Aiden Smith, the leader of the Dungeon Exploration Club, quickly took care of the monsters, dispatching them with ease and efficiency.
His calm demeanor gave the other students some relief, and he waved his hand to signal that the danger had passed.
"Everyone, sound off! Do a headcount."
Aiden ordered, his voice firm as he scanned the group.
A few murmurs passed among the students as they counted.
"Uh… we're missing three. Two first-years—Fenrir and Dain—and a second-year… Betty."
One student finally said.
Aiden cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair.
"Damn it. We just got in here."
He turned back to the group.
"Alright, change of plans. Our top priority is finding them. I don't care how 'safe' this dungeon is supposed to be, we don't leave people behind. Split into groups of two and stay in sight of one another. Shout if you find anything."
The club members nodded and began organizing themselves into search pairs.
Meanwhile, the three who had gone missing were nowhere to be seen.
______
Far from the group, Fenrir walked calmly through the twisting stone corridors of Moon's Cavern, moonlight trickling in through cracks above.
He had separated from the rest as soon as the monster was lured in—an opening perfectly provided by Betty's earlier outburst.
Whether it was on purpose or coincidence didn't matter to him. What did matter was that the group had scattered enough for him to slip away unseen.
Fenrir moved with purpose, guided by the coordinates he had memorized from the club's public dungeon maps. He scanned the jagged walls until his eyes lit up.
Nestled in the crevice of a glowing rock, just where he had expected it, was the herb he came for.
"Moon Flowers"
He murmured, stepping closer and plucking the delicate plant with a touch of reverence. Its petals shimmered faintly, as if reflecting light that wasn't there.
One by one, he collected the flowers and tucked them into his storage with practiced care.
They were even more vibrant in person than the images had shown. When he had collected a few, he paused.
Then, considering the potion and the cultivation potential, he collected more—enough to create, experiment, and maybe even plant a few if conditions allowed it.
Once he was confident that he had more than enough, Fenrir turned to retrace his steps.
The rest of the group would be doubling back by now, and he didn't want to raise unnecessary suspicion.
But as he took a few steps down the path, a cold sensation pricked at the back of his neck. His eyes narrowed.
He wasn't alone.
Fenrir's voice rang out into the space, cool and calm.
"You've been following me for a while. It's creepy. Just come out."
Silence.
Still, the weight of that stare didn't fade—it intensified.
He took a cautious step forward, and that was all the signal his stalker needed.
A rush of air whistled behind him.
Fenrir barely twisted in time, his instincts flaring, just as a blur of green slashed past where his head had been. The clawed hand missed him by inches, embedding into the stone wall behind.
Another swipe came, faster and more aggressive. Fenrir ducked low, pivoting to face the direction of the attack.
A girl stepped into view, her face mostly composed, but her eyes wild and glowing slightly with unhinged energy.
She straightened her back and raised her hand again.
"You are…that creepy second year…Betty Rose, right?"
Fenrir said, tone dropping cold.
She didn't respond.
Only smiled.
Betty finally straightened herself, tilting her head as she studied Fenrir with sharp, amused eyes.
Her fingers flexed, and the claws at the ends of her hands shimmered slightly under the faint dungeon light.
"You've got good reflexes. Most students wouldn't have seen that first attack coming. Let alone dodged it."
She said with a lopsided smile.
Fenrir didn't respond. His body was tense, eyes trained on every twitch of her muscles.
He tapped into the system's interface, trying to get a reading on her profile, but before the scan could lock in, Betty darted forward again.
"Don't bother. The system always gets me wrong."
She said, her tone teasing and cold. Her claws grazed the air beside Fenrir's face before he managed to leap back.
Fenrir hissed out a breath and reset his stance.
"Yeah, I figured."
The system's data had already been off the first time he glanced at her.
She had read like a mid-level second-year, slightly above average.
But his instincts screamed the opposite. Whatever Betty was, she was far beyond what her stats suggested.
She lunged again—this time faster, more reckless—and Fenrir gritted his teeth. Her claws sliced across his shoulder, tearing through the edge of his shirt but not drawing blood. Too close.
He reached into his storage and summoned a polished staff, one of his earlier purchases.
[Weapon equipped. Special trait: Speed +10%]
His next dodge wasn't clumsy. He twisted past her swipe and brought the staff up defensively, causing her claws to spark against the reinforced shaft.
Betty pouted, hopping back on the balls of her feet.
"You rich types are always so unfair. Using all your shiny little toys to level the field."
"You're literally trying to kill me. Don't whine about fairness."
Fenrir said flatly.
Her grin widened.
"It's your fault. You caught my eye the day you interfered with my hunt. That little thing you saved? That was my prey."
She laughed, delighted before she continued.
"You're the first person to talk back to me like this, you know?"
Fenrir spun the staff once and kept his eyes locked on her.
"That's probably because I'm the first one who's survived this long in front of you."
Betty blinked, then let out a soft, approving giggle.
"Oooh, you're smart too. How'd you guess?"
Fenrir didn't answer.
He had no intention of giving her any more satisfaction than necessary.
The signs had been there—her confident behavior, the way she'd provoked the monster earlier with a fake accident, and now this full-blown attack.
Anyone else might've missed it. But Fenrir knew instability when he saw it.
She began circling him slowly, like a predator assessing a new kind of prey.
"I thought you'd be boring. Just another rich boy waving his money around, selling potions like a fool. But then I looked into you, and guess what?"
"Let me guess. You got obsessed and decided I was your new obsession?
Fenrir said, his tone dry.
She made a disappointed noise.
"Tch. That last one's pushing it."
"Well, good. Because I've got a thing against being murdered"
He replied.
"You're no fun. Just let me put a little scratch on you."
She pouted, before lunging forward again.
Her claws clashed against his staff as Fenrir deflected her strike, his body moving in smoother arcs thanks to the speed buff.
She was still faster—barely—but he could now keep up, trading blows and dodges, though he remained mostly on the defensive.
"I'll admit, you're strong, but you're still inexperienced."
She muttered between attacks.
"Maybe you just need therapy."
She paused for a fraction of a second, taken off guard by the bluntness.
"…What?"
"You know, a nice long chat with a professional. Sit on a couch. Talk about your childhood. Work through your homicidal urges."
Fenrir continued with a casual shrug as he blocked another slash.
Betty blinked. And then… she laughed. A deep, unhinged sound that echoed off the stone cavern walls.
"You're the first person to say something like that to me."
She said cheerfully.
Fenrir tilted his head.
"Is that because you usually kill people before they open their mouths?"
Betty's grin returned—sharper, brighter, almost manic.
"Exactly. How did you know?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he slowly adjusted his stance.
She was unpredictable, and while she hadn't gone all-out yet, he had the creeping suspicion that she could escalate much further.
He needed to either stall her long enough to regroup with the others or create an opening to escape.
But for now, he stayed silent. Watching. Waiting.