Henry's grip tightened on his basic sword, its weight unfamiliar but grounding. The system's quest pulsed in his mind: Defeat a Dungeon Boss, Solo. The command was absolute, its "severe consequences" a shadow he couldn't shake. He'd shown his freshly registered F1 Hunter ID to the checkpoint guard, enduring the man's pitying glance and curt warning: "Don't die in there, kid." Now, standing in the dungeon's lobby, he felt the weight of that warning.
The lobby buzzed with activity, a chaotic blend of Hunters adjusting gear, murmuring strategies, and eyeing the pulsing portals along the walls. Each portal, labeled by difficulty, shimmered with an otherworldly light, their faint hum a siren call to the brave or foolish. The F-rank entrance, the least daunting, still radiated a strange pressure, a tug against Henry's chest that whispered of danger. No matter how weak the monsters, dungeons were lawless—no safety nets, no rescue squads. If he fell, his body would rot here, unclaimed.
Henry exhaled, rolling his shoulders to loosen the tension. Hesitation was a luxury he couldn't afford. He was here to win, to fulfill the system's command, no matter the cost. He stepped toward the F-rank portal, its light casting eerie shadows across his face.
"Hey, newbie!" a voice called, sharp and amused.
Henry turned, his hand resting lightly on his sword's hilt. A group of four Hunters stood nearby, their expressions a mix of curiosity and mockery. The speaker, a broad-shouldered man with a thick scar over one eye, wore armor that gleamed compared to the patchwork gear of other F1 and F2 Hunters. A young man with a shaved head smirked beside him, while a woman with twin daggers strapped to her belt tilted her head, assessing. The fourth, silent, watched with folded arms.
"You alone?" the scarred man asked, his tone casual but probing.
Henry hesitated, weighing his response. The system's quest demanded he go solo, but admitting it could invite trouble. "I can handle myself," he said, his voice even, meeting their gazes without flinching.
The shaved-headed Hunter clicked his tongue, grinning. "Damn, he is. Soloing a dungeon in F1? That's got to be the dumbest thing I've seen all week."
The woman's eyes narrowed, her voice low. "Maybe he's got a death wish."
The scarred man chuckled, a rough sound. "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."
Every rational instinct screamed to accept. A team meant backup, safety, better odds against the dungeon's threats. But the system's command was clear: solo. Joining them would violate the quest, and Henry couldn't risk the consequences—whatever they were. He shook his head. "I can't."
The group exchanged glances, the shaved-headed Hunter snorting. "Can't? What, you got a bet going or something?"
"Something like that," Henry said, keeping his tone neutral.
The woman raised an eyebrow, her fingers brushing her daggers. "You really don't want to reconsider? F-rank or not, dungeons aren't predictable."
"I appreciate the offer," Henry said, his voice steady despite the doubt gnawing at him. "But I have to do this alone."
A brief silence followed, the air thick with judgment. The scarred man shrugged, his expression blunt. "You're an idiot. But I won't stop you. Just don't expect anyone to come looking for you when you get shredded."
They turned away, their dismissal final. Whispers of "dead man walking" rippled through nearby Hunters who'd overheard, but Henry forced them out of his mind. Their words didn't matter—only the quest did.
A sharp buzz cut through the lobby's noise, an announcement echoing: "All Hunters, prepare for entry. Portals activating in five minutes." The tension shifted, Hunters moving with purpose, checking weapons, exchanging grim nods. Henry approached the F-rank portal, its light pulsing like a heartbeat.
A facility worker, older, with the weathered look of a veteran, glanced at him. "You sure about this, kid?"
Henry nodded, his jaw tight.
The man sighed, adjusting his clipboard. "First-timers who go in alone don't come out. Especially not without proper gear."
Henry's eyes flicked to his sword—basic, unadorned, the F1 Ground Blade granted by the system. It wasn't much, but it was his. "I'll manage," he said, his voice firm.
The worker studied him, then shook his head. "Your life." He stepped aside.
Henry exhaled, the portal's hum vibrating in his bones. No more delays. He stepped forward, and the world changed.
Shadows swallowed him, the lobby's brightness replaced by a damp, oppressive darkness. The air was thick, carrying the scent of wet stone and a faint, metallic edge—blood, decay, something primal. Bioluminescent moss glowed faintly, casting eerie light across jagged rock formations that loomed like the bones of some ancient beast. The dungeon was alive, its pulse a subtle tremor in the ground.
Henry's grip tightened on his sword, the system's hum a quiet anchor in his mind. Something shifted in the darkness—a quiet shuffle, then another. A faint chittering echoed, like mandibles clicking, sharp and hungry. He wasn't alone.
His eyes darted across the uneven ground, scanning the shadows between stones. Five figures lurked at the edges of the moss's glow, their forms low and angular, covered in jagged exoskeletons. Their limbs were thin, unnervingly long, ending in hooked claws that scraped the stone. Lesser Crawlers—weak individually, deadly in packs.
One lunged, its claws gleaming. Henry stepped back, instinct kicking in, but the creature was faster than he'd expected. A clawed limb raked across his ribs, the sting sharp and immediate. He gritted his teeth, pain flaring, but swung his sword in a downward slash, aiming for the Crawler's underbelly. Too slow—the creature skittered back, its chittering rising.
Another pounced, claws flashing. Henry twisted, raising his arm to block—a mistake. A claw tore into his shoulder, burning pain searing his nerves. His grip faltered, the sword's weight suddenly heavier, his arm trembling under the strain. The Crawlers circled, their movements coordinated, their chittering a mocking chorus.
This was no simulation, no controlled test. Hesitation was death, and the dungeon didn't care about his inexperience. Henry's breath came in sharp bursts, his mind racing. The system's quest demanded a solo boss kill, but these Crawlers were a brutal reminder: he wasn't ready, not yet. But he had no choice.
He steadied himself, planting his feet against the slick stone. The pain in his ribs and shoulder throbbed, but the system's optimization sharpened his senses—the moss's glow was vivid, the Crawlers' movements precise in his vision. He could do this. He had to.
A Crawler lunged again, its claws aimed for his chest. Henry sidestepped, faster this time, and brought his sword down in a clean arc. The blade bit into the creature's exoskeleton, cracking it with a sickening crunch. Black ichor sprayed, the Crawler collapsing with a shrill screech. One down.
The others didn't hesitate, their chittering rising to a fever pitch. Two attacked at once, claws slashing from opposite sides. Henry ducked, rolling across the stone, the impact jarring his injuries. He sprang up, slashing at the nearest Crawler's legs, severing a limb. It staggered, but the second was already on him, its claws grazing his thigh.
Pain flared, but Henry pushed through, his movements growing sharper, more instinctive. The system's energy pulsed in his veins, a faint boost to his reflexes. He parried a claw with his sword, the impact reverberating up his arm, and drove the blade into the Crawler's underbelly. It convulsed, collapsing in a heap.
Three left. Henry's breath was ragged, his body screaming, but adrenaline and the system's hum kept him moving. The remaining Crawlers circled, wary now, their claws scraping the stone. He couldn't let them dictate the pace. He lunged at the nearest, feinting left before slashing right, catching it off-guard. The blade sliced through its neck, and it fell, lifeless.
The final two attacked together, their coordination deadly. Henry backed against a rock wall, using it to anchor himself. He blocked one claw, the force nearly knocking the sword from his hand, and kicked the second Crawler, sending it skittering. Seizing the moment, he drove his blade into the first's head, ending it. The last Crawler lunged, but Henry was ready, sidestepping and slashing its side. It collapsed, ichor pooling beneath it.
Henry stood, panting, his sword dripping black. Pain throbbed in his ribs, shoulder, and thigh, but he was alive. The dungeon's silence was deafening, broken only by his ragged breaths. The system stirred, a prompt flashing in his mind.
Lesser Crawlers Defeated: 5/5. EXP Gained: +50.
The rush of energy was subtle but real, his muscles tingling as the system's rewards settled. But the quest remained: Defeat a Dungeon Boss, Solo. The Crawlers were just the beginning. Somewhere deeper, the boss waited, and Henry's injuries were a stark reminder of his limits.
He wiped the ichor from his sword, his eyes scanning the darkness.