Frank stood near the stone map table in Room 6, studying the glowing projection of the Blackmouth Labyrinth—a twisting, half-charted maze beneath a ruined cityscape, full of damp corners and sudden teeth.
Hazen and Lira stood on the other side, gear already prepped. The fourth member—a heavyset man in plated armor with an iron chain coiled around one shoulder—sat polishing his gauntlet in silence.
"That's Dren," Hazen said, motioning to the chain-bearer. "He doesn't talk much, but if you see something coming at you fast, get behind him."
"Solid advice," Frank said, nodding.
Lira leaned over the map projection and flicked her finger through one corridor. "Three known access points. This one collapsed last month. That leaves eastern entry and sewer drop."
"We're taking the sewer," Hazen said.
"Of course we are," Frank muttered. "Why use stairs when you can use slime?"
Hazen smirked. "Because stairs don't get you behind the first trap cluster. Sewer puts us straight into Zone B."
"Assuming the route's still open," Lira added. "Latest scans are two weeks old."
"Perfect," Frank said. "Blind descent. Rotting tunnels. Wild variables. I see we're embracing chaos this morning."
Lira grinned. "Now you're getting it."
Frank adjusted his belt and looked at the projection. "Tell me about the locals."
Hazen folded his arms. "Shadowmites. Fungal feeders. One confirmed Bone Shifter, but it's deep. We don't go that far unless we have to."
"What about environmental hazards?" Frank asked.
"Humidity spikes. Narrow crawl spaces. Room to move in the main lanes, but Zone C has pinch points."
Frank nodded. "Then we pre-wire chokepoints. I'll set down two pressure sensors, and I've got a smoke burst if we need visual denial."
Dren finally looked up and said, "Good. Mites hate smoke."
Frank raised an eyebrow. "You talk."
"Only when it matters."
"Fair."
Lira pulled out a folded map with her own scribbles. "We're not doing heroics. This is recon-clear. We get in, we tag the necro node, and we get out. If the node's cracked, we bounce."
"Anyone have anti-curse gear?" Frank asked.
Dren patted a runestone on his chest. "One-use shield."
"I've got glyph wraps for everyone," Frank added. "Not perfect, but they'll buffer you for twenty seconds. Long enough to react."
That got a look from Hazen.
"You bring pre-charged wraps?" he asked.
Frank nodded. "Made them last night. Bound to null-tier glyphs."
Hazen smirked. "Trader with foresight. I like it."
Frank tapped the map. "Route here has a lateral wall chamber. Probably a fake wall or nest pocket. You'll want me mid-line."
"We were planning to throw you at the back," Lira said.
"Then you'd lose your scout before the midpoint," Frank said coolly.
A beat passed. Then Hazen laughed. "He's not wrong."
Dren stood. "I'll front. Hazen takes mid. Lira, roam right. Trader stays just behind me."
"Gear check in two," Lira said. "No last-minute surprises."
Frank slid a hooked blade into his belt loop and tightened his strap. "I packed for surprises."
Hazen glanced back at the map, then at Frank.
"You nervous?"
"Always," Frank replied. "It's how I stay alive."
The gate ahead of them began to pulse with dull green light.
Their window had arrived.
Lira flipped her knives once, then sheathed them. "Let's go find out what Blackmouth's been hiding."
Frank followed them toward the gate, pulse steady, bag ready.
The gate hissed open, and a wave of damp, sour air spilled into the chamber.
"Smells like someone buried regret down here," Frank muttered as he adjusted his gloves.
"Welcome to Blackmouth," Lira replied. "Hold your breath and your expectations."
They descended through rusted sewer ladders into slick stone corridors, walls lined with mildew and glowing spores. Water trickled from somewhere unseen. Their footsteps echoed in soft rhythm—light armor, heavy boots, soft cloth.
Hazen stopped first. "Trap trigger. Step pattern's off."
Frank stepped beside him, eyes narrowing. "Four tiles are scuffed. That one's meant to break."
He knelt, pulled a slim spike from his kit, and jammed it into the side groove.
Click. A faint hiss released from the wall as a dart mechanism jammed harmlessly.
Lira blinked. "You just disarmed a shadowmire needle trap without even looking at the rune config."
"I read pressure patterns," Frank said simply. "Like they're trying to sell me something."
Dren grunted approvingly. "Trader's got eyes."
They moved fast after that—tight formation, efficient movements. Hazen swept the front, Dren held the left, Lira darted in and out like smoke, and Frank stayed just behind, watching everything.
Then came the shriek.
Two shadowmites burst from the wall crack. Their limbs were slick with decay, eyes glowing red, fangs dripping venom.
"Engaged!" Hazen shouted.
Dren stepped in front of the charge, shield slamming against the floor with a crash.
"Split formation!" Lira shouted, already cutting across the first mite's flank.
Frank pulled a potion vial from his side loop. "Lira—catch!"
She turned just in time to snatch the glowing bottle. "Mana booster?"
"Adrenaline surge. Ten seconds of burst speed."
Lira didn't hesitate. She drank mid-roll, then moved so fast the second mite didn't have time to blink before she drove her blade under its jaw.
Hazen brought his greatsword down with a thunderous strike, splitting the first one in half.
But the third came from above.
"Dren—above you!" Frank shouted.
Dren looked up just as Frank hurled a flashburst glyph into the ceiling gap.
The explosion blinded the creature long enough for Dren to slam it back with a brutal shoulder check.
It hit the ground. Lira finished it off.
Silence returned.
"Efficient," Hazen muttered. "No wasted movement."
Lira wiped her blade. "That potion... that wasn't standard-issue."
Frank shrugged. "Modified with lightning extract. I trade with specialists."
"You make your own formula kits?" Dren asked.
"Sometimes. Mostly I just know what to combine."
They moved deeper—into the heart of the dungeon, where the tunnels widened into a broken cathedral of stone and rot.
At the center: the boss.
A Rotted Howlbeast, stitched together from dead mites and fungus, with a massive bony jaw and clawed limbs twice the size of Dren's shield.
It turned toward them with a screech that made the walls shiver.
"Positions!" Hazen barked. "Frank—support spread!"
Frank already had his gear ready. "Glyph markers going down!"
He slid three rune chips into the ground—each giving a small defensive pulse to whoever stood near it.
"Lira, right path. Dren left. I'll track its movement speed and call out shifts."
The Howlbeast roared and charged.
The fight was chaos.
Dren blocked claw swipes like thunderclaps, Lira darted across its legs, slicing tendons. Hazen's blade flashed with each strike—but it wasn't enough.
Then Frank stepped up—literally. He threw a glass snap-pouch that exploded in a burst of cold fog, masking Lira's escape path.
"On your right!" he shouted.
"Got it!"
Another glyph marker went down—this one a knockback field. When the Howlbeast stepped on it, it staggered just long enough for Hazen to drive his blade through its spine.
The creature let out one final shriek—then collapsed in a steaming pile of rot.
A long silence followed.
Dren leaned against his shield. "That thing was stronger than expected."
"Adapted mid-fight," Lira said, breathless. "We would've been skewered if we hadn't had cover."
Hazen turned to Frank. "Those glyphs. The cold bomb. The potions. Where the hell did you learn to prep like that?"
"I read," Frank said simply. "And I don't like dying."
Then his system pinged.
> [Dungeon Boss Defeated – Blackmouth Labyrinth]
[XP Gained: 980 | Stat Points Earned: +12]
[Reputation + Moderate | Party Rapport Increased]
Frank just stared at the screen, half-smiling.
Lira clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Welcome to the field, Trader."
Hazen chuckled. "You're weird. I like weird."
Frank looked down at his gloved hands, then at the shattered monster.
"I like winning more."
They sat around the cracked remains of a fallen altar, catching their breath. The Howlbeast's corpse still sizzled in the background, smoke curling off the exposed bone.
Frank knelt near his last used glyph marker, collecting fragments. "I can reforge the cores on these. Not bad for a field test."
Lira nudged his boot with the edge of her blade. "You're the only person I've met who treats a dungeon like it's product testing."
Frank didn't look up. "Field data is cleaner when death is on the line."
Dren let out a low chuckle, the sound more like stone grinding. "He's weird, but efficient."
"I prefer resourceful," Frank muttered.
Hazen wiped his sword clean, then turned toward Frank with a rare seriousness. "You ever thought about joining a full-time team?"
Frank blinked. "You're offering?"
"I don't offer often. You made our job easier. You kept people alive. You didn't chase glory. That's rare."
Frank didn't answer immediately. He looked down at the potion straps still rattling against his side. He'd used five—perfectly timed. Two glyphs remained. Every movement had mattered.
And he still felt... calm.
"I'll think about it," Frank said.
Hazen nodded. "Fair. Think fast. We've got clearance for two more raids this cycle."
Lira rose and stretched. "I say let him in. He makes me faster."
"Don't let it go to your head," Frank replied with a faint smirk.
Dren stood slowly, slinging his chain over his shoulder. "Let's get out of here. This place smells like regret and mushrooms."
The system's exit marker flared on the far wall—an arch of violet runes spinning slowly.
As they approached it, Frank paused one last time at the center of the chamber. He turned and looked back at the shattered boss, the blood, the glyph fragments still glowing faintly in the floor cracks.
"Trader," Hazen called. "You good?"
Frank nodded.
But quietly, to himself, he whispered,
"This is where it starts."