Kin's eyes grow heavy, exhaustion creeping through his limbs like an unseen tide. The world blurs. His body gives in. He drifts into sleep on the grassy hill.
Plop.
Darkness.
Footsteps disturb unseen water, soft splashes echoing in the void. Then, a voice—low, cold, dripping with disdain.
"You are weak."
A sudden glint of steel—
Ching.
Sparks burst in the blackness, illuminating two figures mid-clash. One, a shifting mass of darkness, thick with suffocating malice. The other—Kin.
Darkness.
"You didn't save them."
Ching.
The shadow steps forward, its armour writhing like something alive, its white eyes the only light in the abyss--- fading.
Darkness.
Kin grits his teeth. "I did what I could!"
Ching.
"Weak."
Ching.
"Childish."
Ching.
"Pathetic."
Each impact sends ripples through the void, blades clashing in a relentless, punishing rhythm. Water churns beneath them, swallowing the echoes of battle.
Then—stillness.
A single breath.
The shadow is inches from Kin now, its aura pulsating, warping the space around it. Between them, a candle—its feeble flame barely lighting their features. Its face—Kin's. Emotionless. Hollow-eyed. A twisted reflection. It tilts its head, the glint in its gaze like distant, dying stars.
"Really?"
The flame shudders.
Dims.
Dies.
Beep. Beep.
Kin jolts awake, breath caught in his throat. His fingers press against his forehead, grounding himself in the present. His phone screen glows beside him—the alarm flashing insistently. He ends it with a swipe, exhaling slow. The field, once littered with bodies, is now empty.
Kin gets up.
Kin raps his knuckles against the wooden door. A muffled voice answers.
"Come in."
He steps inside. The Master looks up from his desk, offering a weary yet welcoming smile.
"Kin! You must be drained after running around all day."
Kin shakes his head. "Not really, sir. You wanted to talk?"
The Master leans forward, hands clasped. "I wanted to thank you. Handling the evacuation—being given such a critical mission without even being a member of my guild—it couldn't have been easy on you."
Kin bows his head slightly. "I appreciate that you trusted me with it, Sir."
The Master waves a hand dismissively. "No need to be so formal." He exhales, rubbing his temple. Then, after a beat, his voice drops. "Kin, listen... I wasn't completely honest with you. Or with the others."
Kin stiffens. "What do you mean?"
A pause. The Master's gaze drops to his desk before meeting Kin's again. "The 31st floor… it wasn't the first time anyone had reached it. Fifty years ago, elite raiders travelled up to the 49th regularly."
Kin's eyes widen. "What?! That's impossible. There are no records—"
"Because we erased them."
The words hit like a truck.
Kin's jaw sets like a locked gate, tension bracing the hinges. "Why?"
The Master's voice hardens. "Because it was dangerous."
The room sways into silence.
The Master exhales slowly. "I was part of the best team a raider could ask for. We were the first to reach the 50th floor. That's where we encountered it—a two-headed dragon. Unbelievably strong. Out of four of us… only two survived."
His fingers tighten around the desk. His voice wavers for the first time. "I read the captain's latest report. The same dragon… it's back. On the 31st."
Kin swallows. "That's…"
The Master reaches beneath his desk and retrieves a book. A thick, leather-bound tome, its spine cracked with age, its pages steeped in history. He places it in front of Kin. "This book details the monsters and layout from the 31st to the 50th."
Kin's hands move before he can think—his fingers tracing the worn pages as he flips through. The Master watches him, then speaks again. "I have another request for you, Kin."
Kin, still skimming, mutters, "Yeah?"
"I want you to meet my old friend. My team leader—Senen... I have some questions for him."
Kin barely processes the words. "Yeah, sure."
The Master begins to chuckle. "Before that, though… would you like to join the Legion's Guild?"
Kin stops. He sets the book down. Looks up.
"Yes."
The Master smiles. "Wonderful. One more thing—Sye, you can come in now."
The door creaks open. A young woman steps inside. Her blonde hair catches the light as she moves. Her gaze remains low, sidestepping attention, yet there's something achingly familiar about her.
"Kin, this is Sye. The Legion's best raider. She'll be accompanying you."
Kin stands, extending a hand. "Nice to meet you, I'm Kin."
Sye glances at his hand, then shifts her gaze away. Her voice is soft, barely above a whisper. "…You already told me." A pause. Then, just under her breath— "Stupid."
Kin blinks. A brief memory surfaces—her face among the expedition team. He rubs the back of his head, letting out an awkward chuckle. "Ah… right. Well, I hope we work well together."
Sye gives the smallest nod, her eyes still lowered. "…Mm."
The Master clears his throat. "One last thing, Kin. I need to determine your rank in the guild."
Kin turns back to him. "Rank?"
"Our guild ranking system assigns missions based on floor difficulty. Rank 5 covers the 1st to 4th floors. Rank 4 handles the 6th to 10th. Rank 3 takes 11th to 19th. Rank 2 covers 20th to 27th… and Rank 1 operates beyond the28th."
A moment passes before he asks, "Can you show me your stats?"
Kin nods and opens his status screen. The Master puts his glasses on, reading through the numbers. His lips move as he mutters, "Level 35…" Then, his eyes trail down.
Strength.Agility.Intelligence.Defense. Perception, Vitality.
Numbers far beyond a Level 35.
The Master's eyebrows shoot up. Then—
"WHAAAAAAT?!"
Sye flinches at the outburst.
The Master gapes at the screen. "These stats… they're on par with a Level 72! Maybe even higher!"
He rubs his chin, processing. "Under normal circumstances, you'd be placed at Rank 4 or 3… but with numbers like these?"
A slow grin spreads across his face. "Kin, I hereby assign you as a Rank 2 Legions Guild Raider."
Kin's breath catches. His hands tighten. His eyes beam with something new—excitement.
The tavern smoulders beneath the languid shimmer of amber crystal lights, their glow pooling in halos across polished wood. Laughter and conversation swell and ebb like the tide, rich with mirth—yet distant, as if belonging to another world. A stark contrast to the lone figure slumped at the bar. Tiren sits unmoving, forearms braced against the counter, his head bowed. The weight of the day drapes over him like sodden cloth. The triumphant cheers of the surviving elite guild raiders—the ones who made it back—barely graze the edges of his awareness.
A voice almost whispers through the Tavern. "What's wrong, Tiren?"
He lifts his head slightly, recognizing a familiar face. Izumi. her body carved in shadow and candlelight, but her voice carries an undertone—an edge of quiet understanding that tells him she already knows.
"Oh… Hey, Izumi." His voice is threadbare, unravelling. "Back on the 31st… I've never felt pressure like that. In all my years in the dungeon, I was always strong enough—or at least close enough—to stand my ground." A pause, raw and bitter. "But against that thing… I was nothing. A ghost in my own body."
Izumi after a brief pause, "Yeah... to be honest i'm done"
Tiren's head lifts, his brows knitting together. "…What?"
She doesn't meet his gaze. "The moment that dragon emerged, my resolve to fight was gone." A dry, mirthless chuckle ghosts past her lips. "I'm not fit to be a raider."
Silence weaves itself between them, thick and inescapable. Then, without another glance, Izumi turns and walks away. Tiren watches her go, his fingers curling into a white-knuckled grip against the counter. The muscle in his jaw flexes, a tremor of restrained fury and something more—something greater.
"…I won't live in fear." His voice is quiet, but unyielding. A vow, etched in steel. "I must get stronger."
Guild Master Yown sat alone in his opulent office, the candlelight casting long shadows across gilded artifacts. Every inch of the room spoke of wealth—golden trinkets, rare treasures, luxuries fit for royalty. Yet, beneath all this splendour, his expression was one of quiet fury.
The plan had been flawless. His best raider was meant to steal every last orb from the expedition team, a heist that would have lined their coffers with a hundred thousand gold—perhaps even millions. But the dragon's sudden arrival had shattered everything. Instead of a fortune, they had secured only two orbs. An insult. A failure. Yown exhaled, controlling his temper. No use dwelling on setbacks. A true leader always had contingencies. Slowly, his lips curved into a knowing smirk.
"No matter," he murmured, his voice smooth as silk. "I have another mission for you… Tom."
The air shifted.
A figure stood before him, wrapped in bandages from head to eyes—motionless, silent, as if the shadows themselves had moulded him from the void. He had not entered. He had not arrived. He was simply there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Yown met the gaze hidden beneath those wrappings and leaned forward slightly, his smirk widening.
"Shall we?"