Go all out exploring the dungeon?
The last time the other captains heard their commander use those words was three years ago, during the campaign to reclaim a fortress critical to the Kingdom of Anor from the Warrior Nation.
In that battle, all six thousand members of the Light Eagle were deployed. After paying an enormous price, they cut down the enemy commander, retook the fortress, and secured the border.
It was also that battle that sent Eliphis's standing within the kingdom soaring. Not only did he receive promotions and titles, but the Light Eagle itself was formally recognized as an official military legion of the kingdom. Even so, old habits died hard — the mercenaries still called themselves a company. In their eyes, being mercenaries was far freer than being soldiers.
Still, it wasn't hard to imagine the Light Eagle's position in the kingdom rising higher and higher — especially once Eliphis solidified his relationship with the princess and future queen.
The future queen of the kingdom would most likely be crowned Serina I.
The captains exchanged glances, caught completely off guard by just how seriously Eliphis was taking the dungeon.
"Alright." Sali clapped his hands. "If the captain values this that much, we'd better have something to show for it before he returns. Let's talk about what we're actually going to do."
Generally speaking, mercenaries were trained for something entirely different from adventurers. Their skills existed for one purpose: warfare. On a battlefield, the Light Eagle ranked among the finest combat forces anywhere.
But put that same group of professional killers inside a dungeon?
Setting aside their lack of experience dealing with monsters, mercenaries simply didn't possess the "trap instinct" that most adventurers developed over time — that vague, bone-deep sense that something was wrong before it killed you. Traps that an adventurer might feel in their gut, a mercenary could walk straight into without a second thought.
That was a serious problem.
And then there was the dungeon's explorer limit, which created an entirely different kind of headache.
The maximum number of people who could enter the Catacombs of Carthus through the Light Eagle's portal at any one time was twenty. Factor in adventurers from Bedford City, and the ceiling rose to thirty at most.
Thirty people.
Outside of assassination missions or decapitation strikes, that number was practically meaningless on a battlefield. The Light Eagle's whole identity was built around large military formations pressing forward together. Breaking them into squads of a dozen would leave them floundering in unfamiliar territory.
So even after Eliphis issued the order, the captains went back and forth over these problems for a long time.
In the end, they reached a single conclusion:
They needed outside help.
Experienced outside help — people who actually knew how to explore dungeons.
"Leave that to me."
The logistics captain, Aston, rose to his feet and said:
"When it comes to dungeon exploration, I happen to know a few genuinely renowned masters. With our reputation behind us, we should be able to bring them in."
Sali looked uncertain.
"I'd honestly rather work with the adventurers from Bedford City. They already know this dungeon inside and out…"
"Absolutely not."
Aston's contempt for adventurers was written plainly on his face as he puffed out his chest.
"How could adventurers from some backwater city possibly compare to truly famous masters?"
Eliphis's orders were treated as absolute. That very same day, Aston rode to the royal capital to call on one of these so-called dungeon exploration masters.
Inside a mansion occupying a prime stretch of real estate in the capital, he was received by an elderly man with graying hair. Age had whittled his frame down somewhat, but the nobility in his bearing was entirely intact.
"Good afternoon, Master Kent."
Facing the legend standing before him, Aston made sure his respect showed.
The old man stood with his hands clasped behind his back, sharp eyes gleaming with quiet intelligence.
Kent.
A dungeon explorer famous for decades.
Since his youth he had wandered through countless dungeons — and that was seventy years ago. Now nearing ninety, he had become a living symbol of the craft. The widely circulated guide known simply as The Textbook had been written by his hand; it was mandatory reading for anyone serious about dungeon exploration, a thorough accounting of the common patterns shared across all dungeons — what practitioners called "the routines."
Master those routines, and the overwhelming majority of dungeons ceased to be a problem.
Master Kent hadn't personally taken the field in decades.
Aston had no idea whether even the Light Eagle's name would be enough to coax him out of retirement — but he had already done his bragging, so there was nothing left to do but push forward.
"Sein Dungeon…"
Kent turned the name over slowly, his expression unreadable.
"Yes, that's the one. It underwent a transformation a few months ago and has been drawing enormous attention from adventurers ever since."
Aston snuck a glance at Kent's face before adding, almost casually:
"From what I understand, Sein Dungeon is full of things nobody has ever encountered before. The old routines are… somewhat ineffective there."
"Hm?"
Kent's eyes sharpened immediately, cutting straight to Aston, who met the look with his most flattering smile.
"Hmph."
Even knowing full well he was being baited — upon hearing that a dungeon existed which defied every established convention —
"Interesting."
Not long after, word spread that the Light Eagle had entered a formal partnership with the legendary dungeon exploration master Kent.
Under Kent's guidance, mercenaries with relevant aptitudes were selected and organized into exploration squads, and large quantities of supplies were procured.
Expectations ran high. People were already looking forward to watching the Light Eagle make a triumphant entrance into this new line of business.
That would have to wait a few days, of course.
Preparation took time.
And a few days was more than enough for certain people to start causing trouble.
Three days later. Bedford City — a bookstore.
Wade set down the book in his hands with an expression caught somewhere between laughter and sheer disbelief, like a man holding himself together by a thread.
The book responsible was a "novel" titled The Four Knights Under the King.
The very existence of it struck him as absurd.
The Four Knights who served under Gwyn — the legendary Wolf, Lion, Eagle, and Bee knights led by Artorias himself — were still little more than a concept to most people. Adventurers had only ever glimpsed them as easter eggs through the Gold-Stone Oath pages and bonfire visions. Artorias had a clearly established story. The other three had revealed nothing beyond their names and faces.
Everything else remained a mystery.
So what kind of person, under those circumstances, could fabricate an entire biography out of thin air?
With the mindset of someone observing a rare and inexplicable creature, Wade opened the book.
His expression became even harder to maintain.
In summary: while dressed up as a biography, the book was in fact a self-indulgent fantasy penned by a devoted fan — gender unclear — complete with surprisingly dramatic plot developments. It invented a "fifth knight" who fought alongside the Four Knights under King Gwyn, sharing countless legendary adventures and forging deep bonds, some of which blossomed into something more.
The further Wade read, the more convinced he became that the author had simply written themselves as the protagonist.
They had even given the protagonist a love interest, rendered with thick, earnest emotional weight.
And that love interest was—
Artorias, obviously. He was the only one anyone actually knew anything about—
No.
It was Ornstein.
The Ornstein.
"Dragonslayer" Ornstein.
Wade nearly choked. He stared at the page with a kind of stunned admiration for the author's sheer audacity.
The book's version of Ornstein was insufferably melodramatic — essentially a domineering CEO who had wandered into the wrong story. The general arc involved the protagonist repeatedly confessing their feelings while Ornstein shot them down every single time, insisting he had dedicated his entire existence to linking the fire and wanted nothing else.
Completely out of character.
And yet, somehow, not entirely unbelievable.
Somehow this book had not only been published but was selling reasonably well.
Who on earth was buying this?
Wade flipped to the front page and found the author's name:
"Starlight Liliane."
A pen name, obviously.
And a distinctly feminine one at that.
Setting aside the occasionally overwrought romance scenes, the book's depictions of what the world had looked like at the height of the Age of Fire were genuinely compelling. Between the lines, one could feel the author's deep admiration for the act of linking the fire.
Probably a devoted Sein fan as well.
If the opportunity ever arose, Wade found himself actually wanting to meet this mysterious person — seemingly an Ornstein fangirl of the highest order.
Unfortunately, the novel had gone on indefinite hiatus. When he asked the bookstore owner about it, the man said all contact with Starlight Liliane had simply stopped — no explanation, no notice.
A strange business.
Even in another world, unfinished novels still exist…
Wade tucked the remaining volumes under his arm and made his way toward the item shop. Along the way, he caught fragments of conversation from adventurers everywhere — commissions, party formations, dungeon chatter — with the words "Catacombs of Carthus" coming up again and again.
Whenever Sein revealed a new area, it turned into a prolonged carnival for adventurers.
For Wade, it turned into perpetual overtime.
As massive numbers of adventurers flooded the new region, all kinds of problems naturally surfaced. No matter how polished the original design felt to him personally, practical implementation always exposed something. Take Maneater Mildred — the one who had chased Elsa and the others. After spotting that major bug, Wade had pulled an all-nighter reworking her mechanics and adding a hard cap on invasion attempts. Ten maximum. Beyond that, he had quietly adjusted a string of smaller issues: unreasonable terrain, poorly placed monsters, the usual growing pains. Compared to the early days, the problems were far fewer.
Which at least proved his design skill were improving.
Still — I never expected the portal to come out right next to Light Eagle territory.
He had no fondness for that mercenary group. If not for them and Count Philip, Sein would never have gone berserk in the first place.
He felt exactly zero guilt about making their lives difficult.
That said, if he cranked up the dungeon's difficulty purely out of spite, innocent adventurers would get caught in it too. That required more careful thought.
For now, there was no sign the Light Eagle could do Sein Dungeon any real damage — so he would treat everyone equally, at least for the time being.
Even so, news of conflicts between the Light Eagle and adventurers kept drifting back to him.
The most attention-grabbing piece was undoubtedly Luluwo's group formally declaring war on the legendary dungeon exploration master Kent.
Luluwo had a genuine gift for generating a scene every single time.
The cause was straightforward: with Kent in their corner, the Light Eagle mercenaries had become insufferable. They talked down to the adventurers of Bedford City — and by extension, every group operating out of it.
That was the kind of confidence Master Kent inspired.
And as one of the most prominent figures among the adventurers, Luluwo was never going to let a provocation like that go unanswered.
It escalated quickly.
The result was a competition: a race to see who could produce a complete strategy guide for the Catacombs of Carthus first.
That premise sounded strangely familiar to him.
If I remember right, the competition starts tomorrow.
Ornstein was about to take the field.