The sudden lurch of forced teleportation ended. Jun, the knight in dark armor, slammed into a cold stone wall.
The impact drove the air from his lungs and sent a shockwave of pain through his already battered body. He crumpled to the floor, his ruined chest plate digging into his ribs, and coughed, blood splattering on the polished floor.
'Not here… He'll kill me.'
A low chuckle, smooth as silk, echoed from across the opulent chamber. "Back so soon, Jun? And empty-handed, I see."
Jun forced his head up. At a long, dark wood table, a man sat, bathed in the soft glow of arcane lamps. His hair was the color of fresh snow, cascading around a face of ageless, serene beauty. He delicately cut a piece of blood-red meat from a golden platter, his movements precise, unhurried.
"Master," he choked out, trying to push himself to his knees. His limbs trembled. "Forgive me. There were… complications."
The man took a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Complications?" His voice was a gentle melody, but it sent shivers of ice down Jun's spine.
"I provide you with the Key—a relic capable of hijacking the very core of a lesser dungeon, of bending its reality. You were to extract the boss's memories, a simple task for one of your talents. And yet, you return with nothing but failure and excuses."
Jun flinched. 'He knows I failed with the Key. He knows everything.' "The mission was almost complete. But heroes showed up, along with a young porter who controlled shadows."
The man paused, his fork halfway to his mouth. A flicker of genuine interest sparked in his calm, violet eyes. "Shadows, you say? How… novel." He resumed eating. "A boy wielding such a rare affinity. Intriguing."
Jun sagged, a sliver of hope piercing his terror. 'Maybe he'll focus on the boy, not my failure.'
The man finished his bite, dabbing his lips with a silk napkin. "But your failure remains. The boss's knowledge of the 'First Spire' is lost to us now, consumed by this… shadow-mancer." He sighed, a soft, almost disappointed sound. "You understand, of course, that incompetence has consequences."
He made a small, almost imperceptible gesture with his free hand, a flick of his fingers.
Agony. Absolute, consuming agony erupted through Jun's body. It felt as if every nerve ending was on fire, every bone trying to tear itself from his flesh.
He didn't scream; he couldn't. His breath hitched, his vision tunneling to a pinpoint of unbearable light. He collapsed, twitching, a broken thing on the cold floor, barely breathing.
The taste of blood and bile filled his mouth.
The Master watched, his expression unchanged, still serene. After a moment that stretched into an eternity for Jun, the pain receded, leaving him a trembling, gasping wreck.
"One more chance," he said, his voice still smooth, almost kind. "Because this shadow-wielding boy… he piques my curiosity. And perhaps, he can be a replacement for the information you so carelessly lost."
He took another delicate bite of meat. "Find him. Bring him to me. Alive, if possible. His abilities could prove… useful." He smiled, a beautiful, terrifying smile. "Do not fail me again."
Jun lay on the floor, every inch of him screaming. 'Alive… I'll bring him in pieces if I have to.'
But all he could manage was a ragged, whispered, "Yes… Master."
---
The car dropped Sunny near his rented room. The city lights blurred past the window, but his mind replayed Elara Vayne's offer, her intense gaze, the weight of her words. Radiant Dawn. It was a path, a shortcut to resources, to power.
'But a hero's path?' The idea felt like swallowing ash.
He reached his small room, the door sticking slightly. Inside, it was sparse, a bed, a small table. He barely registered his surroundings. Exhaustion, heavier than any decision, pulled at him.
Elara's card felt alien in his pocket.
He fell onto the bed, fully clothed. Sleep claimed him instantly, a heavy, dreamless dark.
Morning came too soon. Sunlight, thin and gray, filtered through the grimy window. Sunny sat up, his body stiff. The previous day's exam, the fight, Elara's proposal – it all felt distant, like a half-remembered dream.
Today was the dungeon mission. The final test.
He dressed in the same clothes he wore to the exam. Dark pants, gray shirt. He had no Player gear, no armor, no specialized weapons. Just himself and the duffel bag with a change of clothes and water.
'Guess I'll make do.'
He ran to the Player Association, the streets already bustling. He moved through the city like a ghost, unnoticed, his mind focused. He reached the Grand Hall just as other candidates were streaming in. The air buzzed with a nervous energy, different from the day before. More focused, more desperate.
Proctor Kane stood on the stage, his expression unchanged from the previous day. He waited until the hall settled into a restless silence.
"Welcome to the final phase," he began, his voice cutting through the anticipation. "The Dungeon Mission."
He gestured to a large screen behind him, which flickered to life, displaying a complex diagram of interconnected zones.
"Today, you will enter a controlled dungeon environment. Your objective is simple: retrieve a designated marker from the dungeon core and return. You have one hour to form teams of five. After that, your teams will be assigned a dungeon entry point. There are multiple dungeons, each with varying layouts and monster compositions. The choice of which dungeon your team attempts will be presented to you, but your choice is final."
He paused, his eyes sweeping the room. "This is a test of combat skill, yes. But more importantly, it is a test of teamwork, strategy, and survival under pressure. Those who cannot function as part of a team will fail. Those who endanger their team through recklessness or incompetence will fail."
His gaze hardened. "Markers are unique. Only one team can claim the marker from each dungeon core. Attempting to steal another team's marker is grounds for immediate disqualification and blacklisting. Understood?"
A murmur of assent went through the hall.
"You have one hour," he repeated. "Form your teams. Your Player careers may depend on the choices you make now." He stepped back, and the screen behind him began to display a countdown timer: 60:00.
Chaos erupted.
Candidates surged from their seats, voices rising in a cacophony of urgent negotiations, desperate pleas, and arrogant dismissals. Groups formed and dissolved. Some candidates, clearly pre-arranged, gathered confidently. Others scrambled, their faces tight with anxiety.
Sunny remained still for a moment, watching the frantic dance. Then, people started approaching him.
A nervous young man with a C-rank card. "Hey, uh, 734, right? The ten-thousand-point guy? Need a teammate?"
Sunny looked at him. The kid's eyes were wide, hopeful. 'He's looking for a carry. He'll be a liability.'
"No," he said, his voice flat.
The kid flinched and scurried away.
Another group, led by a burly candidate with a B-rank card, swaggered over. "Yo, Orc-slayer! We're forming an elite squad. You in?"
Sunny assessed them. Arrogant. Loud. Overconfident. 'They'll fall apart at the first sign of trouble.'
"Not interested."
He turned away, moving through the crowd, ignoring the calls and offers. He saw their faces, the mix of greed and desperation in their eyes. They saw his score, his seven-second kill. They saw a ticket through the exam.
'Parasites.'
He scanned the room, looking for someone, anyone, who wasn't acting like a panicked fool. His gaze landed on the blue-haired girl, Candidate 103. She stood alone near a wall, arms crossed, observing the chaos with a detached, almost bored expression.
A few candidates approached her, but she dismissed them with a curt shake of her head or a single, dismissive word, not even bothering to look at them.
'She gets it.'
He walked over to her. She watched him approach, her sharp eyes unblinking, her jaw working rhythmically on imaginary gum.
"Hey, you need a team," he said, his voice low. "So do I."
She tilted her head slightly, assessing him.
"We're strong," he continued. "Better than most of these clowns. Together, we've got a better shot."
She considered him for a long moment, then gave a single, decisive nod.
'Good.' Relief, faint but present, eased some of the tension in his shoulders. He glanced around the hall. "Two down. Three to go. See anyone else worth a damn?"
She didn't speak. Her eyes scanned the room, then she lifted a hand and pointed.
Sunny followed her gaze. She indicated a girl standing near the edge of the hall, arguing heatedly with a group of larger male candidates.
The girl had fiery red hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She wore dark, practical shorts and a fitted tank top, her arms and legs crisscrossed with well-worn leather straps that secured various small pouches and what looked like sheathed tools or knives. Her stance was defiant, her chin jutted out.
Sunny stared. That attitude. It was like a punch to the gut.
Nyx. Or someone who could be her twin.
'Ah, crap.'