The morning sky above Grand Aurelis was a bluish gray when the gate of the Rank B Dungeon opened like the gaping mouth of a giant beast. Cold vapor flowed from the stone fissure, brushing the students' faces with damp breath that smelled of wet earth and ancient bones.
That day, there was no light conversation.
Arga stood at the very front.
His gaze was fixed on the dark corridor descending into the earth, like a king about to conquer a land that did not yet have a name.
"Standard formation," he said shortly.
Everyone moved.
Kafka walked at the very back.
Not as a fighter.
Not as a flank guard.
Only as the carrier of supply bags, spare mana crystals, and several healing potions.
The order was clear.
No room for negotiation.
Nadia glanced at him for a moment, as if she wanted to say something. But Kafka only gave a faint smile, as though to say he didn't mind.
Yet it wasn't indifference he felt.
It was distance.
The dungeon was a Skeleton Dungeon.
Its ceiling was low and moss-covered, stone pillars rising like the ribs of a colossal corpse that imprisoned them inside the dead world's chest cavity. In the distance, a rattling sound echoed bones grinding against one another, like prayers spoken through broken jaws.
The first skeleton emerged from the thin mist.
Its hollow eyes glowed faint blue.
Then another.
And another.
Within seconds, dozens rose from the cracked ground, rusty swords lifted without hesitation.
Arga stepped forward.
His sword was drawn.
Golden light ignited along its blade. Not just illumination, but a declaration.
"I'll take the front," he said.
No one objected.
The first wave of Skeletons charged.
Arga did not retreat.
He advanced.
His movement was not like a human fighting, but like a meteor crashing to earth with the determination to destroy itself along with everything in its path.
First slash.
Light curved through the air.
Bones split apart.
The sound of cracking filled the corridor like thousands of dry branches being crushed at once.
He spun, his blade sweeping in a half-circle. Five Skeletons were severed at the waist, their upper bodies flung away like wooden puppets whose strings had been violently cut.
Yogi tried to assist with a gust of wind to break the enemy formation, but before the wind could fully push them back, Arga had already leapt through the gap and shattered the mana cores in their chests.
Rina cast fire magic covered her gauntlets.
Adam stepped forward to stab a Skeleton that slipped through.
But Arga moved first.
Leaving no space.
Allowing no opening.
Every motion was domination.
He was not fighting with them.
He was fighting alone, while the others merely watched the storm pass by.
Kafka stood at the rear, holding the supply bag.
His gaze was calm.
Occasionally he lowered his head as bone fragments flew past his shoulder.
In a time not even long enough for Nadia to nock her third arrow, the corridor fell silent.
Bones lay scattered like the remnants of a feast of death.
Arga stood in the center.
Not panting.
Not wavering.
Only his breathing slightly heavier.
"Move," he said.
In the boss chamber, a massive Skeleton Knight rose from a stone throne. Its black armor creaked as it moved, and the greatsword in its hand emitted a dark aura like dripping shadows.
"Leave it to me," Arga said.
Adam opened his mouth to protest.
But the look in Arga's eyes stopped him.
The battle was like the sun confronting its own shadow.
The Skeleton Knight swung its blade-the ground cracked.
Arga leapt high, twisting midair. The light of his sword burned brighter, forming a straight line that split the darkness.
The first clash created an explosion of light.
The shockwave forced the others to step back.
Arga landed hard, then dashed again. His strikes were faster now, deeper, without hesitation.
Finally, with a full-powered diagonal swing, he split the mana core in the Skeleton Knight's chest.
The giant armor cracked.
The blue light went out.
Its massive body collapsed into bone dust scattered by the wind.
The Dungeon Core behind it was destroyed with one additional slash.
No assistance.
No teamwork.
No shared victory.
***
The next day, they entered another Rank B Dungeon.
A Werewolf Dungeon.
The air inside was warm and smelled of old blood. The walls were overgrown with black roots that pulsed slowly like the veins of some giant creature.
A howl echoed.
A pair of red eyes glow in the dark shadow, followed by another.
Then dozens.
Werewolves emerged from the shadows. Tall, gray-furred, red eyes blazing.
Arga smiled faintly.
"Don't interfere," he said without looking back.
Then the battle began.
The first werewolf lunged with incredible speed, claws flashing.
Arga blocked effortlessly.
A slight cut appeared on his armor.
Adam and the trio of overseers instinctively moved to help.
"Don't!" Arga shouted.
His eyes burned brighter than his blade.
"I don't need help."
Gilbert stopped.
Antonio chuckled softly.
This boy is really something huh?
Azuna restrained her magic.
Arga dashed forward.
Now he did not merely attack.
He hunted.
He leapt between the furred bodies, his blade severing legs, separating heads from torsos, splitting chests open until their black hearts were thrown out.
Blood sprayed.
Howls turned into groans.
The Werewolf Alpha emerged from the darkness. Twice as large, a thin red aura surrounding its body.
It roared, the vibration shaking the walls.
Arga advanced alone.
The Alpha charged, slamming him into a stone pillar.
Dust exploded.
For a moment, everyone held their breath.
Arga stood.
Blood on his lips.
His eyes brighter than before.
The light of his sword was no longer merely gold, but blinding white, like a fragment of the sun forced to be born inside a cave.
With a roar that echoed, he shot forward.
"Sword light of judgement."
One slash.
Two.
Three.
Each swing left streaks of light in the air like fate being redrawn.
The Werewolf Alpha tried to bite him.
Arga twisted, thrust his sword straight into its throat, then dragged it downward, splitting its head down to its chest.
The massive body fell with a heavy thud.
Silence returned.
Arga stood alone in a pool of blood.
"There's no need to help me," he said quietly.
Good.
Show them who you are!
The voice in his head talked again fused with silent cheerless victory.
***
That night, the voice in his head returned.
Louder.
Closer.
Become stronger.
Don't let anyone see you weak.
To be pitied is an insult.
Arga sat alone on the balcony where the students usually gathered.
The night wind brushed his hair.
He no longer resisted the voice.
He listened.
Accepted it.
"I'll become stronger," he murmured. "Until no one can ever pity me again."
Soft footsteps approached.
Elara.
She stood beside him.
"Why are you distancing yourself from everyone?" she asked gently.
Arga looked at the sky.
"Because if I'm not in front… I'll be left behind."
Elara sighed.
"We're not in the old world anymore. Everyone is fighting on the same side as you. Try to trust them." She turned slightly. "Don't push yourself too hard. You know Kafka and I worry about you."
That name changed the air between them.
For a moment, Arga smiled faintly.
Memories of the past lightened the burden in his chest.
"Archbishop called us," Elara continued. "About the blessing."
In the grand hall, Bishop Magnus stood solemnly.
"In a few weeks," he said, "you will receive your official coronation as heroes. By swearing loyalty to the Sanctuary Church and serving the kingdom of Grand Aurelis."
Silence filled the room.
The oath was not mere formality.
It was a bond.
A chain.
Or perhaps a crown.
"To ensure the ceremony proceeds safely, we have cleared the dungeons surrounding the city. However-" Bishop Magnus closed his eyes and exhaled deeply. "Without warning, a Blood Dungeon has appeared."
"A Blood Dungeon?" Elara frowned.
"This dungeon is different, it's extremely dangerous. No one knows when it will open and release monsters. And once heroes enter, none can leave until the dungeon core is destroyed. More than that, Blood Dungeons are said to be the dwelling places of demons. Throughout recorded history, there has never been a Blood Dungeon below Rank S."
"What should we do then?" Arga asked.
"We must destroy it at all costs. I will deploy the kingdom's finest elite troops to accompany you. May your journey be protected by His blessing."
Unease feelings began to pumped in Arga and Elara's hearts as they returned to their rooms.
They choose to ignore it, or maybe forced to...
***
The following days were filled with relentless training.
Yogi refined his control over wind.
Rina deepened her martial arts techniques.
Nadia sharpened the precision of her nature-infused arrows.
Adam tried to catch up to Arga's dominance.
The others honed their skills as well.
Kafka continued training in silence. Quiet but intense. He doesn't want to be a burden anymore.
No one realized his body now is a little bit more muscular, except one name.
Nadia.
Years of experience on 'One sided love,' was really need to be studied.
In other side.
Arga grew stronger.
But more distant.
At last, the final dungeon before their official coronation arrived.
The Blood Dungeon.
Its gate pulsed with dark light.
The demonic aura felt like hot breath crawling over the skin.
Thirty-six elite Class B soldiers stood ready, divided into three squads led by Gilbert, Antonio, and Azuna.
Arga stood at the very front.
The red gate throbbed like a cursed giant heart.
The demonic aura did not strike like a storm-it crept. Slowly. Like smoke entering the lungs unnoticed.
Formations were set neatly.
Front line: Arga with part of the elite forces.
Middle line: Adam, Yogi, Rina, Satrio, Ilham.
Rear and rhythm control: Mr. Rahmat, Nadia, and support units.
Kafka?
Still in logistics and gap coverage. Not at the front. Not in the center. But where he could move anywhere if something collapsed.
And that was Arga's decision.
Not coincidence.
Blood Dungeon – First Floor
The ground was dark red like unhealed flesh. Each step felt like stepping on something alive.
Screeches of small demonic creatures welcomed them.
Horned gray-skinned imps leapt from wall crevices.
Kafka flinched upon seeing them, a strange feeling rising within him.
Not fear.
Not anger.
"Front contact!" one elite shouted.
Arga moved before the warning finished.
His sword blazed brightly.
His first slash extended like a crescent of light, splitting three demons at once. Their bodies burst into red mana sparks.
Dominant.
Fast.
Without hesitation.
Yogi raised his hand. Wind spiraled horizontally, pushing the swarm into a position Arga had already predicted.
Not a grand attack.
But precise.
Rina formed a steadier magic circle than before. The fire in her hand was no longer wild. It was controlled, burning with her fist without disrupting formation.
Adam attacked the left flank. No longer reckless. His strikes measured.
Satrio and Ilham moved side by side.
Satrio gripped his axe more firmly than ever. Each swing followed the rhythm he had trained over and over again. He held off a larger demon trying to break through.
Ilham, with his short blades, sealed the gaps at Satrio's side. Not flashy. Not spectacular. But effective.
They did not dominate.
But they were not left behind.
They were now part of the Team.
Mr. Rahmat stood in the center, cards already between his fingers.
When an elite nearly got slashed,
"Barrier Card."
A transparent layer of light appeared for a fraction of a second.
Enough to save a life.
When the formation grew too tight,
"Kinetic Push Card."
An invisible wave forced the demons back one step, granting breathing space.
He ensured no one died pointlessly.
His gaze occasionally lifted toward the red dungeon ceiling.
Sensing.
Something was watching.
But he said nothing.
Not yet.
***
The second floor was more brutal.
Large horned demons descended from the walls like monstrous bats.
Their roars shook the air.
Once again, Kafka felt that strange sensation.
"What is this?" he clutched his chest uneasily. "What's happening to me?" he muttered.
One demon managed to slam Arga from the side.
Dust exploded.
Several elites moved to help.
"Don't!" Arga shouted, rising with a thin line of blood at his lips.
His eyes burned brighter.
The voice whispered again.
Kill them all.
He dashed forward.
Now it was no longer dominance.
But conquest.
His sword moved like a line of fate drawn without deviation. A vertical slash split a demon from head to thigh.
"Sword Light of Judgment!"
The cry silenced the chamber.
He spun, slashing horizontally.
Heads flew.
Black blood sprayed like spilled ink across the red canvas.
Adam tried to assist from the right.
Arga moved first.
Antonio raised an eyebrow.
Gilbert narrowed his eyes.
Azuna watched with renewed interest.
Arga was growing stronger.
But more lonely.
Kafka did not charge in.
But when an elite slipped on the slick ground
He was already there.
Pulling him back.
When a small demon nearly stabbed Ilham's back.
Kafka threw an ordinary knife from his supply bag.
In that instant, he realized something.
He felt intense empathy toward the demons.
Not dramatic.
Not bloody.
Just precise.
His gaze remained calm.
He did not release his blood power.
He was afraid of losing control.
Arga did not glance at him once.
Yet he was aware.
Kafka was always exactly where he was needed.
Arga felt irritated. He could not accept Kafka's adaptation.
They finally reached the next floor.
Arga stood at the very front.
His light blade was drawn, emitting a soft yet dense white glow. Not wild. Not scattered. The light was controlled, like conviction forged repeatedly.
Behind him, the Class A and B forces formed up.
Kafka stood at the very back.
A large logistics pack rested on his back, filled with potions, spare crystals, ropes, and emergency tools.
He held no weapon.
He was not allowed on the front line.
And he accepted it without protest.
Mr. Rahmat looked over all the students.
"We move as one body. No solo plays. Arga is the attack center. Gilbert holds defense. The overseer trio supports Class B. Do not be provoked by larger creatures."
Arga stepped forward.
"Enter."
And they stepped into a world colored like an open wound.
~To Be Continued~