The dust in the cavern was thick, tasting like copper and crushed stone. Donald kept his heavy Type-3 Pile Bunker raised. Beside him, Evelyn stood perfectly still, the crimson blade of the Bloodhound’s Fang pointed toward the dark tunnel.
The heavy, rhythmic footsteps grew louder. Thud. Thud. Thud.
Every step made the loose rocks on the ground vibrate. The dense, suffocating pressure in the air was so strong that Donald found it hard to pull oxygen into his lungs. This wasn’t the wild, messy magic of a dungeon monster. This was focused, refined human power.
A massive figure stepped out of the shadows and into the flickering orange light of the ore veins.
It was Silas.
He was a giant of a man, easily six-and-a-half feet tall, with a thick, scarred chest and a shaved head. He wasn’t wearing standard armor. Instead, heavy, dark metal gauntlets covered his hands and forearms, humming with a dangerous yellow light.
Silas stopped at the edge of the gorge. He looked at the giant pile of crushed rocks. He looked at his dead thugs. He looked at the Iron Dog Lieutenant, who was whimpering on the ground with a crushed wrist.
Finally, Silas looked at Donald. A cruel, ugly smile stretched across his scarred face.
"Well, well," Silas rumbled. His deep voice echoed off the cavern walls. "Little Donnie from the south block. When Garek told me you suddenly grew a spine, I thought he was just making excuses for getting beaten up. But look at this mess. You actually learned how to bite."
Donald didn’t say a word. He focused his upgraded [Valuation Eye] directly on the gang boss.
[Target: Silas (C-Rank Brawler, Level 24)]
[Class: Kinetic Striker]
[Equipment: Impact-Wave Gauntlets (C-Rank)]
[Combat Value: Very High. Lethal in close combat.]
[Weakness: High confidence leads to wide, predictable swings.]
Level 24. A C-Rank. Donald was only Level 6. The stat difference between them would be massive.
"You cost me a lot of money today, Donnie," Silas said, stepping closer. He casually kicked the whimpering Lieutenant out of his way. "You killed my men. You made my gang look weak. That means I can’t just kill you quickly. I have to break you into tiny pieces so the whole slum sees what happens when a rat tries to stand up."
"You can try, Silas," Donald said, his voice surprisingly steady. He tightened his grip on the Pile Bunker.
Silas laughed loudly. "Brave boy. But you are out of your league. That weapon on your arm is nice, but it doesn’t change the fact that your body is weak."
Silas turned his dark eyes toward Evelyn. He looked at her clean, flawless stance and the glowing crimson sword in her hands.
"And you," Silas sneered. "My boys said you moved like a pro. Looking at you now, I believe them. You’re hiding a strong aura under that trashy coat. But it doesn’t matter. You are trapped in the boss room of a Dungeon with me."
Evelyn didn’t flinch. "You talk too much for a street thug," she replied coldly. "If you want to die, step forward."
Silas cracked his heavy metal knuckles. The yellow light around his fists flared brightly. "I like a woman with a sharp tongue. I’m going to enjoy breaking your legs."
Silas bent his knees, preparing to charge.
"Wait."
The voice was completely flat. It didn’t echo like Silas’s voice. It sounded like cold wind blowing through a graveyard.
Donald blinked. His [Lesser Mana Perception] hadn’t warned him at all. But suddenly, there was a second person standing right behind Silas.
The figure was completely covered in a long, dark gray cloak. A deep hood hid their face in absolute shadow. They didn’t walk out of the tunnel; it was as if they just melted out of the darkness itself.
Silas, the massive C-Rank gang boss who ruled Sector 4 through pure terror, actually stepped to the side and lowered his head slightly in respect.
"My apologies," Silas grunted, stepping back.
A surviving Iron-Scale Centipede, its back legs crushed from the falling rocks, suddenly hissed. It dragged itself out of the rubble and snapped its sharp mandibles, trying to bite the cloaked figure’s ankle.
The cloaked figure didn’t even look down.
To Donald’s Level 6 eyes, it looked like the figure didn’t even move. But there was a sudden, sickening shhhhk sound.
The giant armored centipede fell into dozens of perfectly sliced, bloody pieces. It happened in less than a blink of an eye. There was no sword drawn. There was no magic flashed. Just impossible, terrifying speed.
Donald’s heart froze in his chest. A cold sweat broke out on his neck.
Even Evelyn took a tiny half-step backward, her blue eyes widening in genuine shock. She gripped the Bloodhound’s Fang tighter, her knuckles turning white.
"Silas," the cloaked figure said, the flat voice cutting through the heavy silence. "You said this was just a pest control job. But that woman... she is holding a purified B-Rank weapon. This is taking too long."
"I will handle it right now," Silas said quickly, sounding nervous.
"No," the cloaked figure replied.
A pale, thin hand reached out from under the gray cloak. The fingernails were long, sharp, and black.
"The boy is yours," the cloaked figure said, locking their hidden gaze onto Evelyn. "But the woman is mine. I want to see how her blood tastes."
Donald stared at the cloaked figure. He pushed all of his mana into his [Valuation Eye], forcing the System to scan the impossibly fast stranger. The golden text flickered violently, trying to break through the figure’s stealth magic, until finally, the terrifying truth locked into place.