The underground district always smelled of smoke and damp stone. The inn at its heart was supposed to be hospitable—lamps glowing against carved walls, wooden beams polished smooth by years of touch—but everyone knew its real purpose. This wasn’t a place for weary travelers. It was where Dungeon Scrappers gathered. Failures, the adventurer guild called them. The ones who hadn’t passed the adventurer’s guild’s examinations, but who still chased monsters and coin in the shadows of true adventurers.

  At the bar, a burly man with arms thicker than barrels slammed a fist down, bellowing at a customer.

  “Rum is at it again,” Ban muttered with a chuckle. He leaned back in his chair, the tankard in his hand nearly vanishing against his massive frame.

  Ban wore his years like a set of notches on his shield. [Crusader]—tank of their four-man crew, and leader by unspoken rule. Their reputation wasn’t shining, but it was one of the trusted and reliable party. They had survived more dungeons than most would dare. Low to low-high, even one disastrous crawl through a mid-low level dungeons.

  Lett slipped into the seat across from him, pulling down her hood. Her round face, puffed cheeks, and perpetually narrowed eyes made her look more like a sulking child than the team’s ace mage. “Saw the letter,” she said, her tone as sharp as always. “Can’t you ever just put the details in writing instead of dragging us out here?”

  Ban grinned. “You wouldn’t believe it if I did.”

  Willie dropped into the chair beside her, his two-handed sword propped against the wall. The man never looked comfortable without a sword within reach. Trimmed black hair, hybrid armor that made him look half [Rogue], half [Swordsman]—he always seemed to be straddling the line between reckless and reliable. “I still don’t believe it,” he said, voice carrying the weight of someone bracing for disappointment.

  Lauren came last, his heavy boots clanging against the stone. He was as large as Ban, his beard swallowing half his face, his armor nearly gleaming despite the grime of the underground. A [Cleric], though he looked more like a warlord. He took his seat with a grunt, lifting his ale. “Doesn’t matter what it says. I’ll doubt it until we enter there.”

  For a moment, silence settled between them. Four people, mid-twenties now, but with eyes that remembered the same street, the same mud-stained boots, the same dream. That they’d one day prove themselves worthy of an adventurer’s guild license.

  Ban finally broke the quiet. “The fruit dungeon made a full recovery this year.” He leaned forward, voice low. “We’ve been invited.”

  Three sets of eyes lifted to him.

  “Are you sure?” Lett asked, her tone suddenly lacking its usual bite.

  Ban nodded slowly. “One gold each. Two hundred fifty silver upfront. Additional will be paid, depending on the item drop.”

  Willie whistled. “That’s a fortune for Dungeon Scrappers like us.”

  “The offer’s good,” Lett admitted, fingers drumming on the table. “But that place…” She shook her head. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “Exaggerations,” Ban said, though his eyes didn’t quite match the confidence in his voice. “Old tales. Fireside stories told to scare away the foolish. If half of it’s true, though…”

  Lauren slammed down his tankard. “If half of it’s true, then we die.”

  Ban explained, “Unless we remember who we are. We’re just a bunch of dungeon scrappers. We. Just us. That means our group comes first. Always.”

  “We just need to survive.”

  The words settled heavy over the table. Survival. Coin. Dreams.

  ….

  The last day of the week ended sooner than expected. Professors dismissed their classes one after another, their eyes already elsewhere—on private meetings, noble gatherings, or whatever duties occupied their evenings. Students filed out with chatter that filled the halls like the low hum of bees set free from a hive.

  “Wake up.” Rin tapped Suri’s shoulder.

  Suri jerked upright, blinking around the classroom. Half the seats were already empty. Professor Terry was long gone.

  Rin chuckled into her hand. “Class ended a while ago.”

  Suri groaned, rubbing her eyes. “Of course it did…”

  Forms of Mana I had been shifted to the last day of the week, pushed back when the academy introduced the new course. For Suri, that only made the situation worse. The night patrol assemblies rarely started before midnight, and sleep had turned into a currency she could no longer afford. She paid for it in class, dozing through lectures, sometimes even during training drills.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The classroom door slammed open.

  “Suri!”

  Boris’s voice thundered across the room. He stood framed in the doorway, Kana at his side. A few students jumped at the outburst; others muttered curses under their breath. To them, it was confirmation of what they already believed—no refinement, no class. Commoners would always be commoners.

  Suri didn’t seem to care. She waved lazily.

  “Where are you going?” Rin asked, curiosity plain in her voice.

  “Shopping,” Suri said immediately, already halfway to her bag. She grinned, mischief lighting her eyes. “Want to come with us?”

  Rin hesitated. She wanted to say yes. Her fingers twitched against her desk as if gripping the idea. But then she shook her head, the weight of obligation settling back over her shoulders. “My mother’s expecting me to come home early.” She glanced away, cheeks puffing slightly in a reluctant pout. “We have something planned this weekend.”

  The four of them lingered in the classroom’s waning light for a heartbeat longer, the hum of students fading as the academy emptied.

  ….

  The winter wind pressed hard against them as they stepped into the streets of the central district, carrying with it a sharp bite that seeped through cloak and coat alike. The three of them shivered in unison, their breaths spilling into the air like pale smoke.

  The apothecary lay beside the adventurer’s guild, its wooden sign swaying in the stormy breeze. Relief washed over them the moment they pushed inside. The door shut with a groan, and warmth wrapped around them like a blanket. The air was thick with pungent fumes—roots boiled in iron pots, herbs hanging from rafters, and something acrid simmering at the back. It wasn’t pleasant, not exactly, but it was alive with heat.

  A familiar voice greeted them.

  “You three again.”

  The apothecary woman leaned forward from behind her counter, her eyes narrowing as they fell on Kana. She studied her like one might study a rare ingredient. “You look healthier than the last time. Stronger too.”

  Kana inclined her head politely. “We’re looking for stamina and mana potions,” she said, passing over a small parchment. “And some antidotes.”

  The woman took the list, glanced once, and hummed. “This won’t be cheap.”

  Her gaze flicked back to Kana. Something glimmered there—interest sharpened by intent. “But… perhaps we can make an arrangement. I could give you what you need for free. In exchange for your blood.”

  The words fell heavy, colder than the wind outside.

  Boris bristled. His hand strayed toward the hilt of his sword, though he didn’t draw it. “Her blood? What kind of bargain is that?”

  The apothecary smiled faintly, as though she’d expected the reaction. “There is something within her blood I can use. A property that resists toxins. With enough of it, I could refine antidotes against poisons that have baffled others.”

  Kana froze. For a heartbeat, she wasn’t standing in the apothecary’s warmth. She was elsewhere—flashes of words and knowledge she didn’t remember learning but somehow understood. Antibodies. The word slid across her mind like whispers from a forgotten life.

  Boris leaned closer, voice low. “Kana, this is dangerous—”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Her voice cut through his protest. The decision came as much from instinct as from reason. Saving coin was one thing, but she knew—deeply, inexplicably—that her blood truly did have that power.

  The apothecary’s eyes lit up. She reached for a set of polished glass vials.

  And though Kana stood her ground, she couldn’t shake the strange weight of the moment. As if this was not merely a transaction, but the beginning of something that would follow her far beyond the apothecary’s walls.

  ….

  All preparations were finished. Weapons checked, equipment strapped tight, packs filled with potions and whatever small tools might keep them alive. For once, the trio had managed an unusual thing—rest. Even Suri, who usually surrendered to exhaustion only in stolen naps, had woken refreshed.

  Morning hadn’t yet broken. The world beyond the walls of the capital city remained hushed and shadowed, the eastern sky a smear of ink where the sun had yet to bleed through. The air cut sharp in their lungs as they approached the city gate.

  Few merchants stirred at this hour. A lonely wagon or two creaked up to the checkpoint, drivers hunched deep in their cloaks while sleepy guards poked through crates of grain and cloth with half-lidded eyes.

  Opel and Asha were already waiting. They stood out from the handful of travelers—bundled in thick winter garb, yes, but their shield and staff gleamed with professional polish. Weapons weren’t concealed here. They were part of the fashion.

  “Finally,” Opel grunted, clambering into their hired wagon. He stacked equipment neatly at the center, his movements precise, as if each placement mattered.

  The trio took their seats across from him and Asha. The wagon jolted forward, wheels crunching frost as the gate creaked open behind them.

  Silence stretched for a while, broken only by the rhythm of the horse’s hooves. Then Asha leaned forward, her eyes sharp. “Kana. The way you fight… the way you move. It isn’t random. You notice things others don’t. One of your skills must be similar to [Scout], or something near it that makes your environmental awareness better than others, Correct?”

  Kana stiffened. It wasn’t suspicion in Asha’s tone—it was certainty. She nodded once, cautious.

  Asha inhaled, her breath misting in the cold. “Then answer me this: if we are attacked by something far stronger than us, a dungeon monster we cannot possibly defeat… what would you do?”

  Kana blinked, caught by the sudden weight of the question. She spoke slowly. “I will not hesitate. We retreat. We return only when we are ready.”

  Suri piped up, stretching her arms behind her head. “That’s basically what we’ve always done. Run when it’s bad, come back later, analyze, and crush it the second time.”

  Boris frowned, eyebrows knitting. “Wait. We do that?”

  Suri rolled her eyes.

  “Good.” Asha’s lips curved into something close to a smile. But her voice stayed grave, her words carrying weight enough to settle over the wagon like an extra passenger. “Then I name you our leader, Kana. From this moment until we leave that dungeon behind, your word will decide whether we live another day… or whether the Rotten Fruit Dungeon swallows us whole.”