The grand ceremonial hall pulsed with anticipation, as noise and tension filled the air. Drones and cameras could be seen stationed everywhere, their flashing lights sparkling like lightning in a thunderstorm.
Reporters, journalists, and broadcasters had gathered from every corner of the city, drawn by the promise of a historic announcement.
At the heart of the hall, stood the Blade Guild, a name recognized by every person as a fast rising hunter guild.
Today, its enigmatic leader was set to make an announcement, which had brought the gathering of so many esteemed people today.
And walking toward the front was none other than Harry Stewer.
Camera shutters clicked in rapid, rhythmic bursts. News anchors leaned into their microphones, whispering breathless updates as the man of the hour arrived. Video drones hovered above like mechanical hawks, capturing every angle and beaming the footage live into the homes of millions.
Striding toward the podium with the poise of a man who had done this several times, he drew every gaze in the room like a magnet. His tailored black suit clung to a frame carved from discipline and battle, and his obsidian eyes scanned the crowd with cold indifference, as though weighing their worth with a single glance.
Young. Sharp. Unshakably composed.
He did not demand attention, no, he commanded it.
Even Luk Maxwell, the sharp-tongued legend of the Hunter Daily News, was caught off guard. Known for his blistering sarcasm and fearless Dungeon War commentaries, the veteran reporter stood front and center, his camera already live-streaming. But for once, he wasn't speaking.
He was staring.
Then, with a calm yet commanding voice, Harry began to speak.
"I am pleased, no, honored, to announce," Harry said, letting the moment build, "that as of this morning, the Blade Guild has successfully conquered and eradicated over 80% of the active dungeons across this city and the neighboring territories!"
The hall erupted again, this time louder. Weapons were raised. Shields thudded against the marble floor. Cheers burst forth like a battle cry.
"BLADE GUILD! BLADE GUILD!"
The chant filled the chamber, the sound shaking the crystal chandeliers above. It was pride. It was unity. It was victory.
He continued, his tone shifting, humble and heartfelt.
"This isn't just my victory," he said. "This is ours. I stand here not as a lone hero, but as a representative of every hunter who bled, who risked their life, who stood on the frontlines."
His gaze swept across the room.
"To every guild that fought alongside us… we salute you. To every hunter who pushed beyond their limits… we thank you. You are the reason we stand strong today. And because of that strength…"
He paused, letting his next words strike deep.
"…we now set our sights on the final frontier: The Central Dungeon."
Gasps echoed from the back rows. Even the most veteran hunters tensed at the mention of it. The Central Dungeon… the oldest, most dangerous rift. A place where many had entered, and none had returned.
Harry's eyes blazed with determination.
"We will march forward. We will not rest. We will not retreat. Until the last dungeon falls, and our world is free again. We will hunt and kill the Dungeon Boss!"
Silence slammed down like a guillotine.
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The air thickened, bristling with tension. The jovial hunters, just moments ago basking in glory, now stood frozen. Jaws dropped in disbelief.
Every camera stopped clicking.
Not a whisper. Not a cough. Not even the hum of the ceremonial lights above.
It was as if the very name had authority over sound itself.
And somewhere in the front row, Luk Maxwell, the reporter of the Hunter Daily news blinked.
Once.
Twice.
His expression flickered between confusion, disbelief, and something dangerously close to amusement. Then, as if his brain finally accepted what his ears had heard, he slowly tilted his head to the side, brought the microphone up to his mouth, and spoke in his usual dry, deadpan drawl.
"Wait… that's it? That's the big reveal?"
A few people exchanged nervous glances.
Luk turned to the audience, gesturing with a lazy wave of his hand, then pointed a casual finger at Harry like he was calling out a magician for showing a rabbit instead of a dragon.
"Ladies and gentlemen of Gordon City," he said with exaggerated solemnity, "you heard it here first. Another clown has risen from the ashes of ego to slap the Devil and call it foreplay."
A few chuckles slipped out, sharp, surprised, and a bit desperate. Not true laughter, but more like the wheeze people let out when they realize the rollercoaster has no brakes.
Harry, sensing the awkward tension, leaned forward like a seasoned performer working a grim crowd.
"Seriously? The Dungeon Boss? You're gonna walk into that monster's house like it's a bake sale? What, you bringing cookies and cake to appease it?" Luk inquired.
He sighed heavily into the mic, theatrically rubbing his temples like a man who'd just watched someone put a fork in a toaster.
"I've been doing this for a long time, folks. I've seen all kinds. The noble martyrs. The hot-headed rookies. The mid-life crisis crusaders. And every single time someone says Dungeon Boss with a straight face, I start mentally drafting their obituary with a big, bold 'Oops' at the top."
This time, the laughter was a little louder, but still uneasy.
Because despite the jokes, everyone in that hall knew the truth.
The Dungeon Boss.
The name didn't just invoke fear, it carries a lot of grim memories. It was a scar on the collective mind of every hunter, every guild, every nation.
It was a wound that had never closed.
And the whispers began again.
Low. Hushed. Terrified.
"No one's ever come back alive, neither were their dead bodies found."
"A hundred S-rank hunters went in last year… we didn't even get corpses."
"My cousin went with an elite unit. The comms cut off two minutes in. Static. Just static."
Even the fresh-faced rookies, the ones too young to have lived through the first failed expeditions, were shifting in place, knuckles whitening around weapon hilts, eyes darting around like prey animals sensing a predator.
Luk, always one to push the line between comedy and cruelty, grinned as he twisted the knife.
"Well, Harry…" he said, voice rich with sarcasm, "if you're planning to knock on Death's front door, you could always go alone. I hear he likes his meat bold, seasoned, and very brave. Wait, is that not you?"
A ripple of laughter broke through again, this time more genuine.
But Harry? He didn't laugh. He didn't even react to the mocking laughs around him.
He simply just stepped forward, a single stride that echoed silently, his eyes never leaving Luk's.
When he spoke, his voice wasn't raised. But it carried like a declaration from a king, or a blade being unsheathed.
"I'm not going in to die," he said, every syllable carved from iron. "I'm going in to end it, whether you agree with me or not."
There was an immediate silence.
No punchline followed. No mocking rebuttal. Luk's grin faltered, just slightly, as a fresh wave of unease passed over the room.
Moreover, someone near the back had spoken up, his voice carried out loud across the hall.
"Are you seriously dumb? The dungeon boss literally eats S-ranks for breakfast."
That was the truth.
And everyone knew it.
Luk Maxwell cleared his throat, eyes narrowing as he searched Harry's face for the slightest crack of fear, or uncertainty. But there was nothing. Only a calm, grounded conviction.
He turned back to the crowd, shrugging with a dramatic flair.
"You all heard him," Luk said. "He wants to walk into the pit that chews up gods and spits out ash."
He gestured around the hall, his voice louder now, cutting across the growing tension.
"How many have tried? How many with legends, titles, sacred relics, and invincible egos walked into that dungeon... and never came back out?"
His hand dropped.
"And now you want to follow that same path, Harry?"
But he remained still. Like a statue forged from divine ore. And when he spoke again, it wasn't just to Luk.
It was to everyone.
To every hunter watching.
To the world.
"I'm not chasing fame. I'm not chasing glory. I'm walking into that dungeon… because it's time someone did what needed to be done."
Harry stood firm at the center of the ceremonial hall, the golden insignia of the Blade Guild gleaming on his chest like a sunburst of defiance.
His gaze swept over the sea of doubting eyes.
"How many more years," he said, voice steady and cold as mountain wind, "are we going to let that dungeon haunt us?"
"We built the Guilds. We trained Awakened. We cleared dungeons. Fought horrors most people only see in nightmares. And every time we fell, we stood back up. Humanity didn't break."
A murmur of agreement stirred in the crowd now. Faces that had been hardened with doubt began to soften… just a little.
"But one dungeon…" Harry said, lowering his hand slowly. "One dungeon has remained. A scar in the heart of the world."
"The Dungeon Boss."
He let the name linger.
"They say it's impossible. That it's suicide. That no one can defeat the Dungeon Boss. So they don't try."
He stepped forward again, eyes burning now.
"But that ends today."
A flash of light danced in his irises.
"I have full confidence in the Blade Guild," Harry declared, his voice ringing with unshakable conviction. "We've mapped eighty percent of the dungeon. Eighty percent! We've done what no one else has even attempted. We've faced horrors in that place that would break armies, and still yet, we lived. We've adapted. Grown stronger and smarter."
He clenched a fist, raising it skyward like a banner.
"This last stretch? It's ours. A piece of cake."
Some in the crowd scoffed. Others chuckled nervously.
But the fire in Harry's voice didn't falter.
"Yes, those S-rankers are dead. But let me say it loud for all of you who keep comparing us to the past, we are not them."
The Blade Guild members behind him rose to their feet in perfect unison, like a tidal wave of discipline and belief. Their armor gleamed, their eyes unwavering.
"We are the Blade Guild," Harry roared, his voice crashing like thunder. "We don't chase glory. We define it."
The hall was still for a heartbeat.
"We will go in and come back victorious!"
And then…
Hiss.
The sound was subtle at first, like steam escaping a cracked pipe. But it multiplied. One by one, hunters across the hall began jeering, scoffing, sneering with thinly veiled contempt.
Some even shook their heads.
Others outright laughed.
Harry's jaw tightened. That wasn't the reaction he'd expected, not after that speech, not after baring his convictions in front of everyone.
Instead of reverence, he got ridiculed.
One hunter near the back leaned toward his companion and muttered, loud enough to be heard:
"Tch… I skipped my cousin's wedding for this crap?"
Another snorted beside him. "You think that's bad? I pawned my sniper rifle to afford the dress code!"
Laughter spread like wildfire.
Mocking! Hissing! Scoffing!
Harry's fingers curled into fists at his sides.
And then, like a vulture swooping in for the kill, Luk Maxwell stepped forward again, his eyes gleaming, voice already primed for performance.
He tapped the mic twice, the reverb intentionally jarring.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he said with theatrical flair, "you heard it here first. Straight from the lips of the Blade Guild leader himself; another death march has been scheduled!"
"Maybe if you had taken the name Harry Potter, I would have believed you had a chance. But, Harry Stewer? What's next? Hogwarts Catering Service?"
A few choked on their laughter.
Others applauded sarcastically.
"That's right," Luk went on, striding to the edge of the stage like he owned it. "Tonight's exclusive? The Blade Guild is serving up premium-grade S-rank meat for the Dungeon Boss. Bon appétit, you nightmare-loving freak!"
The hall roared with laughter now, genuine, uncontrollable belly-laughs. Even some Guild members flinched, their earlier zeal now looking oddly misplaced.
Luk turned to one of the holo-cameras hovering nearby and gave a dazzling grin.
"This is Luk Maxwell from the Hunter Daily. Live, direct, and in disbelief."
He paused dramatically and leaned into the mic.
"If you've ever wondered what suicidal overconfidence looks like… look no further."
Then he gave a short bow to Harry, mocking, theatrical.
"May your death be glorious."
The camera lights blinked. The feed was broadcasting worldwide.
Harry didn't respond. He couldn't.
For a single moment, he stood alone; his voice drowned by mockery, his dream trampled under boots of ridicule.
But Luk Maxwell wasn't done yet.
"I mean, give it up for Harry, everyone!" he said, voice practically dripping with sarcasm. "Nothing screams 'success' like walking into the world's deadliest dungeon because you 'feel ready.'" He mimed air quotes with exaggerated flair. "Feeling ready cures death now, apparently!"
The audience at home lost it.
Viewers across HunterTok and StreamShatter clipped the moment instantly, looping Harry's commentary over dramatic music, horror sound effects, and even cat memes.
The internet exploded with edited clips of Harry's solemn face juxtaposed with "Another one bites the dust" playing in the background.
"Next time," Luk added, glancing at the camera with a wink, "maybe bring a wand, who knows, you might be able to conjure spells like Harry Potter."
Laughter erupted again online and off.
Luk turned to face the camera head-on for his closing monologue.
"This is Luk Maxwell, your favorite cynical voice of reason, signing off from the Blade Guild's pep rally to purgatory. Remember, folks: bravery is admirable… but stupidity has a body count."
He gave a mock salute.
"Sleep tight, Gordon. And Harry? Try not to die too early. The ratings are better if you at least make it past the first corridor."
The screen faded to black with a final note of jazzy outro music.
But by then, it was too late.
Harry Stewer wasn't just trending. He was the news. He was the joke. And he was the talk of the town.
#AnotherHeadstoneHunter
#BladePlunge
#DungeonDinner
#HarryVsCommonSense
The internet had crowned its new fool.
And yet… somewhere behind that storm of mockery and satire, in the shadows of the guild's retreating steps… Harry's expression remained unchanged. If anything, he was more inclined to get rid of the dungeon boss, more than ever.
Because while the world laughed, he was already preparing for war. Or maybe his death… haha!