⟟ Vault Seeker III ⟟
Rowan and Alina stood at the entrance to the dungeon site, a sprawling hub filled with all kinds of adventurers. Warriors clad in heavy plate armor, rogues in lightweight gear, and mages draped in enchanted robes moved about, all preparing for their next descent into the depths. Weapons of all varieties—greatswords, halberds, twin daggers, even firearms—gleamed under the artificial lights of the site. Nearby, makeshift market stalls displayed wares ranging from reinforced armor to alchemical potions, their vendors haggling with dungeon raiders over prices.
The dungeon itself loomed ahead, its massive, reinforced entrance a gateway into the unknown. Despite the crowd, there was an uneasy stillness near the entrance, as if the abyss within was watching back.
Alina motioned forward. "Let's go to the reception desk first."
Rowan nodded and followed.
A large, fortified structure sat to the side of the dungeon's entrance. Unlike the makeshift shops surrounding it, this building was built for resilience, made of reinforced steel, standing like a bunker against any potential threats. The doors were thick, mechanical, and hissed open as they stepped inside.
The main lobby was lively, filled with adventurers signing up for dungeon runs, checking their ranks, or waiting for teams to assemble. The walls were lined with screens displaying dungeon updates—current expeditions, warnings of high-level threats, and statistics on adventurer casualties. A faint scent of metal and antiseptic lingered in the air.
Alina led Rowan to the front desk, where a receptionist, a woman with neatly tied-back hair and a formal uniform, immediately acknowledged their presence.
"Welcome," she greeted. "How can I assist you?"
"Hi, can you help my friend register?" Alina asked.
The receptionist nodded and gestured for Rowan to follow. He glanced at Alina, who gave him a reassuring look as if to say go ahead.
Rowan followed the receptionist through a side door into another room. Inside, a large scanning machine resembling a medical X-ray lay waiting. A technician in a clean uniform stood beside it, checking the console.
"Lie down," the technician instructed.
Rowan complied, resting on the machine's flat surface. A low hum filled the room as the scanner activated, running a blue light across his body. It felt cold, almost like something was peeling away layers to inspect him.
"Done," the technician said as the machine powered down. "The results will be sent to the reception desk."
Rowan stood up, stretching slightly, then made his way back.
As he exited the scanning room, he noticed a squadron of soldiers marching through the lobby. They were clad in modernized plate armor, reinforced with a mix of metal and lightweight synthetic material, giving them a tactical yet archaic appearance.
At their center walked a man who commanded attention.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a blue suit with a crisp white dress shirt and a red tie. Draped over him was an oversized white Gymnastyorka, unbuttoned, with his arms not in the sleeves, giving him an air of effortless authority. A Budenovka sat on his head, its pointed shape a stark contrast to his otherwise formal attire. His hands, clad in white gloves, swung at his sides with each step.
The squadron moved with purpose, their presence shifting the atmosphere in the room. Rowan wondered briefly who they were but pushed the thought aside.
Returning to the reception desk, he found Alina waiting on a bench. When she saw him, she immediately stood up and approached.
The receptionist glanced at the screen, then handed Rowan an identification card.
"Congratulations," she said. "You're now officially registered as a dungeon raider. Rank: G."
Rowan inspected the card. His name, age, and occupation were listed neatly, along with a ranking system that began at G and presumably ascended from there.
Curious, Rowan turned to Alina. "What's your rank?"
Alina hesitated. "…Rank D."
Rowan raised an eyebrow. "That's impressive."
Alina looked away, slightly flustered, scratching her cheek. "It's nothing special."
With registration complete, they moved on to the healer's department.
The healer's department was part of the main dungeon site, a well-maintained building with large windows that let natural light pour in. The interior smelled of herbs and antiseptics, with shelves stacked with medical supplies.
As they entered, someone approached them from behind.
"Guess who~?"
Alina's eyes were suddenly covered by a pair of hands.
"Mira!" Alina groaned, smacking the hands away.
Behind her stood a girl in a black jacket over a red shirt. She was a little short, with long brown hair that swayed slightly as she chuckled. Her eyes were sharp yet playful.
Mira grinned and turned her attention to Rowan, looking him up and down. "And who's this?"
"Rowan," he introduced himself.
Mira raised an eyebrow, then smirked. "Rowan, huh? Well, I'd say nice to meet you, but—" she gestured at his bandages, "—you look like you just lost a fight with a meat grinder."
Rowan exhaled through his nose. "Close enough."
Alina, embarrassed, lightly smacked Mira's head.
Mira clutched her head dramatically. "Ah! Betrayal! My own dear friend, striking me down in my prime!"
Alina rolled her eyes. "Come on."
Mira grinned. "Alright, alright. So Mr. Rowan is my patient, huh?" She smirked and motioned for him to follow.
They entered the treatment room. Rowan sat down while Mira extended her hand toward him. A soft green glow radiated from her palm, and as it passed over his body, the pain in his muscles faded. His wounds closed as if time reversed.
"All done!" Mira said, clapping her hands.
Alina nodded. "Thanks, Mira. By the way, Rowan and I are heading into the dungeon."
Mira's expression shifted. "Oh, so that's why you're here. Well, be careful."
With that, they parted ways and stepped toward the dungeon entrance.
Rowan had expected darkness, but the dungeon was more structured than he anticipated. The entrance was carved stone, wide enough for multiple raiders to enter at once. Dim blue lights flickered along the walls, casting eerie shadows.
Multiple pathways branched out ahead.
Alina motioned for him to follow. "I know a hidden spot."
They moved deeper into the dungeon, navigating past walls covered in strange carvings. The air grew thick, carrying the scent of damp stone.
The dungeon stretched before them like a labyrinth, and Rowan could feel the weight of what lay ahead. They had ventured deep enough that the light from the entrance was but a memory. Before them, the ancient Ruinborns awaited—monstrous, undead warriors who had once been soldiers in their past lives, now risen and armed to the teeth.
Two of them.
The first Ruinborn was carrying a massive broadsword, the blade as long as Rowan's entire body. The second wielded a curved, jagged scimitar, with its hilt wrapped in weathered leather. Their armor was ancient but sturdy, glowing faintly under the dim light of the dungeon. They looked like they had been forged for combat, not just to fight, but to annihilate.
Rowan gripped his keris, feeling a knot form in his stomach. These weren't like any beasts he'd encountered before. These were warriors. Soldiers. And they were deadly.
Alina, sensing his unease, looked at him with a reassuring gaze. Her voice, however, was laced with a quiet intensity as she assessed the situation.
"Alright," she said, keeping her tone low, "here's the plan."
Rowan's attention snapped to her. Alina might not be as experienced in close combat as he was, but her tactical mind and experience with dungeons were invaluable.
"We need to separate them," Alina continued, her eyes flicking between the two Ruinborns. "They're too coordinated. If they get in sync, we'll be overwhelmed. You're good in close combat, but these two are tough. If we keep them close together, they'll have the upper hand."
Rowan nodded, his grip tightening on the hilt of his keris. He didn't need to be told twice—he knew that he couldn't afford to fight both of them head-on.
"I'll take the one with the scimitar," Rowan said, meeting her gaze. "I can get in close and exploit the openings. You stay back and use your air blasts to keep the other one off me."
Alina's face was a mask of concentration. She wasn't as strong in close combat, but she had trained herself to be a force from a distance. Her air ability could disrupt the Ruinborns' movements, keep them unbalanced, or force them into awkward positions.
"That's the idea," Alina agreed. "But don't take them lightly. They'll adjust fast. I'll also try to target the broadsword-wielder's weak points, but I need you to keep him distracted for me."
Rowan gave a small, confident nod. He could already feel the adrenaline starting to kick in. He was ready for this.
The Ruinborns, however, weren't waiting. The broadsword-wielder stepped forward first, its eyes glowing ominously. The scimitar-wielder followed in suit, moving with a fluid grace that suggested these two had fought together for millennia.
"Stay sharp," Rowan muttered to himself.
Without a word, the broadsword-wielder lunged, swinging the massive blade in a downward arc with enough force to split stone. Rowan reacted instantly, sidestepping the blow. He felt the force of the strike push the air around him, but he used that moment to duck under the next swing. The massive blade missed him by mere inches.
At the same time, the scimitar-wielder was already closing the distance, its curved blade slashing toward Rowan's exposed side. He spun, using the momentum to backstep and avoid the lethal strike.
Alina, from behind, released a blast of compressed air at the scimitar-wielder, hoping to throw it off balance. The burst of force caught the creature off-guard, making it stumble, but not enough to stop its attack.
"Rowan!" Alina shouted, her voice tight with urgency. "Get to the other side of the room—split them up!"
Rowan knew what she meant. The best way to beat them was to isolate them. Moving quickly, he slid back on the balls of his feet, forcing the scimitar-wielder to pursue him, while the broadsword-wielder was momentarily distracted by Alina's blast. Rowan sprinted towards the far corner of the room, pulling the second Ruinborn with him.
As he reached the corner, the scimitar-wielder growled, its glowing eyes flashing with rage. Rowan wasted no time—he closed the gap, aiming for the creature's side. The scimitar-wielder raised its blade, blocking the incoming strike from Rowan's keris, but Rowan was already anticipating the parry. He twisted, using his footwork to guide himself past the weapon's reach and driving the keris toward the Ruinborn's exposed shoulder.
It was only a glancing blow, but it was enough to stagger the creature. Rowan knew that he had to keep the pressure on.
Meanwhile, Alina was handling the broadsword-wielder. The creature advanced with terrifying speed, the broadsword swinging in deadly arcs. Alina, unable to match the Ruinborn's strength in close combat, kept her distance. She had to rely on her range and agility.
She carefully calculated her next move, her eyes flicking toward Rowan, who was locked in combat with the scimitar-wielder. The moment he landed another blow, she unleashed a series of rapid air blasts at the broadsword-wielder, targeting its legs and lower body, hoping to destabilize it.
The first blast hit its knee, causing it to stagger backward. The second shot blasted it in the chest, knocking it off balance for a crucial moment. Alina saw Rowan seize the opportunity. He was fast, and he knew how to exploit weaknesses.
Rowan darted in, using his footwork to approach the broadsword-wielder with a quick, low spin, aiming for the knee. With his momentum, he made the attack count, landing a solid blow that made the Ruinborn stumble.
"Nice," Alina muttered under her breath, just as she used another air blast to push the creature further back.
The broadsword-wielder growled in fury, adjusting its stance, but it was too late. Rowan had already used the opening to get in close. With another series of precise strikes, he aimed for the joints—the vulnerable areas where the armor had weakened over time. His keris slashed across the Ruinborn's ribcage, leaving a deep gash. Rowan followed it up with a strike to the shoulder joint, forcing the creature back.
The Ruinborn faltered
The dungeon suddenly shook violently, the ground rumbling beneath their feet. The source of the disturbance was deep within the dungeon, and before Rowan or Alina could react, three figures emerged from the shadows.
The two figures on either side wore Bian Lian masks, their features shifting eerily as they moved. They were dressed in sleek black military stealth suits, blending into the dungeon's dark surroundings. In the middle stood a figure cloaked in a long black cape, a gas mask obscuring his face, his hood covering his head except for the mask, which was unsettling in its mechanical and cold appearance.
The man's voice, mechanical and filled with mockery, echoed through the dungeon as he spoke. "There's some visitors!" His tone was high-pitched and unnerving, a screeching sound laced with amusement then suddenly he turns silence. "Kill them!" he commanded.
At his signal, the two masked men sprang into action, drawing their Shuang Gou—twin tiger hook swords. Alina reacted quickly, launching a series of air blasts at them. One of the masked attackers dodged with fluidity, his body twisting as if dancing through the air. His mask shifted again, contorting into a new, more angular face. The other slashed at the air blasts, his mask changing mid-swing, becoming even more grotesque.
The second attacker moved in on Rowan, and despite Rowan's skill, the masked man was quick, disarming him with ease, sending Rowan's keris clattering to the floor. The masked man swung upward with a vicious strike, but Rowan, using his agility, managed to narrowly sidestep the attack.
Before Rowan could retaliate, a loud, powerful noise sounded as a massive blade—a Zweihänder—intercepted the strike. Rowan looked up, astonished to see the captain standing before him. His imposing figure, clad in his familiar attire, was like a wall between Rowan and the attacker.
"Uncle!?" Alina's voice was full of surprise.
The captain met her gaze. "Alina? I didn't know you were here," he said with calm authority. He turned his attention back to the two attackers, his tone firm. "Out of the way," he ordered. "I'll handle this."
At his command, the squadron of soldiers, well-trained and disciplined, moved in and overwhelmed the two masked men. Despite their agility and ferocity, they were no match for the soldiers' combined might and strategy. The masked attackers were captured, their struggles futile as they were restrained.
The gas-masked figure, observing the scene, chuckled darkly. "Enough," he croaked, his voice filled with sinister amusement. A thick black mist began to emanate from his body, enveloping him like a dark cloud. The mist expanded quickly, and within moments, the gas-masked man disappeared, leaving only the lingering fog behind.
The captain watched this with a steely expression. He turned toward Rowan and Alina. "You two, exit the dungeon," he ordered. "I'll take care of the rest." His eyes scanned the surroundings warily. "Stay safe. I'll need to deal with this… later."
Rowan and Alina exchanged a glance. Despite the confusion, they had no choice but to follow the captain's orders. Slowly, they made their way to the dungeon entrance, stepping into the light of the setting sun.
As they walked, Rowan turned to Alina. "What was that about?" he asked, still trying to process everything that had just happened.
"I don't know," Alina replied, her voice uncertain. "But something's going on. It's bigger than just us."
They finally reached the entrance, the sunlight flooding over them as the dungeon loomed behind them. The sense of unease still hung in the air, even as the immediate danger passed. Something told them that this wasn't the end—it was just the beginning
As Rowan and Alina stepped out of the dungeon, the sunlight hit them like a wave, a welcome change from the oppressive darkness of the dungeon's depths. But there was little time to relish it.
Around the entrance to the dungeon, tall fences had been set up, a clear boundary to keep the curious and the media at bay. Behind the fences, a crowd of people had gathered, some with cameras, others with notebooks, all murmuring and speculating about what had happened inside. News reporters shouted questions, attempting to get any sort of statement from those who had emerged.
Two officers approached Rowan and Alina, their serious expressions betraying the urgency of the situation. One of them, a woman with short, dark hair and a no-nonsense air, looked them over with a glance before speaking.
"Head to the camp set up for injuries," she said, her tone firm but not unfriendly. "They'll check you both out. It's standard procedure."
Rowan was about to protest, but Alina cut in, nudging him with her elbow. "We don't have a choice," she whispered. He gave a reluctant nod.
They followed the officers to the nearby camp, where medics were on hand, treating other adventurers who had come out of the dungeon before them. After a brief check-up, which didn't take long since neither of them had sustained any serious injuries, they were cleared to leave. Rowan was thankful for the lack of wounds but couldn't shake the feeling that something more dangerous was lurking just beneath the surface.
A few hours passed, and as the sun began to set, the ground trembled slightly once again, though this time, it wasn't the dungeon itself that was shaking—it was the arrival of the captain and his squadron. The dust from their heavy boots stirred up as they emerged from the dungeon entrance, the soldiers packed up their gear swiftly, moving with military precision. The captain, a towering figure with an air of authority, scanned the surroundings before approaching Rowan and Alina.
"Looks like you two made it out fine," the captain remarked, his voice a deep rumble. He gave a nod to each of them.
Alina gave him a questioning look. "What happened in there? Who were those people?"
The captain's expression hardened. "It was the organization called The Weaver," he said, his voice grave. "We don't know much about them yet, but their goals are unknown. There's more questions than answers. We'll need to dig deeper."
Rowan and Alina exchanged a look, the unease returning.
The captain, sensing their confusion, gave a brief, firm wave. "Stay safe. I'll see to it that we get some answers soon enough."
With that, the captain turned back to his squadron. They had their orders, and they would carry them out with relentless efficiency.
As they walked away, Rowan and Alina stayed behind, watching the captain and his soldiers disappear into the growing night. After a moment, Rowan broke the silence.
"So," he began, his curiosity piqued, "What's your connection with the captain?"
Alina hesitated for a second before responding, her gaze turning a little distant. "He's the one who raised me," she said quietly. "He's always been there for me. When I was younger, after… well, after everything happened, he took me in."
Rowan nodded thoughtfully, his mind turning. He wasn't sure what to make of the captain's connection with Alina, but there was something about him that demanded respect.
"Right," Rowan murmured, but then a thought crept into his mind. "I guess I don't really have a place to stay now…"
Alina turned to look at him, her eyes softening. "You can stay at my place for a while," she said after a moment. "But—" she paused, her tone teasing, "—you'll have to help me with my shop."
Rowan let out an exaggerated sigh, but a small smile tugged at his lips. "Fine, fine," he muttered, shaking his head. "You drive a hard bargain."
By the time they made it back to Alina's home, the evening had settled in, and the city had quieted down. It was around 9 PM when they entered, the soft light from the lamps inside casting a warm glow over the living room. Rowan, exhausted from the day's events, sank into the sofa, the fabric soft beneath him.
Alina made her way to the kitchen, leaving Rowan to think. His mind drifted back to the ship, to the chaos that had unfolded, to the strange sensation of being pulled into another world, the echoes of that time weighing heavily on his thoughts.
There was something unsettling about what had happened today. The dungeon raid, the mysterious Weaver organization, and the gas-masked figure… everything felt connected, but Rowan couldn't make sense of it.
As the house grew quieter, the ticking of a clock marking the passage of time, Rowan's thoughts turned inward. Before he knew it, his eyelids grew heavy, and despite the storm of thoughts racing in his head, he fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.