The air inside the Hunter Guild was thick with tension and the clamor of clinking armor. Ethan Gray sat hunched in a corner, his back against a cracked wall, carefully strapping his worn leather boots. Around him, hunters boasted about their latest conquests—F-rank and E-rank dungeons were fodder for their inflated egos.

But not for Ethan. He wasn't a hunter; he was a porter—a glorified pack mule tasked with hauling supplies and retrieving loot while avoiding death. He wasn't even allowed to fight, a rule enforced by arrogant party leaders who deemed him unworthy.

"Hey, Gray!" barked a voice.

Ethan glanced up. Garret, an A-rank hunter, sauntered over, his cruel grin as familiar as it was unwelcome. "You're coming with us on an S-rank raid today. Try not to die too early."

The room fell quiet for a moment. S-rank? Ethan's stomach tightened. Porters weren't supposed to enter dungeons that dangerous. But he knew better than to argue. Refusing an assignment from someone like Garret meant losing the only job that kept food on the table.

"Got it," Ethan said, his voice steady despite the churn of unease in his gut.

The party gathered at the dungeon entrance, a towering gate pulsating with an ominous crimson glow. The S-rank designation wasn't just a formality—it radiated danger.

As Ethan adjusted the heavy pack on his back, he caught snippets of the hunters' hushed conversation.

"This place… it's worse than I thought," muttered one, his hand tightening on his sword hilt.

Garret shot him a sharp look. "Stay focused. We'll handle it."

Ethan's eyes narrowed. Garret's tone was too calm, his confidence forced. Something was off.

As they stepped inside, the dungeon's oppressive atmosphere closed in around them. The air was colder, thicker, and carried a faint metallic tang. Shadows seemed to writhe along the jagged walls, and a low, resonant hum filled the cavern, vibrating through Ethan's chest.

They pressed forward, their footsteps echoing ominously. The deeper they went, the more Ethan noticed the subtle tension in the group. Garret's eyes darted to the others, silent exchanges passing between them. A smirk here, a nod there.

Ethan tightened his grip on the straps of his pack.

They reached a vast chamber, the dungeon's heart. Towering above them was the boss—a grotesque, multi-limbed creature with molten eyes and jagged, obsidian skin. Its roar shattered the stillness, shaking the ground beneath their feet.

Garret's voice cut through the chaos. "Formation!"

The hunters moved, but their coordination faltered. Ethan, staying at the back as ordered, felt the tension escalate. Garret glanced at him, his eyes cold and calculating.

"Porter!" he barked. "We need a distraction."

Ethan barely had time to process the words before Garret shoved him forward. He stumbled, the weight of the pack throwing him off balance.

"You'll buy us time," Garret sneered.

The others retreated, their footsteps echoing as they fled. The realization hit Ethan like a punch to the gut. They hadn't brought him here to help. He was the sacrifice.

The boss monster's molten eyes locked onto him. Its next roar was deafening.

Ethan's heart pounded, but his mind sharpened. He wasn't ready to die—not yet.