Leo staggered out of the dungeon's rift, the violet glow fading behind him as the cavern's exit spat him into the harsh light of New Arcanis. The air outside was crisp, tinged with the familiar stench of the Low District, but it felt like a lifeline after the nightmare within. His clothes were torn, his knee throbbed from the fall, and his hands trembled as he clutched his expired hunter card. He was alone—utterly alone. The weight of Torin, Kael, and Lin's deaths pressed on him, their brutal ends replaying in his mind like a broken record. The Shadow Wyrm King lay defeated, but at what cost? An hour had passed since the ring's power faded, leaving him drained, the slingshot's echo a distant memory. The ring on his finger was dull now, its warmth a faint whisper, but its presence anchored him as he limped toward the Hunter and Dungeon Association outpost.
The Contact Room buzzed with its usual chaos—hunters shouting over contracts, mana-screens flickering with data—but to Leo, it felt surreal. The receptionist, the stern woman with mana-tattooed arms, looked up as he approached, her eyes narrowing. "You're back," she said, her tone clipped. "Where's your team?" Her gaze flicked to his disheveled state, the bloodstains on his jacket, and her expression hardened.
Leo's mind raced. What could he say? The truth—that he'd survived a hidden boss they couldn't handle, that a mysterious ring had granted him power to clear it—sounded insane. He swallowed hard, his voice shaky. "We… we cleared the D-Rank dungeon. Then a hidden dungeon appeared. I came back—I don't know what happened to them after that." The lie tasted bitter, but it spilled out before he could stop it. He kept his eyes down, avoiding her scrutiny.
The receptionist's frown deepened. "A hidden dungeon?" She tapped her console, her mana-screen flaring with red alerts. "That's rare. Hold on." She spoke into a comm device, her voice low but urgent. "Agent on duty, we've got a survivor from a D-Rank with a hidden dungeon report. Gate 7."
Minutes later, the room's atmosphere shifted. A man strode in, his presence commanding silence. He was tall, clad in a sleek black uniform emblazoned with the Association's sigil, his mana aura so potent it crackled faintly in the air. An A-Rank agent, Leo realized, his stomach twisting. The man's sharp eyes, framed by a weathered face, locked onto him. "I'm Agent Voren," he said, his voice like steel. "Hidden dungeons are rare and difficult—far beyond C- or D-Ranks to clear easily. Tell me what happened."
Leo's throat tightened. He repeated the lie, his words halting. "We cleared the D-Rank wyrm nest. Then a hidden dungeon opened. I got scared and came back. I don't know what happened to Torin, Kael, or Lin after that." His hands fidgeted, the ring's weight a secret he guarded fiercely. The core of the Shadow Wyrm King, still warm in his pocket, pressed against his thigh—a prize he'd hidden amidst the chaos.
Voren studied him, his gaze piercing. "Wait here." He signaled a search team, and soon, a group of Association enforcers equipped with mana-scanners and heavy gear disappeared into the rift. The wait was agonizing—Leo's mind spun with guilt, fear, and the ring's mystery. After what felt like hours, the team returned, their leader shaking his head. "No trace of a hidden dungeon," he reported to Voren. "Either it was cleared, or it expired naturally. The main chamber's empty, just the D-Rank boss's remains."
Voren's eyes narrowed, suspicion etching his features as he turned back to Leo. "Your rank," he demanded.
"E-Rank," Leo stammered, holding up his expired card. It was a stretch—he'd never officially ranked up—but the Academy had logged him as potential E due to basic training.
Voren's suspicion wavered. An E-Rank clearing a B-Rank hidden dungeon? Impossible, he seemed to think. His expression softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. "Likely story, then. The party's logged as deceased—Torin, Kael, Lin. File's closed unless evidence suggests otherwise." He nodded to the receptionist, who updated the records with a grim keystroke.
Leo exhaled, relief warring with shame as Voren departed, his aura lingering like a storm cloud. The core in his pocket felt heavier, a stolen victory he couldn't explain. He mumbled thanks to the receptionist and stumbled out, the Low District's noise swallowing him as he made his way home.
Back in his cramped apartment, the flickering bulb cast shadows over the peeling walls. Leo sank onto his mattress, the day's weight crashing down. The ring gleamed faintly on his finger, its etched patterns a riddle he couldn't solve. He replayed the fight—the surge of Usopp's power, the slingshot's precision, the wyrm's fall. The dream's words echoed: power for one hour, three times a day, random and unpredictable. That was all he knew. No limits defined, no source revealed, but one thing was certain—it was one of a kind. The core in his pocket, worth a fortune, was proof of its potential, yet it also tied him to the lie he'd told.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling, his mind a tangle of emotions. Guilt gnawed at him—Torin's screams, Lin's crash, Kael's broken form. He'd survived, but at their expense. The ring had saved him, yet its power frightened him. What if it failed next time? What if it drew the Association's attention? Mira's warnings about relics haunted him, but so did the hope it ignited—a chance to rise beyond a blank, beyond poverty. He touched the ring, its warmth a quiet promise, and wondered what warrior it would summon next. Sleep eluded him as the city's hum filtered through the window, a world unaware of the secret he now carried.