Henry pulled out his freshly registered card and held it up to the nearest guard.
The man barely spared him a glance before scanning the card with a handheld device. A small beep confirmed his status.
"First-timer?" the guard asked, his voice flat.
Henry nodded.
The guard looked him up and down, his eyes lingering on Henry's basic F1 Ground Sword. A flicker of something—pity? Amusement?—crossed his face before he waved Henry through. "Don't die in there, kid."
Henry stepped past the checkpoint without a word.
Inside, the atmosphere changed instantly.
The dungeon lobby was packed. Hundreds of Hunters filled the space, some adjusting their gear, others huddled in groups, discussing strategies. The walls were lined with portals, each glowing with an eerie shimmer, labeled according to their difficulty rank.
The F-rank dungeon was one of the smallest portals, but it still pulsed with a dangerous energy. Henry could feel it even from across the room, like a faint pull on his chest.
Despite the rank, dungeons weren't something to take lightly. The moment a Hunter stepped inside, all outside laws ceased to exist. There were no rescue missions. No one would intervene if things went south.
If he died inside, his body would never be recovered.
Henry exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders.
He wasn't here to hesitate.
He was here to win.
Henry made his way toward the F-rank portal, but before he could reach it, a voice called out.
"Hey, newbie!"
He turned.
A group of four Hunters stood nearby, watching him with varying degrees of amusement. The one who had spoken was a burly man with a scar running over his left eye. His thick arms were crossed over his chest, and his armor was noticeably more advanced than the scattered F1 and F2 Hunters nearby.
The scarred man smirked. "You alone?"
Henry didn't answer immediately.
One of the other hunters, a young man with a shaved head, clicked his tongue. "Damn, he is. Soloing a dungeon at F1? That's got to be the dumbest thing I've seen all week."
The last member of their group, a woman with twin daggers strapped to her belt, tilted her head. "Maybe he's got a death wish."
Henry met their gazes evenly. "I can handle myself."
The scarred man let out a low chuckle. "You've got guts, I'll give you that. But dungeons aren't friendly places, kid. We're looking for a fifth member. You should join us."
Henry hesitated.
Every instinct screamed at him to accept.
He wasn't stupid—going in alone was suicide. A group meant backup, safety, higher survival odds. But then,
Quest Requirement: Enter and defeat the Dungeon Boss alone.
The system's directive burned in his mind.
He forced himself to shake his head. "I can't."
The group exchanged looks.
"Can't?" The shaved-headed Hunter snorted. "What, you got a bet going or something?"
"Something like that," Henry said vaguely.
The woman with the daggers gave him a curious glance. "You really don't want to reconsider? F-rank or not, dungeons aren't predictable."
Henry took a slow breath. "I appreciate the offer. But I have to do this alone."
A brief silence.
Then a voice from nowhere.
"You're an idiot," the scarred man said bluntly. "But I won't stop you. Just don't expect anyone to come looking for you when you get shredded."
With that, they turned away.
Henry ignored the lingering stares from the other Hunters who had overheard. The whispers of 'dead man walking' didn't bother him.
At least, that's what he told himself.
A sharp buzz filled the air as an announcement echoed through the facility.
"Portal 2 opening in five minutes. Prepare for entry."
The tension in the room shifted.
Hunters moved with purpose, double-checking weapons, discussing strategies. A few were already heading toward the designated portals, their faces set with grim determination.
Henry reached the F-rank portal.
As he stood before it, a nearby facility worker gave him a sidelong glance. The man was older, likely a veteran who had seen countless hunters come and go.
"You sure about this, kid?" the worker asked.
Henry nodded.
The man sighed, adjusting his clipboard. "Listen, I won't stop you. But first-timers who go in alone don't come out. Especially not without proper gear."
Henry glanced down at his F1 Ground Sword.
It wasn't much.
But it was all he had.
"I'll manage," Henry said.
The worker studied him for a moment, then shook his head. "Your life."
Then, without another word, he turned away.
Henry exhaled.
No more delays.
He stepped forward.
And entered the dungeon.
The transition was instantaneous.
One moment, Henry was standing in the well-lit facility.
The next thing was darkness.
A heavy, damp air surrounded him, filled with the scent of wet stone and something metallic—blood, maybe.
The only source of light was the faint bioluminescent moss clinging to the walls, casting eerie greenish-blue glows throughout the cavern.
Henry's senses sharpened.
His grip tightened around his sword.
A quiet shuffle echoed through the space.
Then another.
Something was watching him.
Then came the sound.
A low, chittering noise, like something clicking its mandibles together.
Henry turned, his eyes scanning the uneven ground, the jagged rock formations. The dungeon wasn't empty.
And he wasn't alone.
System Alert: Dungeon Challenge Initiated.
Enemies Detected: Lesser Crawlers, F-Rank, Quantity: 5.
They were low to the ground, their bodies covered in jagged exoskeletons. Their limbs were thin but unnervingly long, ending in hooked claws that scraped against the stone floor. Lesser Crawlers.
Henry had read about them before—basic dungeon monsters, weak on their own but dangerous in groups.
His fingers tightened around his sword.
The first fight had begun.
One of the Crawlers lunged.
Henry barely had time to react.
He stepped back on instinct, but the creature was faster than he expected. Its clawed limb lashed out, raking across his side.
HP -5.
Pain flared up in his ribs.
Henry gritted his teeth. That was fast.
He swung his sword, aiming to cut through the Crawler's exposed underbelly, but his strike was too slow, too predictable.
The creature darted away, and another one pounced.
Henry twisted, raising his arm in defense, but then,
LHP -5.
A sharp claw sliced into his shoulder.
His grip faltered for a moment, the weight of the sword suddenly feeling unnatural in his hands.
This was nothing like the training simulations he had seen before.