The next stage was the most dangerous—at least for the dungeon scrappers. Everyone knew it, though no one said it aloud. The initial wave of Great Bee Guards always fell upon them first. That initial attack was thought to be special because it was too strong. Probably an exclusive skill of theirs.

  Raydon Kergastel exhaled slowly, his armor creaking with the motion. He let his gaze drift across the scrappers, memorizing their faces one last time. Brave, terrified, stubborn faces. They would break first against the swarm.

  If he survived this cycle… he would remember. And if he could, he would see their families compensated, part of contract or not. It wasn’t his first time entering the dungeon but now he could feel it. The burden of life resting upon your shoulder.

  [Knight Roar]

  His voice became thunder, his will made a sound. A wall of deafening force rolled through the caverns, echoing from tunnel to tunnel. It was the lure, the provocation. Few outside the veterans knew the truth—that the dungeon responded to threats. The initial wave was no random patrol. It was the queen’s strongest guards, her chosen elite, released when danger drew too near. And it was always their fiercest attack.

  That was the dungeon scrappers’ purpose. Their initial shield.

  Raydon stepped back into position, face grimmed from the weight of his choice.

  Minutes later, the buzzing began. It started as a tremor in the stone beneath their boots, then swelled into a storm. From tunnel after tunnel they came, wings slicing the air, stingers gleaming with venomous light. The Great Bee Guards poured forth in a swarm, surging toward the line of scrappers like a tide of death.

  …..

  Kana’s heartbeat thundered in her chest as the swarm erupted from the tunnels. The sound was like a storm breaking loose, wings droning with murderous intent. She almost didn’t see them at first—only the blur of motion, the shimmer of venom glinting off their stingers. Then the first tank screamed.

  “Ahhh!” His cry was cut short as two Great Bees lanced through his body. The force lifted him from the ground before tossing him aside like a broken doll.

  These weren’t Great Bee Foragers. Kana’s eyes widened. They were larger—twice the size. Their carapaces glistened with an almost metallic sheen, brighter, harder, crueler. And their attacks—fast, precise, lethal.

  Kana’s breath misted in the cold cavern air as she crouched, dagger balanced in her hand. The blade pulsed faintly—no, not the dagger itself, but something inside her. A shift. A click. Like a door opening.

  A whisper of instinct slid across her vision.

  [Bolt’s Dagger Style – Progress: 20%]Trait Unlocked: Weak Point Perception

  Kana blinked, her grip tightening. The dungeon monster in front of her flickered—its translucent wings beating too fast for the eye to follow, its body twisting and vanishing into shadow. Almost invisible. Almost untouchable.

  Yet now, faint outlines appeared when her dagger was in her hands. Not lines of flesh and carapace, but threads of possibility. She saw it—the narrow red strip along its back, just beneath the wings. Their weakness.

  Her pulse raced. She lunged, dagger flashing. The blade cut true, striking the mark… one fell off. Then another.

  Kana staggered back, teeth clenched. “It works,” she whispered, half to herself, “But it’s hard to go for their back.”

  The monster shrieked, its body warping back into near-invisibility, wings buzzing with venomous speed. Kana shifted into a low stance, eyes narrowed. She could see its weakness now—but the Great Bee Guards were aware of their own weakness and that made killing every single one of them a challenge.

  ….

  “We have a problem,” Suri hissed, pointing with a trembling hand. Her voice was tight, sharp. “Look. They’re not moving. They’re not helping.”

  Kana followed her gaze. The silver-ranked and copper-ranked adventurers. Watching. Waiting for something. Not lifting a finger.

  Her stomach dropped. Her [High Awareness] made her realize something else. We’re bait.

  Another tank fell, his shield snapping like kindling beneath the impact of a stinger. Kana’s chest tightened as the truth settled in. They’d been sent forward to die, to be the sacrificial shield.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “We must retreat,” she said. Her voice came harsher than intended, the words scraping her throat. “We can’t trust them. To the side—now!”

  “Suri, cover us. To Boris and Opel.”

  Suri’s hand flicked, threads of illusion spilling from her fingers like woven shadow. The ground itself seemed to fold over them, and Kana ducked low, her breath hot in her mask. The three of them crept through the illusory veil, the battlefield muffled like a nightmare half-forgotten.

  They found Boris and Opel locked in combat, shoulder to shoulder. Opel’s arm hung uselessly, blood running dark across his armor. Kana didn’t hesitate—she grabbed both men and dragged them down into Suri’s blanket of illusion.

  “Hush,” Kana whispered. Her tone carried the kind of weight that silenced questions. “We’re retreating. Look.” She jabbed a finger toward the rear. “They’re not going to save us.”

  Boris grunted, fury simmering under his mask. Asha’s pale face bobbed in a stiff nod. Together, they crawled toward a side tunnel, every movement deliberate, the illusion shifting with them.

  And then—

  “Oh no! Bann!”

  Lett’s voice cracked through the chaos. Kana’s blood chilled, and without thinking she grabbed the girl and yanked her down, covering her mouth with her hand.

  The cry had been too loud. Desperate.

  Kana risked a glance. Bann was there, thrashing, his body impaled by multiple stingers, lifted above the swarm like a grotesque banner. His scream faltered as venom burned through his veins, and the Great Bee Guard shook him until the light left his eyes.

  “It’s too late now,” Asha whispered, voice trembling, her own hand pressed over Lett’s mouth.

  Kana’s grip tightened as Bann’s body was lifted by stinger from one of the Great Bees.

  ….

  Wor-en leaned back in the small inn’s wooden chair, the legs creaking under his weight. The ale was lukewarm, the kind of swill adventurers tolerated after a quest’s work. He didn’t care. He sipped anyway, letting the bitterness wash the dust from his throat.

  He had survived another run. That should have been enough. Disabling magical traps wasn’t supposed to be easy—misjudge a glyph, misstep a rune, and the entire formation could collapse. But today was clean. Flawless. No deaths. At least, not in his sight.

  He flipped open his small leatherbound book, the one he always carried. His neat script scrawled another note: Capable [Bowman]—must target wings first. Accuracy vital.

  His quill hovered over the page. His mind, however, was elsewhere.

  The [Bowman]. The one in the dog mask. He could still see her stance with her small frame, the way she loosed arrows quick and clean, each shot placed with purpose. It gnawed at him. He’d seen that form before.

  Kana.

  The name surfaced unbidden. His memory stitched together details he hadn’t wanted to notice—the hint of dark skin at the archer’s neck, the fluidity of her release. The big man in the bear mask? That had to be Boris, his spear unmistakable. And the girl in the cat mask…Suri.

  Wor-en’s chest tightened.

  No! He shook his head. He couldn’t be sure. Maybe he was being paranoid, seeing ghosts where there were none. But then—why had they never spoken?

  Not once.

  He pushed back from the table so suddenly that his chair clattered to the floor. The innkeeper glanced over but said nothing; adventurers left in a hurry often enough.

  Wor-en snatched up his cloak and stormed out, his boots striking against cobblestone. He couldn’t shake the feeling, that gnawing certainty clawing at the edge of his thoughts. If it was them—if they truly had come here—then they were in more danger than they realized.

  He entered the dungeon again. The air was thick, cloying, tinged with the scent of venom and charred stone. The safe zone was empty. Panic prickled across his skin.

  Please.

  He ran. His steps echoed through the tunnels, breath quickening with every twist and turn. He didn’t need the map; the sounds guided him—distant screeches, the clash of steel, the roar of fire.

  Then he found it.

  A wide part of the cave, littered with broken stone. The swarm had struck. The air itself seemed to vibrate with their passing. Dozens of Great Bees wheeled in the gloom, but they were pulling back now, turning their gleaming bodies toward their nest, lifting a few bodies for their queen.

  And the adventurers were ready, as if waiting for that moment. The silver rank and copper rank adventurers surged, releasing coordinated waves of skills—firestorms, earthen spikes, arcs of lightning. Half the swarm was annihilated in a blaze of light. The others shrieked, enraged, and dove. The battlefield dissolved into chaos, steel against venom, spell against chitin.

  “Wor-en!” A voice cut through the din. One of the silver ranks glanced back, recognition in his eyes. “Did you forget something?”

  “The dungeon scrappers,” Wor-en demanded, chest heaving. “Where are they?”

  The man squinted past him, as if the question were strange. Then he shrugged. “Some of them are still alive, I guess.”

  The casualness of it—like lives were coin tossed into a gutter—made Wor-en’s blood boil. But he didn’t waste time arguing. He ran.

  Bodies lay where the swarm had passed. Masks shattered. Blood pooled black on the cavern floor. Some scrappers had simply vanished, their corpses devoured or carried away.

  Only three still moved. Three survivors , crawling among the ruin. It was not them.

  The rest were gone.