"I won't need three days," Shad muttered to himself.
Then finally, By late afternoon, he found what remained of a camp. Tents shredded. Arrow shafts snapped like twigs. Scorch marks. Blood smears. The signs of a campfire. But there were no bodies.
The only sounds were the wind gnawing at canvas and the distant snap of something moving where it shouldn't.
"Anyone there?!" he called.
No answer.
Shad decided to tear down the remains of the standing tents, searching for any signs—movement, breath, a voice—but the silence remained absolute.
After checking everywhere, Shad didn't slow his search.
Going with his guts, he followed a faint trail—broken brush, scuffed dirt, the smell of old sweat and panic—until he reached a cave, half-concealed by a curtain of vines and mist.
He crouched low, coated his footsteps in shadow, and slipped inside. With his night vision, mana was once again surging behind his eyes. And there he was able to navigate correctly and safely and after a few minutes saw movement inside. Three men. One of them barely alive.
Their furs were torn, skin cut and bruised. One had a bandage soaked through with blood.
The first hunter looked to be in his late forties, maybe early fifties. His beard was thick but uneven, matted with dirt and dried blood. His left arm was bound in a makeshift splint, and his chest barely rose with each breath.
The second one was in his mid-thirties, maybe. Stockier. Broad across the shoulders but slumped like his strength had been drained. He had a square face, a strong jaw, and faint traces of vomit clung to his tunic. He looked like the kind of man who usually smiled, but now only twitched in fevered pain.
The last one couldn't have been more than twenty. Barely more than a boy. Freckles dotted his cheeks beneath the grime, and a mop of light brown hair clung to his sweat-slick forehead. His right leg was twisted at an unnatural angle, and the way his face scrunched even in unconsciousness spoke of constant, searing pain. His skin had a gray tinge to it—and he was in the worst condition.
'I don't recognize him from the pictures. He's gonna die at any moment,' Shad thought, 'Nonetheless, I found them.'
Shad immediately realized, after looking at a picture that the Chief had gave him. The second one was the kids' father. All of them were still alive.
But they weren't alone.
Further back, half-buried under stone and moss. It was etched with runes like broken teeth. Miasma seeped from it in thick tendrils, curling along the walls like smoke.
'It's fresh, and still forming.'
Shad's jaw tightened and his eyes narrowed.
These places were very common and usually manifested regularly in the demon continent. Sickness, beasts, warping energy, these were all signs of a dungeon blooming in the world like a wound.
Their existence was one of the things he truly hates and one of the main reasons why the demon continent had became a wasteland.
In the human realm, they were rarer. Revered even. Because inside them lay treasures—gold, relics, ancient power
Humans liked them and adventurers courted them like lovers. Some returned with riches. Most didn't return at all.
On the other hand, these men were hunters. Not adventurers. No formation. No magic. Just meat and steel.
Whether they had been tempted by greed, or caught in the dungeon's forming pull, Shad couldn't say.But one thing was clear:
They were trapped.
He took a step forward, but something very near moved, something big and most likely a threat, prompting him to turn his head.
A deep growl echoed across the stone.
He froze.
Navigating around the area, he walked in silence and eventually his gaze slid to the left—then down, he spotted a beast slouched in the dark.
'A mountain lion! And its a mutated one!'
Dungeon miasma had opposite effects to animals, and sometimes even trees. They mutate them.
Mountain lions were normal animals, but they could sometimes mutate due to the existence of miasma. Miasma were everywhere, but more on places that have birthed negative feelings. Miasma were significantly heightened brought by the manifestation of dungeon gates.
As a result, it has made the mountain lion larger than it should've been—twice the size of a man. Its ribs jutted like spears. Eyes burned red. Fur sloughed in patches. Miasma warped it.
It had made a nest in the cave. Bones scattered beneath it—some human, some not.
'Is it aware of the human hunters? Not that it matters.' He thought.
After assessing the situation for a few minutes, Shad then began climbing. His hands searched for ledges, cracks, any purchase on the cave wall. Mana pulsed through his limbs, and shadow coiled around his body to lighten his weight.
As he planned, the lion didn't even sense him. Its breath rasped like dry leaves. Its tail twitched. Its head lolled in half-sleep.
Then from above, crouched on a narrow ledge, Shad drew his hunting knife and laced it with mana until it shimmered black. Veins surged down his arms, glowing faintly. His hands trembled and bled—half from power, half from exhaustion.
He didn't breathe.
Then, he dropped.
It was like a whisper in the dark.
One strike—clean, exact—driving down with all his weight and power.
The blade punched through the lion's skull. Bone cracked. Flesh split and blood sprayed. The beast spasmed violently, and tried to roar but quickly stilled as shadows surged into its mouth, muffling the cry.
Shad landed hard beside it, hitting the ground with his shoulder. Not graceful. Not soft. He even struggled to get up.
Then, without a word, he struck again.
And again.
And again.
Blood sprayed the grounds. His eyes bled. His breath was ragged.
Then, like flickers of lightning behind closed eyes, his past memories assaulted him. Fragments of his past life—faces, battles, skulls, laughter long buried—rushed through him in chaotic flashes. Before he even realized, a crooked smile tugged at his lips.
Then came the sound—quiet at first, dry and frayed. A low chuckle.
He was smiling—grinning, even—while surrounded by blood and miasma.
Right now, in the dark, It was hard to say who looked more monstrous now.
Soon, the cave was still.
With the mountain laying broken, his sweat was dripping and blood continued leaking out of his bloodshot eyes.
He stood in silence, staring once at the dungeon gate behind the beast.
Its runes pulsed slowly.
'It would open soon.' Shad thought.
But that wasn't his concern.
Meanwhile, the hunters stirred from their fevered haze, roused by the echoes of the fight.
Then all of a sudden, a blood-drenched figure emerged from the shadows, panting. They flinched when they saw him.
But Shad only said one thing:
"Fuck you guys."
"…"
"Let's get out of here."