’Why did her name have to resemble Sophie so closely…?’ He thought. He didn’t dislike it, it was just unsettling.

Regaining his composure, he approached the horse and said to her, “Call me Bruce, that would be preferable. Also, gather all the Awakened in this village for me.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep