Betty stood silently atop a rocky ledge deep within the dungeon, obscured by jagged formations and shadows.
The light of her communication device blinked as a message from Aiden Smith flashed across the screen:
[All members regroup. Be alert. Betty Rose is hostile. Do not approach her alone.]
She tilted her head slightly, lips twisting into a frown.
"Tch. Rude."
Without a word, she slipped the device back into her pocket and leapt down from her perch.
Her boots hit the stone floor with a soft thud, and her eyes locked on a figure ahead—one of the younger club members, a second-year boy who looked lost and shaken.
He hadn't seen the message.
His eyes lit up when he saw her.
"Betty! Oh, thank the stars. I've been walking in circles—everyone's regrouping, right? Let's head back!"
He took a few steps forward, relief plain on his face.
Betty smiled.
Then, as he reached out to lightly tug her sleeve, her hand flashed upward, claws glinting with eerie precision.
His expression shifted from confusion to horror, but he had no time to cry out. In one swift motion, Betty's claws sliced through the boy's neck.
His head hit the stone floor with a dull thud, rolling slightly before coming to a stop.
Betty stood over the body, watching the blood pour freely across the cavern floor. She didn't flinch. Instead, she pouted.
"That wasn't nearly enough. Not nearly satisfying. But… if they're already hunting me—"
She muttered.
She sighed and reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a small, smooth cube. A flick of her wrist, and the cube pulsed once with light before cracking.
A soft hum filled the air, and in a second, Betty vanished—teleported out of the dungeon without a trace.
______
Back at the main chamber, the rest of the Dungeon Exploration Club was being guided to the exit by Aiden and two senior staff members from the academy.
The mood was tense.
No one spoke much, and even Fenrir kept his thoughts to himself. The realization that Betty had deliberately targeted him hadn't fully worn off yet.
As the last of them exited the dungeon, a group of academy enforcers arrived—senior dungeon operatives tasked with assessing threats and securing dungeon incidents.
One of them raised his voice.
"No one is to re-enter the dungeon. This location is officially under seal until further notice."
Students whispered among themselves nervously. A few clung to each other, faces pale.
Then, another team emerged from within the dungeon.
Two of them were carrying something wrapped in a white containment sheet, stained with red. The moment they stepped into the light, gasps echoed across the group.
One of the operatives removed the cloth to confirm the contents.
"A male student. Second-year. Clean decapitation."
Silence.
Aiden clenched his jaw.
Several students stepped back in horror, covering their mouths.
Dain's expression turned grim, and even Fenrir felt a tightness in his chest. He hadn't expected Betty to actually kill someone—at least not during the expedition.
A man in a formal uniform stepped forward to address the club. His voice was calm, but carried the weight of command.
"This dungeon will be sealed for investigation. Until we determine how a hostile element infiltrated this expedition, all activities of the Dungeon Exploration Club are suspended for the next two weeks. No exceptions."
Whispers and murmurs rose again, this time louder and more fearful.
"We'll be investigating each student's testimony. Cooperate, and there'll be no issues. Those of you injured, please report to the infirmary staff waiting outside."
The man's eyes passed over the crowd—and for a brief second, they locked with Dain's.
Fenrir noticed it.
A flicker of recognition, subtle and silent. Dain gave the man the smallest of nods, so small that no one else seemed to catch it.
But Fenrir did.
He said nothing, only narrowed his eyes slightly.
He didn't know who that man was, but Dain clearly did. And judging by the way the man didn't say anything either, it was a connection neither of them wanted public.
As the officials began ushering students away, Fenrir stayed quiet, following the group toward the academy gates.
Students were subdued, their chatter now wary, confused, and paranoid.
Within a day, the incident at Moon's Cavern had made national headlines.
"Student Killed During Academy Dungeon Expedition!"
"Elite School's Club Trip Ends in Tragedy!"
"Suspected Killer Still at Large—Was She One of Their Own?"
News anchors speculated wildly. Forums exploded with theories. Grainy leaked photos of the sealed dungeon entrance were passed around online with captions demanding answers.
To Fenrir's relief, none of the students' names were made public. The school was doing its part to shield their identities—for now.
Still, the storm swirling around the academy was impossible to ignore.
A message pinged on Fenrir's device as he was about to head out.
[Keep your head down. I don't care how 'harmless' your club seems. We don't need you getting dragged into scandals.]
Fenrir scoffed and closed the message without replying.
His brother was paranoid, but he wasn't wrong.
Still, Fenrir had no intention of lying low.
He walked through the now-bustling alleyways, where temporary shops and curious foot traffic had multiplied.
His lab's hidden entrance remained intact, untouched and secure. Once inside, the familiar cool darkness of the lab welcomed him.
The Moon Flowers rested in his storage, safely sealed in stasis containers. Their bluish-white glow pulsed faintly in the darkness, like breathing embers.
Fenrir stood in front of the storage unit, arms crossed.
He had what he needed. The rest of the potion's ingredients were prepped.
His equipment was calibrated. And yet, his hand hesitated before opening the container.
"Too risky."
He muttered.
The dungeon was sealed. No telling when—or if—it would reopen. If he used these flowers and something went wrong in the brewing process, he'd have no way to replace them.
Not unless he found another source.
He tapped his fingers against the table, thinking.
In his past life, there had been a way.
Dungeon flora could be cultivated—sometimes.
But it required specific conditions, tailored nutrient mixes, mana flows, and a bit of luck. He hadn't been particularly skilled at it back then. Still, he wasn't clueless either.
"Guess I'll find out if theory translates to practice."
Fenrir said to himself as he pulled on gloves and moved toward the planting chamber.
He carefully extracted a single Moon Flower from the container, making sure the preservation field didn't rupture the delicate petals.
Then, he carried it to the growing pod setup near the back of his lab.
Once everything was in place, he planted the flower.
A blue interface blinked to life, registering the conditions.
[Cultivation Attempt Detected: Moon Flower]
[Success Chance: Calculation]
Fenrir sighed.
"Figures."
Still, it wasn't nothing. He took note of the variables, adjusted nutrient levels, and saved the configuration under a new research file.
If he could get this right—even once—he wouldn't have to rely on dungeon raids or school-sanctioned trips.
He'd have a renewable source for his alchemical work. That kind of independence was priceless.
Now, it was a matter of patience.
He pulled out a notebook and jotted down today's observations, then moved to his brewing station.
The potion could wait. But the groundwork for his future? That had to start now.