At midnight, Sein Dungeon ruthlessly ejected its loyal adventurers.
All except those living in Liurnia of the Lakes.
Adventurers materialized near the teleportation gate in a steady stream, everyone hurrying clear of the spot before the next wave knocked them over.
Whenever the closing happened, the crowd put on a genuine cross-section of human experience.
Some had scored big — walking out with their spoils held high, swagger and confidence radiating off them like successful merchants closing a deal.
Others had lost money, not just failed to gain any. Their expressions suggested every passerby personally owed them a fortune in gold.
And a third group had simply broken even — no gains, no losses — wearing the most complicated expressions of all. Envy and jealousy directed at the winners, sympathy and quiet amusement toward the losers, all layered simultaneously across the same face.
If this scene had been a movie, the audience would've loved every second of it.
Whenever closing time hit, crowds gathered specifically to spot famous parties and see what interesting hauls the "big shots" had pulled today.
"Look — the Shadow Party! Silver-rank assassins, all of them. Used to be part of the same thieves' guild before splitting off, but they've been making real noise lately. What's in all those bags?"
"Let's see — probably some fine trinkets from Raya Lucaria. Those things have been selling well recently. Look at the Glintstone Shard damage on their armor — they clearly found something worth their while."
"Isn't that the Azure Party? Stationed around the forest zone. Looks like they stole a good haul of eggs again."
"Can't hatch them, though. Not much use for them beyond eating. If only they could hatch one of those young raptor-type monsters and actually raise it — I'd sell everything I own for that."
"Why don't you say you'd risk your life stealing one yourself?"
"You think I can take the mother?"
"Fair point."
"Gourmet Hunters are out too! Wait — is that a Pufferwhale?! They've got a whole sack of them!"
"How many customers are getting poisoned this round…"
"Why not just eat them inside the dungeon? Isn't there a couples' challenge going around — eating Pufferwhale together outside the dungeon and calling it true love?"
"Which lunatic invented that?"
"Hey — look over there! Leon's party's coming through — and they've got a massive hammer!"
Leon's group drew an immediate crowd reaction. The main culprit: Smough's Great Hammer, cradled tightly in Maru's arms, eye-catching enough that anyone could tell at a glance it wasn't ordinary gear.
Leon spotted Terl in the crowd and moved to catch up, asking if he still wanted the hammer.
Terl gave it a real try. He could barely lift it at maximum effort, let alone actually swing it in combat — probably needed another twenty levels of raw Strength minimum, which wasn't happening on any reasonable timeline.
Beyond that, the balance and handling just weren't what he was after in a weapon anyway.
He shook his head.
"Alright — auction it off right here, then."
With a crowd this size, plenty of merchants had already set up near the entrance, waiting to buy dungeon goods the moment gates opened. Leon organized an impromptu auction on the spot.
Final price: over a thousand gold coins.
The buyer — someone dressed like palace staff — hadn't shown much initial interest. Then Leon played his card: "personally wielded by Smough, companion to Ornstein, one of the Four Knights of the King." The man's excitement snapped in immediately, and the purchase followed.
He turned and called out to someone beside him.
"Quick — get word to the princess, tell her to bring funds!"
"You sure it's not Lord Ornstein himself she's actually interested in, rather than his companion?" the other man replied, with the sharpest clarity of anyone at the entire scene.
Regardless of motive, the gold ended up in Leon's hands. The hammer shipped to the palace that same night.
A genuinely happy ending all around.
Finally rid of the hammer's dead weight, the entire party's mood lifted noticeably.
Money for a proper feast, now.
"Boss, mood's good — why not show off what we found today?" Maru encouraged, grinning.
"A little vanity now and then is healthy," Drew agreed, and honestly, today's haul warranted some bragging.
"Fine. Guess I can indulge a little…"
Leon's golden hair seemed to catch extra light as he squared up to announce their accomplishments loudly.
Then Fingri's figure flashed past in the crowd.
Their eyes met.
The layers of emotion packed into that single look could've filled a proper statistical breakdown all on their own.
Leon deflated instantly.
"…Actually, on reflection, low profile's the better call."
He nearly choked on his own saliva. Waved a hand awkwardly and had no idea why guilt had settled into his chest.
He steered everyone away without further comment.
The crowd's disappointment at not getting a story from Leon's group faded fast — everyone knew another troublesome party still hadn't emerged.
Surely they'd bring back something juicy.
Right — the Skyrim Group.
As if summoned, Luluwo and the others appeared near the gate right on cue. Cheers erupted, adventurers pressing forward for news.
Then someone noticed something off.
"Why so many new faces? Where are the old members? Where's Belto?"
"You didn't hear? Belto pulled back from the front line — focuses on compiling intel and handling sales now. And the new faces — remember the recruiting drive? This is their second team, freshly promoted. Young guy named Tami is leading it."
"Tami — the one who cleared nine consecutive invasions on a single life?"
"That's him. Skyrim's picked up a lot of genuine talent lately."
"Wait. Don't tell me — is she one of the talented ones too?"
Someone pointed at the small figure beside Luluwo, a greatsword nearly her own height strapped to her back.
"Why is Gut, captain of the Light Eagle Mercenary Group, hanging around with THEM?!"
Elsa's whole presentation had, at this point, blended seamlessly into Luluwo and Tami's group — nothing separating her visually from a veteran adventurer anymore.
There was another reason the group's collective appearance had synced up.
A sharp-eyed observer caught it.
"Why are their clothes shredded like that?"
"…They look like they got chewed on by a dog."
The crowd registered, quickly, that something about the Skyrim Group's day had gone badly. Everyone wore matching grim expressions. Clothes torn like they'd genuinely fought off an animal. Burns scattered across exposed skin, wounds still actively bleeding on several of them.
The story was obvious enough without a word spoken: caught mid-fight when the dungeon forced its closing eviction, no time left to treat anything.
"Miss Luluwo — any good news to share today?" someone asked.
Luluwo pressed a hand flat against her hair, blasted upright into a full afro by what had clearly been a lightning attack. Her expression carried the specific weight of unforgettable pain and deep, quiet regret.
"The dogs on the Irithyll Bridge…" she said. "You absolutely have to kill them."
"…What?"
Without waiting to check if anyone had understood, she launched herself skyward and vanished into the night.
Tami offered the crowd a bitter smile.
"From here on, explore properly. Don't skip monsters."
"Why?"
"Because—"
He shook out the ragged remains of his own clothing, tattered enough at this point that he genuinely resembled a beggar.
"Because the fights you skip now come back around and hit you square in the back of the head. Like a boomerang."
He felt he'd fulfilled his obligation to warn people. Further detail would have to wait for the actual guide once Luluwo's group finished compiling it.
The hope was that the warning stuck, and adventurers approached Irithyll with more caution as a result.
Though — arguably a little premature. Most of the community's progress still sat parked around the Cathedral of the Deep.
Regardless, the crowd would soon confirm through firsthand experience that listening to good advice pays off was, in fact, an entirely accurate saying.
Because they didn't listen.
Veterans especially.
They'd built entire careers on being a little rebellious.
Fingri, for instance.
Two days later.
"Irithyll! I'm back!"
Fingri's voice rang out through the freezing air with enough raw energy to power a small city — the specific tone of a husky finally handed the toy it had been staring at for a week straight.
"Mr. Fingri — you haven't even had your hot drink yet!" Tusk called from behind.
"Doesn't matter! My passionate heart fears no cold!"
He surged ahead, Bone Fang scrambling to keep pace.
Why exactly this group kept tagging along with the Hasavi Party into the dungeon remained an open question, even to them.
Halfway across the Irithyll Bridge, Sulyvahn's Beast emerged, gathering itself for its usual thunderous entrance roar —
Before it could even open its mouth, Fingri jogged past and patted it directly on the head.
"Morning!"
The Beast froze mid-thought, completely thrown.
Before it recovered, Bone Fang rushed by in his wake, Tusk nervously offering his own greeting on the way past:
"Morning!"
"Roar?"
By the time the Beast processed the insult and prepared to open up with lightning, Matilda came through and punched it clean off the bridge.
Long fall, no fatality. It surfaced glaring up at all of them with pure blood-red eyes, expression radiating a very clear message:
Just you wait.
Fingri had entered Irithyll a full day earlier than this. A mysterious letter had appeared outside his door in the middle of the night, laying out the legitimate exploration route to lower the Cathedral gate properly. He'd followed it, cleared the Deacons of the Deep on standard difficulty, and walked away with the Small Doll.
The moment it landed in his hand, his whole body went numb.
He'd muttered, half to himself:
"…Why did I use Flight before, again?"
The standard-difficulty Deacons had been a completely different fight from the nightmare he'd survived earlier.
Discovering several strands of familiar golden hair tucked into the letter told him exactly who to thank. That night, when Leon stepped out to use the bathroom, he found Fingri's return gift waiting outside his door —
A Saint's Candelabra, exchanged for a Deacon soul, planted upright and conspicuous, radiating the exact energy of some kind of cult offering.
Everyone in the building started detouring around it.
Genuinely valuable gift. Leon's reputation, meanwhile, took real damage.
The moment he had the Small Doll in hand, Fingri had rushed headlong into the city of snow and ice he'd dreamed of for so long.
The letter Leon had quietly passed him covered exactly two streets' worth of guidance. Working from that alone, Fingri had tracked down both the Onion Knight and the kitchen bonfire entirely on his own initiative.
Today, after making quick time back to the kitchen bonfire, he'd decided to head out through the back door and explore the connected lake.
Tami had already put out a warning about that lake, and about the dogs specifically.
Fingri had listened.
He just hadn't been especially convinced it mattered.
Waist-deep water would slow anyone down, sure. If Tami's warning boiled down to Sulyvahn's Beast can follow you into the lake and ambush from there — that wasn't remotely a serious problem for him.
What did people call it, when you got skilled enough?
Fearless.
"Cheers," he said, setting the strongest alcohol he could find beside the sleeping Onion Knight, almost like an offering left at an altar.
Then he led his whole group out through the back door with real ceremony.
The moment they crossed the threshold, the bonfire's warmth cut off entirely.
Replaced instantly by the bone-deep cold of the lake.
Strange howls echoed through the dark sewer tunnel ahead. The monsters swimming below the surface looked genuinely wrong — long, centipede-like bodies, dozens of limbs bundled together and waving in unnatural rhythm, black hair floating through the water like drifting seaweed, eerie cries echoing off the stone.
The kind of thing that shortened a person's lifespan just from eye contact alone. HP dropped just registering their existence.
And when one leapt from the water and wrapped itself around you with enthusiastic affection —
That was when the word Sein took on its full, undiluted meaning.
Even Fingri wanted no part of these things directly. He delegated the whole tunnel to Bone Fang's mages without a second thought.
Past the sewer, the water climbed to waist height — confirmation they'd left the tunnel and entered the actual lake proper.
"It's so quiet out here."
The lake stretched wide and completely opaque. No way to gauge what waited underneath the surface, and the water's drag on movement compounded the fear of the unknown considerably. An ambush here could genuinely go badly.
They pushed forward.
Before long, everyone was on the edge of freezing solid.
Then a familiar shape appeared ahead.
Sulyvahn's Beast.
"Ha! Knew you'd show up here."
Fingri drew his weapon with visible excitement.
He'd specifically told Matilda to spare it earlier. Reason being — he wanted to see what this thing was actually capable of in open terrain, unrestricted.
They had a safety net already built in. Matilda's earlier punch had already stripped half its health. If anything went sideways, finishing it off wouldn't take long.
In theory, essentially no risk involved.
"ROAR!"
The Beast threw its head back and howled — grief, resentment, and pure fury threaded through the sound in equal measure. It looked ready to hand Fingri a genuinely thorough beating.
Fingri's fighting spirit lit up in response. He genuinely enjoyed watching Sein's monsters adjust tactics based on environment — it satisfied something curious in him.
Then the Beast did something nobody expected.
It stepped backward. Retreated.
Seriously retreating?
Before Fingri could finish the thought, two enormous shadows surged up beneath the water's surface.
Then —
BOOM!
The surface exploded outward.
"ROAR!" ×2
"Huh?"
Two more Sulyvahn's Beasts, both larger than the original, both radiating considerably more hostility, roared straight at the group.
"You beat the small one, so now the big ones show up?!"
Tucked safely behind its two enormous companions, the original Beast wore an expression that could only be described as deeply, thoroughly smug.