Barton was quickly figuring out that this dungeon was more obnoxious than it looked.
Not because the monsters were strong. The opposite, in fact: they were laughably weak.
He could absorb every blow without breaking a sweat. Tyren’s arrows flew with all the time in the world. Serin hadn’t even needed to lift a finger.
But this dungeon was sneaky as hell.
At first, Barton had assumed the Desiccated Corpses were just slow, shambling trash.
He learned otherwise pretty quickly.
They were weak, sure. Absurdly so. The problem was they never stood around like dumb puppets waiting to be cut down.
One would shamble out in front of him, and the moment he stepped up to engage, more would come pouring out from around corners, behind broken walls, even from behind him.
The one in front would press him with a broken sword, forcing him to keep his shield up and giving him no room to check his sides or his back.
He hated this kind of fight. He would rather slug it out with ten Desiccated Corpses head-on than spend his time guessing whether something was about to jump out from behind every other pile of rubble.
Standing at the front of the formation, Barton was weathering yet another barrage of attacks. A Desiccated Corpse trying to flank him was intercepted by Asar.
An arrow whistled past and punched into the skull of the one in front of him.
“Check it out: pinpoint accuracy!” Tyren couldn’t help puffing his chest out a little.
Before the words had even left his mouth, something moved at the edge of his vision, at the top of a stone pillar off to the side.
He looked up.
A dark shape was already dropping fast from the top of the pillar.
Serin had only just started to raise her head when Tyren bowled her over.
The Desiccated Corpse landed exactly where she’d been standing, its broken sword driving deep into the stone floor.
Before it could push itself back up to attack, Tyren whipped the dagger from the small of his back, threw himself onto it, and rammed the blade straight through one of its eye sockets, out the other side.
Serin was still gasping for breath, plainly not yet recovered from being tackled out of nowhere.
After a long moment, she managed a shaky, “…Thanks, Tyren.”
For once, Tyren didn’t crack a joke. He sighed and reached down to help her up. “Scared the hell out of me too. Glad you’re okay.”
In the Core Chamber, Owen, having watched the whole thing play out, felt the urge to applaud, only to remember belatedly that he didn’t have hands anymore. He settled for chuckling delightedly to himself.
“Nice work, Tyren.”
Rayne, who had been hanging back, ready to step in at a moment’s notice, allowed himself a rare compliment. “You’re finally starting to look like you know what you’re doing.”
Asar finished off his own target and jogged over with Barton.
“Glad you’re both alright.” Asar let out a small breath, his eyes flicking across the assortment of broken structures up ahead. “These things are easy enough to kill, but they’ve got a real talent for popping out of nowhere.”
Barton didn’t say anything. He just gave Tyren a thumbs-up and nodded at Asar.
Rayne added, off to the side, “Count yourselves lucky. There are dungeons out there with death rooms: walk in, and monsters and traps just keep pouring out at you until enough time passes. Only way out is to outlast it.”
He raised his eyes to the path ahead.
Not much of it left, and not many monsters either.
If the Gate Boss was at this level too, he might not even need to bother filing an observation report.
Rayne glanced over at Tyren and the others, who were busy sorting through what little loot they’d collected.
Originally, he’d intended to use this dungeon as their final test.
Now, though, it seemed almost too easy.
He found himself wavering, wondering if he ought to take them out one more time.
In the end, he shook his head and pushed the thought away.
They hadn’t cleared this dungeon yet. Best not to draw conclusions too early.
◆ ◆ ◆
At the far end of the canyon, the terrain began to narrow.
The rock walls on either side slanted inward, the path tightening, while sand and dust eddied through the constricting passage.
Then they saw the archway.
A broken stone arch, missing half its span, with the surviving half leaning crookedly against the rock face like an old, splintering bone about to give way. Beyond the arch lay an open circular space, lit from somewhere above by a pale grey light, stark, silent, edged with cold.
The wind died at the arch.
It had been with them ever since they’d entered the canyon, never letting up, but the moment they passed beneath the arch, the sound of it cut off, as if sliced clean away.
Their footsteps echoed through the empty space.
Barton, walking at the front, came to a stop. His eyes narrowed without his thinking about it, and he raised his shield.
“This is it,” Asar said quietly.
No one answered.
◆ ◆ ◆
Back in the Core Chamber, Owen’s attention tightened along with theirs.
He focused all of it on Cassandre, the knight standing dead center in the circular chamber, scarred armor hanging off its frame, broken longsword giving off a faint glow, utterly motionless.
Owen suddenly felt a flutter of unease.
Half of it was about the adventurers. Half of it was about Cassandre.
This knight, the one he’d named himself, had cost him nearly every drop of energy he had. He’d cranked the stats high, given it unique abilities. But naturally, where there was strength, he’d also written in weaknesses to balance it out.
In theory, a Peak Black Iron, backed up by a few White Porcelain rookies, going up against a Mid Bronze…
He worked through the math, then stopped.
He’d never been in a real fight in his life. Maybe technically once or twice, but those didn’t count: just minor scuffles that hadn’t amounted to anything.
In his previous life he’d been an engineer who played a lot of games, and now he was a busted-looking crystal stuck in a stone pedestal. What the hell would he know about how a real fight actually played out?
Half of him was afraid Cassandre would just steamroll them. The other half was quietly hoping it would hold them off.
How completely contradictory.
“…Hold the line, Cassandre,” he murmured. “I don’t get a second shot at this.”
◆ ◆ ◆
Rayne stepped under the arch and didn’t immediately advance.
He was sizing up the thing inside.
Battered armor. Broken longsword. The height was honestly a bit ridiculous: two and a half meters, at least. The posture was stiff, locked in a way that made it clear this wasn’t any low-tier creature.
High Black Iron, probably. That was his read. Maybe brushing the edge of Peak Black Iron.
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Not easy. But manageable.
“I’ll go in first and feel it out,” he said over his shoulder to the others. “Be ready. If this goes south, fall back. Don’t worry about me.”
“Got it.” Asar and Barton both nodded.
“Greyhound, be careful out there,” Tyren said.
Beside him, Serin laid a small Blessing of Speed on Rayne.
Rayne moved forward. His boots came down on the flagstones of the circular chamber with a dull, weighty sound.
The knight at the center stirred, its head creaking up like a rusted automaton, twin points of red light fixing on Rayne.
Externally it looked like nothing more than a larger version of the Desiccated Corpses, but the presence radiating off it belonged in an entirely different weight class.
Rayne drew his sword slowly.
He circled the knight at a half-turn, keeping his distance, watching for weak points, watching how it moved.
Nothing.
Those eyes, lit with their dim and bloody glow, simply tracked him. The knight didn’t budge an inch.
Rayne stopped.
He stamped forward and threw out a feint.
The knight wasn’t fast, and it didn’t bother with the bait. Its broken sword came straight at Rayne’s face.
The swing missed and gouged a small crater into the stone floor where it hit.
Rayne flung himself backward in time, but the spray of shattered rock still opened a cut across his cheek.
The ground shook beneath him.
His expression shifted. He took a fresh look at the thing in front of him.
No Black Iron creature could put out force like that.
He drove forward again. The broken sword slammed down past his side.
Cold sweat ran down his back. His blade caught the knight’s unarmored flank, but the desiccated, bark-like skin barely parted under the edge.
Before he could process the surprise of it, the broken sword was already swinging back.
All he could do was throw himself into an undignified roll to avoid the strike.
“Get out of here. This is a Bronze-rank boss!” Rayne roared, eyes locked on the knight, not daring to turn his head.
“What the —”
A horrified shout from behind him. Rayne risked a glance back.
The worst-case scenario had played out: a thick, opaque grey mist gate had sealed the archway completely.
They were trapped.
Stay calm. Don’t panic. Panic and we’re all dead.
Rayne drew two deep breaths and took off at a fast clip in the direction opposite Tyren and the others.
“Barton, get ready —” He ducked under a horizontal sweep, opening up a fresh wound along the knight’s right arm. “Everyone else, caution first!”
Tyren and the rest didn’t answer. Their faces had gone bloodless. Teeth clenched, they pressed forward anyway.
Tyren drew his bow back over and over, arrow after arrow flying at the knight’s skull. Barton positioned himself within reach of Rayne, ready to intercept. Serin worked steadily, layering blessing after blessing on whoever needed it most.
Rayne stayed fixed on the broken sword coming for him. Then his foot slipped.
Crushed stone underfoot.
He couldn’t recover his stance in time. All he could do was bring his sword up crosswise in front of him. The next blow came down, and the sheer force of it sent him sprawling to the left.
I’m done.
The broken sword fell straight at him. Rayne could see the rust on the blade with horrible clarity. A shout from somewhere beside him split the air.
“Rayne!”
A clang of steel. Asar’s sword had come up in time to catch the strike. The impact sent Asar tumbling back, but it bought Rayne the breath he needed to get clear.
The knight made to follow up. Barton planted himself in its way, face flushed scarlet, the veins on his arms standing out hard against the skin.
Barton went down. He shut his eyes and waited for the end.
The knight stepped over him.
It went straight for Serin, who was still working at the rear, layering another blessing over the party.
Rayne had just hauled himself back to his feet. He didn’t even have time to shout.
Tyren threw himself across the gap, slamming into Serin and shoving her clear before she could react.
The dagger he was always so eager to show off. He held it horizontally in front of him.
The broken sword came down.
The dagger snapped.
Tyren didn’t even cry out. The broken sword drove him straight into the floor.
The smell of blood filled the air.
Rayne’s eyes blew wide. His lips trembled. A low, animal noise tore out of his throat, and he lunged in and laid a fresh gash across the knight’s back.
Serin was sobbing, raising her oak staff. Her voice shook so badly the words came out in pieces.
“May… may the Pure White Star watch over all—!”
Soft green light settled over Rayne.
It didn’t help.
He had no chance to dodge.
Rayne felt himself leave the ground. The next moment he hit the flagstones hard, somewhere far across the chamber.
His vision blurred. Blood was filling his lungs faster than he could clear it, and he was coughing up more of it with every breath.
Somehow, Barton dragged himself back to his feet and planted himself in front of Asar and Serin. His shield was already cracked through, his right arm split open to the bone.
And still, he stood.
Eyes red, he glared up at the knight and shouted, “If you’ve got the guts, you come at me, monster!”
The first blow fell. The shield split clean in half.
The second blow fell. He dropped hard to his knees.
Trembling, he turned his head. His lips formed a single word.
“Run…”
The broken sword came down without anything to stop it.
◆ ◆ ◆
Serin was on her knees, oak staff shaking in her hands as she tried, still, to push healing into Barton’s body.
Asar glanced at her, then at the knight closing the distance.
He didn’t draw his sword.
It wouldn’t have mattered anymore.
He just placed himself in front of her. The expression on his face was almost gentle.
“Don’t look,” he said.
Serin looked up.
The broken sword fell.
He was their leader, and he hadn’t managed to protect any of them.
Again.
Rayne let out a hoarse, broken sound, but he couldn’t shape a single word of apology.
He’d thought that if he could just come back, take on some new blood and keep them alive, none of this would ever happen again.
And it had happened anyway. The exact same way.
The broken sword rose again.
Rayne watched it come down.
The world went dark.
◆ ◆ ◆
The Core Chamber was silent.
Owen wasn’t laughing.
He didn’t even look at the management interface.
He just stared at the five motionless figures in the boss chamber.
Barton’s shield was broken in two, pinning him beneath it.
Tyren had been driven into the floor, the snapped handle of his dagger still clenched in his fist.
Asar’s last act had been to put himself between Serin and the knight.
He hadn’t even drawn his sword.
Owen stared at the scene for a long time.
Long enough that he started to notice somewhere inside the crystal heating up.
The conditions for Trial Return had already been met. The system prompt was already on the interface, waiting for the process to continue.
He didn’t respond.
…Will they remember any of this?
He thought about Tyren, grinning, just minutes ago, calling his own shot. “Pinpoint accuracy.”
About Serin, after being tackled out of the way. Trembling. “Thanks, Tyren.”
All of it had happened less than half an hour ago.
The crystal flickered, its light briefly unsteady.
Still, he argued with himself, clumsily.
Out there in the wider world, no other dungeon offered Trial Return. Dead was dead, and that was the end of it.
If he turned this place into a playground, then the next time this group walked into someone else’s dungeon, they might walk in with that same casual confidence.
And they’d die somewhere he’d never even see.
Their deaths would be on him.
Owen was quiet for a while.
“…Even so.”
His attention shifted at last, away from the bodies, to Cassandre standing motionless in the center of the chamber, and then back along the passage to those laughably weak Desiccated Corpses scattered along the path.
“Trash mobs the whole way in, then I jam a grossly over-tuned boss at the end.”
The light from the crystal trembled once, like a sigh.
“I made this encounter way too damn cruel.”
[All Challengers Incapacitated]
[Trial Complete]
[Trial Return: Initiating]
“Come on.”
It was the first time he’d ever heard his own voice shake from nerves.
“Please, for the love of god, work.”
◆ ◆ ◆
The faded circular pattern at the center of the starting chamber lit up.
Five points of light rose slowly from beneath the flagstones, taking the shape of figures.
The first to open his eyes was Rayne.
He sat bolt upright. His first instinct wasn’t to check himself. It was to look for Tyren.
Tyren lay to his left, staring in baffled wonder at his own intact hands. Then his intact chest. Then his intact face, the face that should have been pulped by a broken sword.
“…Where’s my dagger,” Tyren said. That was the first thing out of his mouth.
Rayne looked at him and produced a sound from somewhere in his throat that could have been a laugh or a sob.
Barton sat up and stared at his right arm for a long time, the arm that, by rights, should have been nothing but exposed bone. There wasn’t even a scar on it now. He clenched his fist. Released it. Clenched it again.
Serin sat where she was, oak staff lying across her knees, tears falling one after another.
Asar was the last one to get up. He looked around at the rest of the party, his gaze pausing for a beat on each of them in turn, then bowed his head and pressed the heels of his hands hard against his eyes.
No one spoke.
Rayne wanted to say something. As the leader, he was supposed to say something. But his mouth opened, closed, and in the end he just raised a hand and swiped roughly at his face.
Dust and tears mixed together. He couldn’t see a damn thing.
◆ ◆ ◆
In the Core Chamber, Owen let out a long, slow breath he couldn’t quite hold in.
If he’d still had lungs, that was probably what a sigh of relief would have felt like.
[Trial Return: Successful]
Owen stared at that single line on the management panel for a long time.
“Next time,” he said quietly.
“Next time, I’m doing something about that god-awful difficulty curve.”
The light from the crystal dimmed, slowly, slowly, until it faded into the dark.