The Demoted Expert
Ruyi followed Darren through the crowded perimeter zone, her boots crunching against broken gravel and shattered glass.
The atmosphere surrounding the triage site was thick with overwhelming grief. As they wove past the primary medical tents, Ruyi watched devastated parents weeping openly, clutching torn school backpacks and muddy jacket sleeves. Emergency workers were gently trying to usher grieving families toward the transport buses, but many refused to leave, their frantic, heart-wrenching cries echoing through the foggy evening air as they pleaded for news of children who hadn't made it out of the glasshouses.
Ruyi’s face remained a quiet, unreadable mask, but a familiar tightness settled in her chest. This was the raw, unglamorous reality of a world rewritten by dungeons—a constant cycle of sudden loss and helpless waiting. It reinforced her fierce desire to keep her family far away from the Guild’s chaotic domain.
"Over here," Darren said, breaking her train of thought as he gestured toward a darkened secondary transport rig parked behind the heavy canvas of the supply depot.
Mark was leaning against the reinforced bumper of the truck, a glowing tactical tablet in one hand and a half-empty bottle of stale coffee in the other. The moment Ruyi came into view, he looked up, waving a hand toward her with familiar, casual ease, as if they were old acquaintances meeting at a local diner.
"You're finally here. Come here," Mark called out, tossing the rest of his coffee into the dirt.
Ruyi stopped a few feet away, her hands tucked deep into her jacket pockets, her amethyst eyes narrowing in suspicion. "What do you want from me? I was told my brother and I were being cleared to leave."
Mark let out a dry, gruff chuckle, tapping a finger against the edge of his tablet. "You're a lucky star, kid. You led us straight to the general location of the Core, even though you act like you'd rather be anywhere else on earth. You seem to have a knack for finding things, even if you don't want to sometimes."
Ruyi's expression turned cold. "Are you calling me a tracking dog?"
"I'm calling you observant," Mark corrected smoothly, though his eyes remained sharp and calculating. "The strike team cleared the upper floor of the eastern glasshouse based on my report, but the root system beneath the structure is a maze of old maintenance tunnels. The mana signatures are bouncing off the damp concrete, throwing our sensors into a loop. We need someone who can pinpoint the path without wasting twenty minutes guessing."
"What are you saying?" Ruyi countered, her voice laced with flat disbelief. "Shouldn’t the Guild have specialized tracking devices for localized mana anomalies?"
"By the time a specialized tracking team arrives from the central branch, it'll be too late," Mark replied in a matter-of-fact tone, stepping closer to her. "Worst-case scenario? The Core completes its second pulse, mutates a Class-3 alpha, and destroys the entire western barricade. You're here right now, and you know the layout of those lower maintenance shops better than my scouts do. You're going to be the tracker."
Ruyi took a half-step back, her posture stiffening. "I am a civilian."
"A very lucky, very capable civilian," Mark said, leaning against the truck's hood with his arms folded. "And before you start complaining about safety protocols—I'll answer for this if anything goes wrong. I'm taking full responsibility for bringing you near the inner perimeter."
Ruyi raised an eyebrow, genuinely amused despite her annoyance. "I didn't know a transport driver had such high-level authority."
Darren, who had been standing quietly to the side, couldn't help interjecting as Ruyi questioned Mark's standing. He took a step forward, looking at Ruyi with a serious expression.
"Don't let the uniform fool you," Darren said earnestly. "Mark isn't just a driver. Two years ago, he was a Senior Field Captain in the Guild's Vanguard Division. He led the clearing operation during the South District Rift disaster and saved over a hundred trapped civilians in a single night. He's only stuck doing minor responder assistance and driving transport rigs because he refused to follow an order that would have sacrificed an unevacuated block."
"Darren," Mark warned, his tone instantly dropping an octave as his face darkened at the mention of his demotion. "No need to speak of that matter."
Darren clamped his mouth shut, stepping back, though he gave Ruyi a meaningful look that said he knows what he's doing.
Ruyi fell silent, re-evaluating the older responder standing before her. She hadn't expected Mark to be a genuinely competent, decorated veteran—nor had she anticipated that his current low rank was the result of a quiet, principled rebellion against Guild bureaucracy. It was a pity that someone with his experience was relegated to hauling chains and driving transport trucks instead of leading from the front, but it also explained why his tactical instincts were so sharp.
"Fine," Mark grunted, breaking the silence as he pulled a small radio unit from his tactical belt and tossed it to Ruyi. She caught it effortlessly out of habit, her quick reflexes causing Mark’s eyes to flicker with quiet confirmation.
"You don't have to fight anything," Mark said firmly. "You just guide my squad to the maintenance corridor entrance you used to pull those kids out. Once we locate the Core's root, you fall back to the transport. Clear?"
Ruyi looked at the radio in her hand, then toward the medical bus where Rion was sitting, waiting for her return. She knew that assisting Mark directly was a risk, but ensuring the Spawn Core was destroyed quickly was the only guaranteed way to get her brother safely out of the district before Vance or the central Guild officers arrived.
"Clear," Ruyi said quietly, her amethyst eyes locking onto Mark's. "But the moment that Core is located, I am done."