He sat with his back against the wall in the warmer skeleton passage, just far enough from the gray-fungus corridor that the cold did not reach his boots. The lantern stood between his feet with its flame turned low to save oil. Boney Stark crouched on his right.
The message window opened again.
[William: I am near the outer ring. Your marker is unusual. Are you below the standard route?]
Boran typed back.
[Boran: I think so. The blue marks turned violet after the beta route started.]
[Boran: I followed them until the Gloomy Hunter area.]
The reply came after a few seconds.
[William: Yes, I see the violet markers now. Stay where you are. Do not move deeper.]
“I was not planning to,” Boran said.
A soft laugh came from the corridor ahead.
Boran spun and raised his shield.
A black mist rolled along the floor, but this one did not feel like the Gloomy Hunter. It did not carry that soul-deep cold. Then it gathered into the shape of a man.
William Bennet stepped out of the mist.
His black cloak settled around him like smoke becoming cloth. Pale skin, dark wavy hair, gentle face, that strange gleam in his eyes. He looked almost exactly the same as he had near the Mission Board, except now he carried a long dark staff with a silver tip shaped like a closed eye.
There was an emblem pinned near his left shoulder. A crimson lion’s head was worked into dark metal, its mane shaped like small flames curling backward. Two tiny red stones glowed where the eyes should be, not bright enough to light the tunnel, but enough to make the symbol look alive when William moved.
Boran stared.
William looked at Boran first.
“How are you?” William asked.
Boran lowered the shield slowly. “Alive.”
William’s mouth curved a little. “Me too.”
Boney Stark lifted one hand in a small greeting.
William’s eyes moved to him.
For a moment, his expression changed completely. The calm, careful look stayed, but surprise slipped through it. He looked from Boney to Boran, then back to Boney again.
“That is a skeleton archer,” William said.
“Yes.”
“Yours?”
“Yes.”
William looked at Boran’s shield, then at Boran’s face. “You are a Tank, but you have a summon?”
“I guess.”
“That is... wonderful.” William leaned slightly to the side, studying Boney with open curiosity now. “I did not know Tanks could have something like this.”
Boney’s eye fire brightened.
“I also didn’t know,” Boran said. “It just happened.”
William nodded slowly. “The System keeps surprising people.”
Boney tilted his skull.
“He understands you?” William asked.
“Mostly.”
Boney nodded once, as if proving the point.
William smiled faintly. “Useful.”
Boran glanced toward the darker corridor. “Can we kill the Gloomy Hunters?”
“Gloomy Hunters? Yes, we can,” William said. Then his eyes returned to Boran. “But first, why did you choose this mission alone?”
Boran opened his mouth, then closed it.
William waited.
“I didn’t choose this,” Boran said finally. “Not like this. I normally picked a gathering mission.”
William’s expression became more serious.
Boran continued, “I needed materials and gold. The first objective was easy. Collect ten approved materials from the outer ring. I finished it in about an hour. Then the mission suddenly changed into this.”
William looked toward the violet mark on the wall. “Changed?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I’m not sure,” Boran said. “The System just threw a bunch of purple and red messages at me. It said, ‘Beta content detected,’ because I’m on version 8.0.0. Then the old objective vanished, and this one took its place.”
William stared at him for a few seconds.
“That is not normal,” he said.
“I noticed.”
“No. I mean I have never heard those words before. Beta content? ” William’s brow tightened. “What is that even supposed to mean?”
“I was hoping you knew.”
“I don’t,” William said. “I know hidden routes exist. I know quests can change if someone triggers a condition. But this is different. If your System is really using those words, then it may be showing you something it normally hides.”
Boran sighed.
“After we leave, I will ask around. Crimson Lion has archivists, old Awakened people. If anyone has heard of beta content or version 8.0.0, I can find a clue.”
William reached into his cloak and pulled out a small crystal. It was clear at first, then faintly green inside.
“What is that?” Boran asked.
“Class affinity crystal,” William said. “It measures how well your current behavior, instincts, and skill usage align with your class.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
“That sounds like a bad time.”
“It is actually a very good time. Affinity readings are more accurate when taken during or close to class-relevant stress. Hub readings are useful, but they can be shallow. A Tank sitting at a table is not the same as a Tank who has been surviving with shield, positioning, and resource management for hours.”
Boran looked at the crystal like it might bite.
“What happens if it’s bad?”
“Nothing. It is only a measurement. It does not change your stats, class, or options. Guilds use it for recruitment because it gives a rough idea of how well someone understands their class.”
“Do guilds use this for recruitment?” Boran asked.
“Some do,” William said. “Crimson Lion does too. Serious guilds usually want to know whether someone actually understands their class before accepting them.”
“So they just look at the number?”
“No. The number matters, but it is not the only thing. Crimson Lion also requires time with the System. Three months at minimum.”
“Why?”
“Because beginners change too quickly,” William said. “The first weeks are messy. People panic, choose habits that do not fit them, imitate stronger adventurers badly, or misunderstand what their class is trying to teach them. A guild can measure affinity in one moment, but it needs time to see whether that number belongs to a stable adventurer or a lucky day.”
Boran looked at the crystal again. “And affinity rises with practice?”
“With practice, pressure, and understanding,” William said. “Fighting helps, but only if you learn from it. Repeating the same mistake for a hundred battles does not make you better at your class. It only makes the mistake harder to remove.”
“That sounds annoying.”
“It is. Improvement usually is.”
“So what is a good score?”
“Different guilds set different standards. Crimson Lion has its own requirements, but that does not matter for you right now. For most adventurers, one hundred percent means they are using the full expected potential of their class. Some people even exceed that eventually, but that belongs to masters and monsters.”
Boran took the crystal.
It was heavier than it looked. Smooth. Cold. For a second nothing happened. Then green light moved inside it, gathering around his fingers.
A blue panel appeared.
[Class Affinity Measurement Initiated]
[Class: Tank]
[Analyzing recent combat behavior...]
[Analyzing skill timing...]
[Analyzing threat positioning...]
[Analyzing damage mitigation decisions...]
[Analyzing party protection instinct...]
[Analyzing solo adaptation penalty...]
“Solo adaptation penalty?” Boran said.
William leaned closer. “Interesting.”
“That sounds bad.”
“It means the crystal knows you have been forced to act outside normal Tank conditions. Tanks are not designed to progress alone, so solo behavior can distort affinity readings. But if it is listing the penalty separately, the reading may compensate.”
The crystal glowed brighter.
[Class Affinity: 68%]
Boran stared.
William went still.
“Is that bad?” Boran asked.
“No.”
“You paused.”
“I paused because it is high.”
“Sixty-eight?”
“For a level three beginner Tank who has been fought mostly alone? Yes. It is high.” William took the crystal back carefully. “Very high.”
Boran did not know what to do with that.
The number should have made him feel proud. It did, a little. But it also made him uncomfortable. Tank affinity. He had hated the class when he got it. He had wanted damage, power, something people admired. Now a crystal was telling him he was good at being the person who stood in front and got hit.
“That doesn’t mean I like getting hurt,” Boran said.
William’s smile faded into something more serious. “Good. A Tank who likes getting hurt is a liability.”
Boran looked at him.
William continued, “A good Tank does not chase pain. A good Tank controls where pain goes. There is a difference. You do not stand in front because suffering is noble. You stand there because if someone must take the hit, you can make that hit survivable.”
Boran’s grip tightened on the shield.
“That sounds better.”
“Unfortunately, many low-level parties understand Tanks as exactly that. A body to put in front. If nothing reaches the front, they think the Tank did nothing.”
He looked away. “Yeah.”
William’s expression told him he understood what memory had surfaced.
William pointed toward the Gloomy Hunter corridor with the staff. “If a party completes a fight before danger reaches the defender, that does not mean the defender was useless. It means the party controlled the fight well. But the defender’s presence still changes how everyone behaves. Ranged fighters can aim calmly because they believe someone will stop the enemy. Supports can focus on timing because they have a front line. Even if you never block a hit, your position can create safety.”
Boran listened despite himself.
William continued, “But that only works with a party that understands roles. If they only measure contribution by visible damage, they will never value a Tank until something goes wrong. Then suddenly the Tank becomes the only person between them and death.”
Boney tapped the floor twice.
Boran glanced at him. “What’s wrong?”
Boney pointed at Boran, then at the darker corridor, then lifted his bow.
“I think he wants us to stop talking,” Boran said.
William smiled. “He is right.”
Boran stood, and pain moved through his legs.He checked his HP and mana again.
[HP: 53/85]
[Mana: 11/20]
William lifted his staff.
Mist gathered around the silver closed eye at the tip. It was pale at first, then gray, then almost black at the edges.
“My pact deals with pale mist, shadow vapor, and soul chill. Gloomy Hunters are mist-type undead-adjacent entities. They resist physical force, but they are vulnerable to magical damage.”
They entered the gray corridor.
The temperature dropped after five steps. Boran felt it first around his ankles, then his fingers. Frost from the earlier Gloomy Hunter still clung to a few stones near the bend. The air smelled different here. Less rotten. More empty.
Boney stayed behind Boran and to the right. William walked beside Boran.
“You should stay back,” Boran said.
“I am fine.”
“You’re a Warlock, right? Aren’t you ranged?”
“Mostly.”
“That doesn’t mean stand next to the Tank.”
William glanced at him. “You are worried I will be hit?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you. But I can defend myself—and even if I do get hit, I have enough HP.”
The first Gloomy Hunter appeared near the same bend.
Black mist rose from the floor like spilled ink reversing upward. It stretched, folded, and turned toward them.
[Gloomy Hunter - Level 5]
[HP: 80/80]
The cold spread first.
William lifted his staff.
“Pale Boundary.”
A ring of white-gray mist snapped into existence around the Gloomy Hunter. It wasn’t a circle on the ground; it hung in the air, wrapping around the creature like a loose cage. The Hunter twisted at once. For the first time, Boran saw its shape clearly—and it was barely humanoid. There were suggestions of shoulders, arms, and a head without a face.
William lowered his staff. A thin spear of mist shot from the closed eye and pierced the Gloomy Hunter’s center.
[Gloomy Hunter HP: 0/80]
[GLOOMY HUNTER DEFEATED]
[+70 XP]
[OBJECTIVE 2 PROGRESS: 1/20]
Boran stared.
Boney stared too.
“Your class is really cool.”
“Thank you. I’m trying to make it seem cool.”
They continued.
The next hour became almost easy, which made Boran nervous in a different way. William killed most Gloomy Hunters before they came close.
The eighth Gloomy Hunter dropped something after dying.
[Gloom Residue x1 obtained]
Boran picked it up carefully. It looked like a small lump of black fog trapped inside a thin membrane. It was cold to touch.
“What is it used for?”
“Cold-resistance potions, charms, certain ritual components—sometimes even anti-ghost weapon coatings,” William said.
“Worth money?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
William looked at him. “That was the most interested you have sounded all day.”
“I need money.”
“For equipment?”
“Equipment. Food. Room. Materials. Everything.” Boran moved past a patch of gray fungus. “I don’t like needing cheap things.”
William was quiet for a moment. “When I first arrived, I couldn’t afford a proper meal for three weeks. My first equipment was stolen by a group of Awakened bandits in a dungeon.”
Boran looked at him.
William said it lightly, almost like an old joke, but the look in his eyes did not match the tone. His fingers rested around the metal flask, still and careful. For the first time since he had appeared from the mist, he looked less like an eighty-nine-level Warlock and more like someone remembering a cold floor, an empty stomach, and the shape of his own failure.
Boran knew that look.
He had seen it in the mirror after the wolf dungeon. He had felt it when his party removed him, when the dormitory ceiling looked too close, when every System window seemed to remind him that the world had decided he was not worth much.
William took a slow drink, then lowered the flask.
“I thought everything was over that day,” he said.
Boran did not answer.
Boney started turning an arrow in his hands.
William looked down at the Gloom Residue Boran had placed near the wall. “It was not a dramatic defeat. That would almost have been easier. No heroic last stand. No impossible boss. No noble sacrifice. I was simply weak, inexperienced, and desperate enough to trust the wrong people. They took my staff, my cloak, and the little food I had saved. Then they left me in a side passage.”
Boran’s jaw tightened.
William saw it and gave a small, tired smile. “Yes. People can do terrible things when they want something badly enough.”
“What happened?”
“I crawled,” William said. “That was the glorious beginning of my legend. I crawled through mud, broken roots, and monster droppings for most of an hour. I had no weapon. No mana. I was bleeding from the shoulder, and every time I heard movement I thought, this is it. This is where I die because I wanted to become something and failed before I even started.”
Boran swallowed.
The dungeon around them felt quieter than before.
William continued, “Then I met someone.”
Boran looked up.
“He was about my level then,” William said. “Maybe a little higher, maybe a little lower. I do not remember the exact number anymore. I remember his face more than anything. He was young. Stupidly calm. Covered in wounds. Carrying equipment that looked like it had been repaired too many times. I thought he would rob me too.”
“Did he?”
“No.” William’s eyes softened. “He gave me water.”
William looked at the closed silver eye on his staff. For a moment, his hand hovered near it. Then he seemed to change his mind.
He reached into his inventory instead.
A small dagger appeared in his palm.
The blade was short, dull-gray, and scratched in too many places to count. The edge had been sharpened badly more than once, leaving uneven lines along the metal. The handle was wrapped in old dark leather that had cracked near the guard.
Just a used dagger.
Boran still found himself staring at it.
William turned it slowly between his fingers. “Just water. Then bread. Then this. A cheap dagger he claimed he didn’t need anymore. Though I later learned he absolutely did. It was his only weapon at the time.”
“He gave you his only weapon?”
“Yes,” William said. His thumb brushed over a nick near the base of the blade. “After that, he asked whether I could stand. I couldn’t, so he waited.”
Boran stared at him.
William’s voice became quieter. “That was the part I never forgot. The waiting. He had every reason to leave. But he sat down beside me in that filthy passage and waited until I could breathe without shaking. Then he said, ‘If everything is over, you would not be this angry about it.’”
Boran felt something shift in his chest.
It was not comfort, exactly. Comfort was too soft a word for it. It was sharper than that. A hand closing around something before it fell.
William looked at him, and for a second Boran understood that he was not telling the story because he enjoyed remembering it. He was taking something old and painful out of himself because Boran needed to see it.
“I hated him for saying that,” William said. “At first. I wanted pity. Or maybe I wanted permission to quit. He gave me neither. He gave me food, a weapon, and a very annoying amount of faith.”
Boney tilted his skull.
William smiled faintly. “Yes. Faith can be annoying.”
“Who was he?” Boran asked.
“One of the founding members of Crimson Lion,” William said. “Now he is one of the strongest people I know. Possibly the strongest. Back then, he was not much different from me. But he grew faster than anyone I had ever seen.”
“How?”
“Because he did not wait for the world to make room for him,” William said. “He made room. For himself first. Then for others. He trained like someone being chased by tomorrow. He learned from every injury. He remembered every person who helped him and every person who was left behind. When Crimson Lion was only an idea, he was man who made it feel possible.”
William touched the crimson lion emblem near his shoulder with two fingers.
“This symbol means many things to many people now. Power. Status. Access. Politics. Expensive equipment and invitations beginners never receive.” His fingers stayed on the emblem. “But to me, before all of that, it means a person sat beside me when I had nothing and decided I was not finished.”
Boran looked away before William could see too much on his face.
William saw anyway.
“That is why I am here,” William said.
Boran’s eyes returned to him.
“I am not here because you are useful to Crimson Lion,” William continued. “You are not. Not yet. I am not here because rescuing you benefits my guild. It just creates paperwork for me. I am not here because you are secretly destined to become something impressive, though the System seems determined to be strange around you.”
“Then why?”
“Because when I looked at you near the Mission Board, I saw someone standing very close to the place where I once sat.” William’s expression did not pity him. That made it worse and better at the same time. “Angry. Hungry. Under-equipped. Too proud to ask properly. Too stubborn to stop. Surrounded by people who had already decided what you were worth.”
Boran’s grip tightened on the wrapped food William gave.
William said, “I saw myself.”
Boran could not speak.
William let the silence stay.
Then he continued, softer. “The person who helped me that day gave me strength when I had none left. Not enough to become powerful overnight. Not enough to make the pain disappear. But enough to stand up one more time. Then another. Then another. Eventually those steps became a path.”
Boran stared at the floor.
“I reached the place I wanted because someone stronger than me spent a little strength when I could not create my own,” William said. “Now I spend what he gave me on the thing he wanted to build and strengthen. Crimson Lion. Its people. Its future. Even its mistakes, when I can fix them from inside.”
“Do you feel like you owe him?” Boran asked quietly.
“Yes,” William said. “But more like a fire passed from one hand to another. He gave me enough to keep moving. I give that forward where I can.”
Boran gave a short laugh that had almost no humor in it. “And I’m where you can?”
“Yes.”
“That sounds inconvenient.”
“It often is.”
“Why not just ignore it?”
William leaned back against the stone wall. “Because if I ignore it, then the bandits were right.”
Boran looked at him.
William’s voice stayed calm, but there was something hard underneath it now. “They decided I was cargo not worth carrying. Weight. Waste. A slow person to abandon in a tunnel. If I live only by their logic after surviving them, then they still win a little. Every time I stop for someone who has been left behind, I prove that their version of the world is not the only one.”
Boran’s throat felt tight.
He hated that. He hated how easy it was for the words to get past his armor when William did not make them dramatic. He hated that part of him wanted to believe it.
William looked at him with that same calm patience. “I am not saying you are me. You are your own problem.”
“Thanks.”
“You are welcome.” William smiled briefly, then grew serious again. “But you may have a future larger than the people around you can see right now. Maybe not with Crimson Lion. Maybe not with any guild that already exists. Maybe you build something strange because the normal doors do not open. I do not know. But I can see the beginning of it.”
Boran did not answer.
William looked at the dagger in his hand again.
Then he held it out to Boran.
Boran did not take it. “What are you doing?”
“Passing something on.”
“Are you joking?”
“I am not joking.”
Boran stared at the small, ugly dagger. “You kept that for probably years.”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re giving it to me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
William’s fingers stayed steady around the handle. “Because he trusted me with it when I had nothing. Because that trust became a weight I did not want to drop. Because carrying it reminded me that someone believed I would stand again.”
Boran’s throat tightened.
William continued, “I do not know what you will become, Boran. I do not know whether you will build a guild, join one, or simply survive longer than people expect. But I trust that you will stand again. And if you fall, I trust that you will hate it enough to get back up.”
Boran looked at the dagger like it might burn him.
“It has no special properties,” William said. “It is barely worth anything as a weapon.” William smiled faintly. “But some things’ value comes from feelings.”
Boran slowly took it.
The dagger was lighter than he expected. Warm from William’s hand. Ordinary in every possible way.
A gray System window appeared.
[Beginner Dagger obtained]
[Quality: Starter]
He closed his fingers around the cracked leather grip.
“I’ll keep it,” Boran said.
“No,” William said. “You will give it forward when time comes.”
Boran nodded once.
For a while, he only looked at the dagger.
It was too small to feel important. Too plain. Too worn. If someone dropped it, most adventurers would probably step over it without looking down.
But William had carried it for years.
Boran thought of the dormitory. Mateo. The low-risk workers who came here because they needed money, not glory. He thought of himself standing in front of mission boards, trying to find something safe enough to survive and useful enough to matter. He thought of people being measured before they were understood.
A strange thought moved through him.
Not a plan. Not a promise. Not even an idea, really.
Just a place.
A place where someone like him would not have to pretend to be useful before being allowed to stand beside others.
Boran closed his hand around the dagger.
Then another thought broke through, sharper and more immediate.
“Wait,” he said.
William looked at him. “Hm?”
“You said you couldn’t team up with people outside your guild.”
“I did.”
“But you’re here.”
William’s expression changed slightly. Like he had expected the question and had been waiting for Boran to reach it.
“I spoke with a few people,” William said.
“Crimson Lion people?”
“Yes.”
Boran narrowed his eyes. “So they made an exception.”
“For me,” William said. “And only for this.”
Boran glanced toward the darker corridor. “Only for the Gloomy Hunters?”
“Yes.”
“What about Mur-Azar?”
William did not answer immediately.
Boran understood before he spoke. “You can’t help with the boss.”
“I can walk you to the gate,” William said. “I can give advice. But I cannot fight Mur-Azar for you.”
Boran laughed once. It came out dry. “Of course.”
“I am not saying that to abandon you. The permission I received was to help you clear the part of the quest you could not reasonably clear with your current tools. Gloomy Hunters are resistant to what you and your skeleton can do. Mur-Azar is not the same problem.”
Boran looked down at the dagger again.
William said, “If I kill Mur-Azar, you survive the dungeon and learn very little. If you face him yourself, you may become the kind of Tank your System seems to be pushing you toward.”
“Or I die.”
“Yes,” William said. “That is also possible.”
“At least you’re honest.”
“I try to be.”
Boney tapped the floor once.
Boran looked at him. The skeleton pointed toward the gray corridor, then lifted his bow.
“Right,” Boran said. “Gloomy Hunters first. Existential dread later.”
William’s mouth curved. “A healthy order.”
They moved again.
The rest of the hunt blurred into cold air, pale mist, and careful steps.
William did not let the Gloomy Hunters reach them when he could prevent it. When one slipped around his boundary, Boran stepped into its path. When Boney noticed movement in a side tunnel, he tapped Boran’s shoulder before the mist could spread. They fell into a rhythm that was not quite a party and not quite training, but something between the two.
Boran blocked openings.
William shaped the mist.
Boney watched the dark.
One by one, the Gloomy Hunters died.
[OBJECTIVE 2 PROGRESS: 12/20]
[OBJECTIVE 2 PROGRESS: 15/20]
[OBJECTIVE 2 PROGRESS: 20/20]
[OBJECTIVE 2 COMPLETE: Kill 20 Gloomy Hunters]
Then the mission window updated.
[OBJECTIVE 1: Kill 20 Dark Crawlers - COMPLETE]
[OBJECTIVE 2: Kill 20 Gloomy Hunters - COMPLETE]
[OBJECTIVE 3: Kill 20 Bone Walkers / Bone Archers - COMPLETE]
[OBJECTIVE 4: Eternal Guardian - Kill Mur-Azar]
“This is where I leave,” he said.
Boran looked at him, even though he had known it was coming. “Okay.”
William reached into his cloak and took out two small vials.
One held a thick red liquid that glowed faintly when it moved. The other was clear blue, almost the same color as a mana window.
“Health regeneration potion,” William said, holding up the red one first. Then he lifted the blue vial. “Mana regeneration potion. One each.”
William stepped back, and black mist began to gather around his boots. William’s body began to fade into mist.
“I will ask about the beta thing,” William said. “And when you come out, message me.”
Then the mist folded around him, and William Bennet vanished from the corridor.
The violet route mark ahead brightened.
Boney looked at Boran.
Only one objective remained.