The White Room was a
graveyard of steel
—a sterile tomb reeking of
burnt metal
and fried circuits, the air thick with an acrid sting that clawed at the lungs.
Beno stood at its center, chest heaving, each breath a
ragged scrape
tearing his throat raw. His body buzzed—a restless hum of
lightning
dancing beneath his skin, crackling faintly at his fingertips like a storm refusing to fade.
The robotic wolves lay sprawled across the
gleaming floor
—twisted husks of once-sleek frames, circuits smoking, limbs twitching in death throes, their
red eyes
dimming to lifeless black voids.
For a fleeting heartbeat, he thought it was over. His shoulders slumped, sword drooping in a grip slick with sweat,
exhaustion
tugging at his bones like chains.
I did it... right?
The thought flickered—fragile, hopeful.
Then—a
growl
, low and guttural, rumbled through the silence—a machine clawing back from oblivion.
Beno's head snapped up—eyes wide, pulse spiking.
The second wolf jerked alive—
mangled limbs
sparking wildly, arcs of electricity snapping between broken joints like miniature storms.
With a
shriek of grinding metal
, it launched—a feral blur of claws and steel, desperate and unyielding.
"
Tsk
!" Beno's tongue clicked—a sharp, instinctive snap as adrenaline roared back to life. His muscles screamed—aching, protesting—but he shifted, boots scraping the slick floor with a gritty squeal.
The wolf leaped—jaws gaping, a maw of jagged steel—and Beno thrust his hand forward, fully embracing the
storm within
.
BOOM!
Lightning erupted—a
jagged bolt
of blue-white fury tearing through the air with a
deafening crack
.
It slammed into the wolf's chest—punching through its core in a shower of
sparks and molten metal
, the beast convulsing mid-flight, limbs flailing in a chaotic dance.
It crashed—
thud
—a smoking heap shuddering once before stilling, forever broken.
Silence swallowed the room—
dead
, heavy—only the faint hum of mana pulsing through the walls remained, a heartbeat beneath the wreckage. Beno's arm trembled—
aftershocks buzzing
, his breath fogging in the suddenly cold air, chest tight with the weight of survival.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
A slow, deliberate applause pierced the quiet—each sound dripping with
mockery
. Beno's gaze darted—landing on Charles, leaning against the chamber wall, arms crossed over his chest.
His
wild red hair
glinted under the harsh lights, but his
amber eyes
were unreadable—a storm brewing behind a mask of calm.
His fists, though, betrayed him—clenched tight,
knuckles white
, veins bulging like rivers of rage beneath pale skin.
"Not bad," Charles muttered—voice
cold as frost
, slicing the silence like a blade.
"But let's be real..." He paused, eyes narrowing, venom seeping into every word. "If those were real monsters, you wouldn't last
ten seconds
."
Beno's eyes narrowed—chest still heaving, sweat stinging as it dripped into them.
Something was
off
—a poison in Charles's tone, a weight in his stare that cut deeper than rivalry. Before he could snap back, Franky's voice
boomed
—a gravelly thunderclap shaking the chamber.
"Well, well, look at
that
." The guild master stepped forward—his
scarred grin
flashing, tapping his clipboard against his palm with a rhythmic
thwack-thwack
.
"Expected something flashier, but..." He shrugged, voice rough with amusement. "I'll take it."
Beno exhaled—sharp, shaky—wiping sweat from his brow with a trembling hand. "So... I
passed
?" Hope threaded his voice, fragile beneath the exhaustion.
Franky's smirk slashed wide—a glint of teeth. "Yeah, yeah. You passed.
Barely
."
Relief hit—a faint crack in the tension, shoulders easing as a shaky breath slipped free.
Franky turned—jerking his head toward the door. "Next. Charles—get your ass in here."
Beno stumbled out—legs wobbling, collapsing against the outer wall,
cool stone
a balm against his overheated skin.
Charles brushed past—his shoulder clipping Beno's with a
deliberate edge
, though his face stayed a blank mask. For a split second, Beno felt it—a
shift in the air
, a prickling static raising the hairs on his neck, like the calm before a tempest.
Charles stepped into the White Room—boots echoing in the
sterile silence
.
The door
hissed shut
, and before the official call, the wolves—reset, gleaming—
charged
, claws screeching against the floor in a metallic wail.
BOOM!
A
massive fireball
erupted from Charles's hands—a roaring sphere of
crimson and gold
swallowing the air in a blistering wave.
It engulfed both wolves before they could close the gap—the explosion rattling the walls, a
shockwave
vibrating through the stone into Beno's chest outside. Inside, Charles stood—unmoving, hands raised—
flames dancing
at his fingertips like living tendrils.
The wolves were
smoldering heaps
—metal warped, blackened, wisps of smoke curling upward into the stillness.
Franky blinked—then barked a rough laugh. "
Hah
! No hesitation. You're full of surprises, kid."
Officials behind the glass murmured—
approval humming
, scribbling notes with quick strokes. One by one, Rio's swift daggers, Joy's brute punches, Annie's icy shards—each cleared the test, the room a gallery of
raw power
, sharp and vivid.
Beno's body ached—a
dull throb
pulsing through every muscle as he stood among the candidates, the White Room's glare still searing his vision.
He could barely stand—feet rooted—as Franky loomed, a
rough sheet
clutched in scarred hands. Officials whispered—glances flickering with amusement, murmurs a soft buzz beneath the
tension
.
Franky smirked—voice a blade cutting through. "Alright, listen up. Got the results—and only
five
of you passed."
Beno's chest tightened—a
vise clamping
his ribs. His hands grew clammy—sweat slicking his palms—heart pounding a frantic drumbeat drowning the world.
"First...
Charles Vegnert
."
Charles stood—arms crossed,
sharp gaze
unwavering, a statue of ice and fire. No reaction—just silence.
"Next, Joy... then Rio... Annie..."
Beno's breath hitched—each name a
hammer strike
, chipping at his hope. Four down. One left. His stomach churned—bile rising, pulse racing as Franky dragged the pause, eyes scanning with
deliberate slowness
.
"And lastly..." Franky's grin widened—savoring the suspense, "...
Beno Mark
."
Relief crashed—a
tidal wave
, legs wobbling but locking upright. A shaky exhale slipped free.
I made it.
Franky tucked the paper away. "Those who failed—
get out
. You don't belong."
His tone turned wicked—eyes glinting. "You who passed? Gear up for the final
dungeon exam
."
Dungeon
. The word slammed into Beno—a
fist to the gut
. His vision blurred—room tilting as memories clawed free: a
Cursed Dungeon
, damp air choking him, screams of a collapsing party, a girl's voice fading in the dark. His hands shook—breath shallow—the past a
specter
looming, cold and relentless.
Muttered curses filled the room—boots kicking stone, glares piercing the five who remained. Charles stood apart—gripping a
worn photo
, edges frayed. His
amber eyes
shimmered—tears brimming, lips trembling as he whispered, "Big sister Clara... I
miss you
."
His voice—a fragile thread—drowned in the chaos.
Beno stumbled out—expecting relief, but an
emptiness gnawed
, a hollow ache he couldn't shake.
Luna waited outside—perched on a low wall,
dark hair
catching the late sun's glow. Her grin faltered—dying as she saw him.
His shoulders hunched—carrying a
mountain
, hands trembling. His
hazel eyes
—once fierce—swirled with
fear
, a storm over a restless sea.
"Beno?" She stepped forward—voice soft, urgent. "What happened? You okay?"
He forced a smile—
weak
, brittle. "Yeah... I'm fine." The lie hung heavy—glass ready to shatter.
Luna frowned—unconvinced—following as he shuffled to a bench beneath a
lone tree
, branches rustling in the wind.
He sank—staring at the gnarled trunk, a mirror to his tangled thoughts. His fists clenched—nails biting palms, wrestling the
ache
blooming inside.
She sat close—shoulder brushing his, gaze
piercing
yet soft. "I
know
you, Beno. Something's wrong. Talk to me."
He hesitated—breath hitching, then inhaled—cool air stinging his throat.
"Remember when I tried to enter a dungeon illegally?" His voice—low, rough—scraped like gravel.
Luna nodded—steady. "Yeah. You were desperate to get strong."
His fists tightened—
knuckles whitening
. "They wouldn't let me in... but someone helped.
A
girl
." His voice wavered—memories surging, a flood breaking free. "She and her party let me tag along. We talked... I asked why she helped me. She said..."
His throat seized—her face flashing:
pink hair
, bold and bright, a
warm smile
cutting the dungeon's gloom.
Her voice echoed—soft, clear: "You remind me of my younger brother. He was weak, just like you... always sat near a tree when things went wrong... like you're doing now."
Luna leaned closer—sensing the weight, her breath quiet.
"Then... the dungeon
collapsed
." His voice cracked—eyes glazing, the past replaying.
"Houndler broke through—huge, unstoppable. Chaos. She protected me—shoved me into a passageway... then..." He swallowed—loud, jagged. "She
sacrificed
herself."
Luna's breath hitched—mirroring the
stab
in his chest.
"Before she died... she said something." His head dropped—hands trembling violently. "I remember: 'Take care of my brother.' But... two more words..." His voice broke—a whisper lost in the wind. "I can't
remember
."
Luna's hand found his shoulder—gentle, firm, grounding. "We'll find her brother, Beno," she said—
resolve steeling
her voice. "And we'll help him. Whatever it takes."
He closed his eyes—nodding faintly, ache easing just enough to breathe. A bus
honked
—shrill, jarring.
Franky's bellow shattered the quiet: "Get your damn weakling asses on the bus! Dungeon test's starting!"
Beno stood—legs unsteady but moving, driven by a flicker of will.
The bus screeched to a halt near a
massive dungeon gate
—a swirling vortex of
dark energy
, pulsing like a living heart, tendrils of shadow licking the edges.
The test site loomed—a
wound in the earth
, swallowing light and hope. Five candidates piled out—boots crunching gravel, air heavy with
damp stone
and faint rot.
Franky stepped forward—
wicked grin
glinting in the fading sun. "I'm splitting you into two teams. One gets an edge—but it's
fair
in my eyes."
He turned—eyes gleaming. "Team 1:
Beno Mark
and
Charles
."
Beno tensed—a
jolt
racing through him. Charles glanced over—
amber eyes
flat, but the air crackled with
tension
.
"Team 2: Rio, Joy, Annie."
Franky crossed his arms—leather creaking. "Objective's simple. Bring me a
Goblin Crown
. First team to nab it passes. One hour.
Move
!"
Goblin
. The word unlocked a flood—Beno's mind reeling: a
Goblin Giant
, its roar, him cowering as Luna fought—then Renzo, a
blur of steel
, wiping out the horde with one strike.
The scene shifted—Renzo's hand on his neck, lifting him, eyes
cold
. The last time he'd seen his brother.
Lightning crackled
—unbidden, his aura flaring wild,
blue-white tendrils
snapping. His eyes burned—not with fear, but a
hunger for revenge
.
The gate swallowed them—
cold air
rushing over Beno as he stepped through.
He blinked—stunned. No damp crypt—just
crisp air
, alive with pine and earth. Sunlight filtered through
towering trees
, branches swaying, birds chirping over rustling leaves. The ground was
soft moss
, dotted with wildflowers—a forest, vibrant, real.
"It feels...
alive
," Beno muttered—awe threading his voice, scanning the canopy.
Charles scoffed—sharp, cutting. "Quit
gawking
and follow me." His tone was ice—stride purposeful,
red hair
a flare against the green.
Beno nodded—sword gripped tight. Movement flickered—four
goblins
, gnarled and hunched, spears and clubs raised,
yellow eyes
glinting malice.
Charles smirked—
dangerous
. "Listen up,
Weirdo
. I'll take two—you handle the rest."
Beno steadied himself—deep breath. "
Alright
."
The goblins shrieked—charging. Beno dashed—ducking a spear's swing, air whistling past. His fist slammed a goblin's gut—
wheeze
—toppling it.
Another swung a club—Beno twisted, snapping its arm with a
crack
. It howled—cut short as his sword pierced its neck,
green blood
spurting.
Charles dispatched his pair—
fire roaring
, incinerating them into ash in seconds.
He turned—expecting Beno faltering—but froze. Beno's chest heaved—eyes glinting with
wild excitement
, a faint smile curving his lips.
Something in Charles
snapped
.
His grip tightened—veins pulsing,
rage flooding
like molten steel. He stepped forward—stance shifting, ready to strike.
Beno exhaled—a small smile—then—
BOOM
.
He rolled—dodging as the ground erupted,
dirt and embers
raining. Smoke choked the air—he coughed, vision blurring. "
Charles
?! What the hell?!" His voice—raw, ragged.
A
wicked laugh
echoed—chilling the forest's calm.
Charles's aura twisted—
dark
, seething, a
killing intent
flooding the dungeon, wrapping Beno like chains. His body tensed—muscles coiling—as Charles advanced,
fiery rage
blazing in his
amber eyes
, his calm shattered.
He attacked.
A
cyclone of fire
spiraled—a roaring vortex of heat and light.
Beno's instincts flared—
Lightning Step
crackling, teleporting him away, the cyclone scorching trees black. Charles snarled—
"Fire Arrows!"
—flaming projectiles raining like molten stars.
Beno clenched his fists—
Lightning Strike
surging, bolts intercepting them in a
cascade of embers
.
Charles rushed—
"Fire Blast!"
—a sphere of flames roaring for Beno's chest. He twisted—heat searing his shoulder,
pain lancing
as his shirt smoldered. He stumbled—gritting teeth.
Damn it—he's too
strong
!
Charles struck with
precision
—honed, relentless—exploiting Beno's sloppy swings, shaky footing.
Before Beno could recover—
chains of fire
lashed out—red-hot, whip-fast.
He bound his arms and legs—yanking him into the air, a
cross of torment
. Heat seared—skin sizzling, the
stench of burnt flesh
choking him. "
AAAGHH!!
" he screamed—thrashing, flames tightening.
"
WHY
ARE YOU DOING THIS?!" His voice cracked—desperation bleeding through, pain blurring his world.
Charles shook—not fatigue, but
raw emotion
clawing free. His fists clenched—blood dripping from his palms.
"
JUST STOP
!" His roar broke—anguish tearing through. "Why act
dumb
?!"
Tears cut through soot—rage burning hotter. "I know you hid your strength! I
KNOW
IT!"
Beno coughed—weak, straining. "Listen, Charles—you're
wrong
! I was weak—I awakened through
tragedy
!"
Charles's eyes flared—chains scorching deeper. "DO YOU REMEMBER MY
SISTER
?!"
Beno's face twisted—confusion clashing with pain. "Who...? Sister?"
Charles's breath hitched—trembling, lips quivering. "
Clara Hela
..." The name slipped—soft, broken.
Memories flooded—
pink hair
, a warm smile, a dungeon's collapse. A voice: "Take care of my brother, Beno..." His eyes widened—
horror sinking
. "
Clara
..."
Charles's voice cracked—a wound bared. "The one you
abandoned
... to die... in the Cursed Dungeon."
Beno froze—heart stopping,
realization crushing
.
Charles dropped—knees buckling, hands clutching his chest, holding a
breaking heart
. Sobs tore free—
ragged
, guttural. "Because of
you
..." His voice splintered—choking on grief. "My sister never came home."
The words hung—a
noose
, suffocating the forest. His
amber eyes
—drowning in tears—locked on Beno with
aching sorrow
. "Because of you..." He gasped—shoulders shaking, "She missed my
birthday
..."
Tears fell—a
torrent
, carving paths through soot, his fiery presence crumbling. "You stole my only
happiness
, Beno," he whispered—a knife twisting in his soul.
Beno hung—
guilt suffocating
, words trapped in a raw throat.
How did I survive?
The question gnawed—a truth buried deep.
Charles's fists clenched—blood dripping, aura erupting—a
vortex of flames
spiraling wild. "Why were
you
saved... and not her?!" His scream broke—anguish lashing out. "
WHY
DID YOU LIVE AND NOT HER?!"
The
Fire Cyclone
flared—flames licking trees, blackening leaves as
rage surged
, a wildfire of chaos. Beno's breath hitched—
This isn't just anger... it's
agony
—deeper than I've known.
Charles lost control—chains burning hotter, Beno's hands blistering,
pain consuming
.
A
black arrow
whistled—a streak of death—striking Charles's chest. He staggered—a
cry ripping
free—collapsing as the chains faded. Beno fell—
crashing
, dirt cushioning his battered body.
From the forest's shadows,
three figures
emerged—silhouettes sharp, auras
oppressive
, rippling sunlight into jagged patterns. Their
cold eyes
glinted—promising violence—as they approached, steps slow, deliberate.
[End of Chapter]