The stars blinked above them. The academy grounds were mostly silent—only the hush of wind slipping through leaves and the faint creak of a lantern swinging in the distance.

  The cafeteria doors had shut with a final thud. No food tonight, at least not from the academy’s cafeteria.

  They found a quiet patch of grass beneath a low stone wall, where the academy’s outer torchlights didn’t quite reach. Kana crouched down, she built the fire from dried bark and kindling she’d kept in her [Inventory]. One flick of flint, and a small flame came to life, growing with each breath of wind until it curled up like a living thing. A few awake curious students in the distance took a glance at them and became uninterested at the sight of the copper colored bands in their arms before going their way.

  Suri sat cross-legged across from her, already holding a chunk of raw meat in one hand. It glistened in the firelight, blood still fresh. She skewered it using her mana, coating it with a handful of dried herbs and salt that came from her pouch.

  “Not the most glamorous feast,” she said, rotating the meat slowly over the flame. “But still better than cafeteria stew.”

  Kana didn’t respond. She was staring into the fire, lost in the quiet churn of thought.

  Boris arrived late, slumped down beside them with a grunt, tugging at his half-loosened uniform collar. “My stomach’s louder than the last Horn direwolf.”

  “You should eat,” Suri offered.

  “We were nearly chopped to bits by a werewolf,” Boris said as he remembered it from looking at the skewered meat in his hand. “I earned my extra sleep.”

  The smell of cooked meat rose with the smoke, warm and savory.

  Kana finally spoke. “Do you think we’re making progress?”

  Suri glanced up from the roasting skewer. “We lived. That’s progress.”

  Kana frowned. “Barely. We didn’t win. We escaped.” It's been a while since they retreated from a dungeon and regrouped but the difference this time was they were not confident they could win by themselves.

  “I don’t know,” Boris said, stretching out on the grass. “Next time, we’ll bring more meat. Bait the boss into a trap.”

  Kana gave him a look. Hopeless.

  “What?” he said. “It worked with the packs.”

  “We need more than bait,” Kana said. “We need backup.”

  There was a long silence, broken only by the hiss of fat dripping into flame.

  Suri handed Boris the second cooked skewer. “We’ll find them,” she said, eyes narrowing. “People who don’t ask questions.”

  “And don’t scream when monsters charge them, alright?” Boris added.

  “But people mean risk,” Kana said. “Loose lips. Greedy hands. We can’t just take anyone in.”

  Suri tore off a chunk of meat and talked around it. “If we can’t recruit openly, we should look where rules are already broken. The underground district.”

  Boris groaned. “Oh great. We go from one crime to another. Da, might kill me one day.”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it,” Suri grinned.

  Kana agreed. “Suri’s right. If we want people willing to fight monsters in a place they’re not supposed to be, we’ll have to find people who don’t ask questions.”

  ….

  The trio slipped quietly into the underground district that night—not to sneak beyond the city walls, but to find new members for their party. They all agreed that they needed help to clear the mid-low level dungeon, and this was the only place where that kind of help could be found. Each of them wore cloaks with hoods and masks, concealing their identities. It was a common sight in the underground: anonymity was the unspoken rule. Nobles, students, commoners and even people with position—anyone who wished to keep their dealings in the shadows could be found here. After all, this district thrived on things unsanctioned and unseen, a haven for illegal activities.

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  Suri’s eyes lit up as they passed a food stall sizzling with heat and strange smells. Skewers of fried lizard tails and coiled snake meat glistened under oil and spice. Without hesitation, she stepped forward, plucked a skewer from the rack, and took a hearty bite without even asking the price.

  “Mmm! This is good!” she said through a full mouth, grabbing another and offering it to Kana and Boris.

  They both recoiled, tongue out in disgust.

  “No thanks,” Kana muttered, scrunching her nose.

  Boris looked away, visibly disturbed. “I’m still full.”

  Suri just laughed and took another bite.

  While she was distracted, Kana leaned subtly toward the middle-aged vendor, his apron stained with years of oil and smoke. “Do you know anyone interested in clearing out unlicensed dungeons?”

  The vendor glanced up, eyeing Kana's hooded figure. He took a moment, as if weighing her words. The sizzling from the pan filled the pause.

  “You must be new here,” he finally said, voice low and gruff. He flicked his eyes toward Boris and the large spear strapped to his back. “We call them Dungeon Scrappers. Plenty of ‘em gather on the west side. There’s a big inn near the corner alley—ask the barman. He’ll know who’s for hire.”

  Then, lowering his voice, he leaned in and whispered, “Be careful. These types don't ask names, and they sure as hell don’t care about yours. One item drop… and they’ll gut you for it.”

  …….

  The trio followed the directions through winding alleys until they reached a carved-out corner tucked into the underground stonework. There was no sign above the door—just a steady stream of rough-looking patrons slipping in and out, and the glow of lamplight spilling into the dark street.

  Inside, the inn buzzed with low chatter and clinking mugs. A haze of smoke lingered in the air. Dozens of figures hunched over tables, many with their faces obscured by hoods or masks. The scent of ale was unmistakable. A few glanced up at the trio as they entered, but no one moved to interfere—thanks in large part to Boris’s towering frame and the massive spear slung across his back.

  They made their way to the inn, where a broad-chested man stood behind a row of mismatched bottles.

  “We were referred to go here,” Kana said without hesitation. “We’re looking for people to help clear a mid-low level dungeon.”

  The man grinned, revealing several gold teeth. “Name’s Rum,” he said, voice gravelly. He looked to be in his fifties, with arms like barrels. “You came to the right place. What kind of help are you looking for?”

  “Someone who can block a boss hit. A magic damage dealer would be ideal too. And a healer, if available.” Kana said.

  Rum nodded and began scribbling something on a scrap of parchment. “Two fighters, then. Got it.”

  He looked Kana over, then asked, “How many people are you looking to hire?”

  “Two should be enough,” Kana replied. Since they cannot be trusted, she was thinking if everything didn’t go as planned, they had at least advantage in numbers.

  Rum gave a short nod. “Alright. I’ve got a few names in mind. But don’t expect a full-fledged healer—they don’t come cheap and too rare for a place like this.. What’s your budget?”

  “One hundred silver,” Kana said.

  Rum snorted. “For a mid-low level dungeon? That’ll barely get you two newbies willing to die early. That’s low-mid level dungeon pricing at best.”

  Kana frowned. “Then how much?”

  “Four hundred silver. Two hundred each. That’s the going rate if you want them to actually come with you.”

  The trio exchanged looks, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Kana nodded. “Fine. Fair enough.”

  Rum smiled. “Smart choice. When’s the raid?”

  “Second day of next week,” Kana said.

  “Good. Come back here that evening. I’ll have six candidates lined up. You can pick the two that suit you best.”

  …

  At the far edge of the underground district, where the stone walls grew darker and the alleyways twisted like veins, stood an old temple carved from blackened stone. Time had not been kind to it—its pillars were cracked, and moss crept like veins across its foundation. Faint, flickering lights glowed from within, casting long shadows across the worn floor.

  This was no place for blessings. No place for healing.

  Those who came here didn’t pray for protection or prosperity.

  They prayed for blood in exchange for a large amount of donation.

  Inside, the air was heavy with the scent of burned incense and something older. Along the back wall stood an altar, its surface blackened by countless offerings. Candles flickered from the occasional gust of wind.

  A figure entered, his face veiled by a dark hood and mask.

  Valdis.

  He knelt before the altar, hands folded not in reverence, but in fury. The flamelight shimmered in his eyes, wild and red with hate.

  He gritted his teeth, “Boris, Suri, Kana!”