Matic's grin didn't waver. "Not yet. But maybe soon." He extended a hand, steady and sure. "You're alive because I saved you. You owe me that much."
Baek Ro hesitated, then took the hand, feeling the firm grip of a man who had seen too much yet refused to break.
"I'm no stranger to danger," Baek said quietly. "But I'm not one to trust easily."
Matic nodded. "Good. Neither am I. Trust is a luxury for those who don't know what it means to be abandoned."
The boy's eyes flickered, sensing the weight behind Matic's words.
"Why me?" Baek asked, wincing as his wounds throbbed.
"Because you remind me of myself—reckless, unpolished, but with fire under that rough exterior," Matic said. "And because right now, we both need someone to watch our backs. Alone, you won't last long in these depths."
The distant echo of dripping water and the faint hum of unseen monsters underscored their fragile alliance.
Matic stood, dusting off his coat. "We clear this floor together. I teach you how to fight smart, how to use what you have—because in this place, it's not about raw power, but about knowing when to strike, when to run, and when to disappear."
Baek Ro struggled to rise, but Matic's steady presence gave him courage.
"Alright, General Grimm," Baek said, half-joking. "Lead the way."
Matic chuckled. "Don't get used to the title. Just call me Matic."
Together, they stepped forward, shadows stretching and folding as the dungeon breathed around them.
Matic's mind drifted back to Maverick again. Maybe this time, I won't be the one left behind.
A faint spark of hope — dangerous, but necessary.
The air was sucked clean out of the room.
All around them, red warning screens flared to life, bathing the walls in an ominous glow.
Oh no… he thought, his stomach dropping.
Matic's sly grin faltered, twisting into a grimace—then into laughter, the unhinged kind that made your skin crawl. Baek, on the other hand, stood frozen, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and dread. Slowly, almost desperately, he reached for his phone. Of course—no signal.
Why… why would this happen? the boy thought, heart pounding.
Then it hit him.
Who in their right mind would stumble onto the 200th floor… and challenge the boss?
Because of that idiot, they were all trapped.
The massive display blazed with a single message:
Attention, Players:
The Boss has been challenged… and defeated.
All remaining competitors within this dungeon are now required to challenge the Boss.
If you fail—and all challengers perish—the gate will open, unleashing an unspeakable monstrosity into the world.
The boy's mouth went dry. This wasn't just a game anymore.
For the first time in a while, Matic glanced at his screen. It showed him as one of the 3,000 souls doomed in this dungeon—just like his parents had been. He stared at the display, which suddenly flashed a message:
"You have gained a new conduit power."
Conduit Merge Abilities:
• Special Entana (12)
• Spatial Manipulation (Familiar Bonded: Obsidian Blink) — No space limit
• Heron's Armament Surge (Baek Ro) — 12 feet space limit
Matic frowned in confusion. His abilities had been altered—he could now use other powers? What the hell was an Entana? The distance limitation had always been there, but now he had Entanas too? And of course, there was a five-minute cooldown with each power before he could activate them again.
Before he could think further, Baek Ro's voice interrupted him. "General Grimm."
"I told you to stop calling me that," Matic replied with a sly smile. "It's just Matic."
"If that's hard, you can just call me Tchaka."
Matic looked puzzled. "What does that mean?"
"Oh, that's my name. My little brother gave it to me."
The boy still seemed confused.
"It's a dish from back home, a mix of a lot of things. I guess he wanted to make fun of how I was always 'in the mix.'"
Baek Ro sighed. "Sire, how are we going to get out of here?"
Matic hesitated. "Uh… we don't. Someone has to beat the boss. Out of the 3,000 people trapped here, someone needs to clear the dungeon."
Baek Ro took a deep breath. "That's impossible. This is a training dungeon. The boss is only a B-rank monster, and the path to challenge it shouldn't even be accessible."
"Who the hell challenged this dungeon? The government's supposed to have guards stationed at the boss gate. How did this happen?"
They exchanged a knowing glance.
"The guilds," Matic said quietly. "They probably sent someone in to complete the dungeon so they could expand their base."
But doubts aren't any trace leading back to the guilds," Baek Ro added. "Anyone with teleportation could have slipped in without being checked at the gates. They'd leave no trace—because they're dead and can't be linked to any guild. Plus, when a hunter or player dies inside or outside a dungeon, their body disintegrates, making identification impossible."
Now that this building was locked down, Matic realized with a sinking feeling that he was trapped here too.
And speak of the devil—
The safe-zone marker above the three flickered, then vanished. A cold hush swept through the air just before black motes began swirling together, pulsing with hostile energy. The floor shuddered as monsters clawed their way into reality, their bodies dripping shadows that twisted in the light.
"Oh, great…" Matic muttered, scanning the growing tide. He was back on the first floor now, and every safe zone they'd secured was gone—nullified. They would have to reclaim them all from scratch. And if the three thousand people trapped here died before someone cleared the dungeon, the seal would break and the creatures would pour into the outside world.
Where most saw disaster, Matic only saw an opening. Where there's chaos, there's opportunity, he thought.
He rolled his shoulders, tilting his neck with a sharp crack—then, with a single thought, his armor shimmered into place around him. The burnt-orange leather of his Heron's Flight pauldron creaking as it caught the torchlight. His Sunshield mantle—earth-toned and patterned—hung over his chest, reinforced by supple leather plates that flexed with every breath. Golden coil bands gleamed faintly around his neck and wrists, catching stray strikes when luck was on his side. Beneath the mantle, his Shadowstrike sleeves hugged his arms in black and deep purple, blending into the shadows between torch flickers.
The wide Rootwoven sash at his waist held his pouches and blades snug, the ochre and gold threads swaying with each step. From it hung a Verdant Spiral tasset, green cloth embroidered with curling patterns, brushing against the layered Echoweave kilt that gave him free movement without leaving his legs bare. The dark fabric of his Obsidian Striders clung to his frame, their stitched reinforcements muting the whisper of cloth on cloth. Around his ankles, Windrunner bindings coiled tight—golden spirals granting him balance and silence in motion.
The Quiver of the Silent Heron lay across his back, its feather-fletched arrows moving gently with his every step. The dark grain of his Ebonwood longbow was warm in his palm as his gloved fingers curled around its smooth grip, precisely balanced for the kind of accuracy this situation required.
He looked down at the boy beside him, whose wide eyes reflected the red glow of the summoning circle ahead.
"Boy… I think you might want to stay behind me for this one," Matic said, voice calm but edged.
Then, with a glance toward the shadowed treeline, he added, "Actually… go hide in there. And don't come out unless you hear my voice."
The first monster roared. Matic's bow came up. The hunt had begun.