Fifty years ago, the world as everyone knew it began to change—drastically.
Overnight, strange phenomena appeared everywhere: shimmering gates, labyrinthine dungeons, and fearsome monsters that poured from them, wreaking havoc across the globe.
No one knew why or how it all began.
There was no clear reason for the sudden emergence of these game-like elements, but one thing was certain—these monsters destroyed everything in their path.
Amid the chaos, a new breed of humans emerged.
They developed extraordinary abilities, powers that allowed them to stand against the tide of destruction.
These individuals became known as hunters. Through sheer strength and determination, the hunters fought back, defending humanity from annihilation.
Over time, they restored peace and stability to the world.
Now, years later, dungeons are still a looming threat, but they’ve become more than just places of danger—they are opportunities.
The monsters within them must still be eliminated, but hunters also raid dungeons for the riches they contain.
A successful raid can bring fame, wealth, and status, and hunters risk their lives in pursuit of these rewards.
Bruce was one those hunters, earning his living from dungeons.
He was a veteran D rank hunter but his experience was close to a C rank.
He tightened his grip on the strap of his worn leather bag as he prepared to leave the house.
The weight of the upcoming dungeon raid sat heavy on his shoulders—not because of the danger, but because of the quiet plea in his wife’s eyes.
She stood by the door, her brow furrowed, wringing her hands nervously.
"Dear, can’t you reject this offer?" she asked, her voice soft but laced with concern.
Her eyes flickered with fear, the same fear she wore every time he stepped into a dungeon.
Bruce gave her a gentle smile, the kind that was meant to reassure, but it never really worked.
He walked over and placed his hands on her trembling shoulders.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said.
“They offered a large amount this time, and with the kids starting school soon, I think I should take up this offer. Just one last job before retirement.”
He watched as her eyes glistened with unshed tears, the fear and love she held for him always pulling at his heart.
She had always hated the dungeons, the endless peril that came with his profession, and now, with him nearing fifty, her worries had only grown stronger.
"But what if something happens to you, Bruce?"
Her voice cracked, a tremor of desperation breaking through. “I can’t lose you.”
Bruce pulled her into a hug, her head resting against his chest.
He could feel her heartbeat, fast and anxious.
He knew that with each raid, he was risking everything—their future, their life together, the dreams they had built.
But he couldn’t turn down the money.
Not now, when it could mean securing their family's future, once and for all.
"Nothing will happen," he whispered softly into her hair.
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"I’ve done this hundreds of times, haven’t I? I’ll be careful. I’ll come back to you. Always."
She pulled back, her eyes searching his face for reassurance. “Just... please. Be careful. Promise me.”
"I promise," Bruce said, forcing another smile. But deep down, he could feel the weight of his own doubts.
The morning of the raid arrived quickly. Bruce stood at the city’s edge, facing the ominous green gate that shimmered faintly in the dim light.
His hands rested on the hilt of his sword as he waited for the three newcomers he had been tasked to guide.
They were young—too young, he thought—but eager, hungry for their chance at fortune and glory.
The first to arrive was a slim assassin with sharp eyes, his steps silent, like he had already mastered the art of fading into the shadows.
Behind him trailed the mage, a girl with a staff nearly as tall as she was, her eyes wide and full of nervous energy.
Finally, the marksman—a lanky guy with an unstrung bow slung across his back—joined the group, his posture casual but his gaze wary.
Bruce looked at them and felt a pang of nostalgia.
He had once been like them—eager, reckless, and ready to take on the world.
But now, every raid felt heavier.
Every decision carried the weight of life and death.
"Listen up," Bruce said, his voice firm but calm.
"We don’t know what’s inside this dungeon, but it’s our job to clear it. Stick close to me. I’ll guide you through. Don’t take unnecessary risks. You hear me?"
The three nodded, though the nervousness was palpable.
Bruce gave them a final glance before stepping toward the shimmering gate.
His heart thudded in his chest, but he forced himself to focus.
His wife’s voice echoed in his mind—Be careful. Come back to me.
With a deep breath, Bruce stepped through the gate, the familiar sensation of the world shifting around him sending a shiver down his spine.
The air was cooler on the other side, the city streets replaced by dense forest.
The sounds of rustling leaves and the occasional snap of twigs filled the air, and the thick canopy overhead blocked most of the light, casting long shadows across the ground.
The group emerged behind him, their expressions a mix of awe and fear as they took in the scene.
He takes a deep breath, scanning their surroundings with practiced caution.
His voice, low and steady, breaks the silence.
“Okay, everyone, be careful. This is a forest dungeon, so the likelihood of goblins or orcs is high. Stay sharp.”
The others nod in agreement, their expressions tense but focused.
The mage grips her staff tighter, her fingers twitching with the readiness to cast magic.
The assassin’s eyes dart around, searching the shadows for movement, while the marksman notches an arrow, his bow at the ready.
They begin to move, the tank taking point as they navigate the dense foliage.
Every step is calculated, their senses on high alert.
The forest is unnaturally quiet, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind or the distant sound of something moving—just out of sight.
The mage speaks up in a hushed voice, her words barely above a whisper. “Do you sense anything unusual? This place... it feels too still.”
Bruce doesn’t respond immediately, his focus on the path ahead.
“Stay close. The enemies here like to use the terrain to their advantage. We’ll likely face ambushes.”
The assassin, who had been scouting ahead, reappears beside the group, his face pale.
“Tracks,” he says quietly. “Fresh ones. Not goblin... something bigger.”
A chill runs through the group.
The marksman swallows hard, his grip tightening on his bow. “Orcs?”
Bruce nods grimly. “Could be. Stay ready. If we engage, we need to hit them hard and fast.”
They continue forward, the forest growing darker and more oppressive with each passing moment.
Every crack of a twig underfoot, every rustle of leaves, puts them on edge.
The tension is palpable, like a taut string ready to snap at the slightest provocation.
The forest air felt thick, almost unnaturally still, as the group continued their slow march.
Despite walking for what felt like hours, they hadn’t encountered a single monster—a fact that set everyone on edge.
"What the hell! Where are all the monsters gone?" the assassin grumbled, his voice cutting through the silence.
Frustration laced his words as he swung his dagger at the bushes aimlessly.
Bruce’s brow furrowed, his instincts whispering warnings in the back of his mind.
"Something’s strange," he muttered to himself, but loud enough for the others to hear.
Dungeons never stayed this quiet. It was as if something—or someone—was waiting.
"Hey, look over there," the marksman suddenly called out, pointing his finger towards a break in the dense foliage. "There’s something ahead."
Through the thick trees and bushes, a shape loomed in the distance, indistinct but unnerving.
It was tall, broad, and seemingly immobile, like a statue.
But why would there be a statue here?
"Let’s go and take a look," Bruce said cautiously, gripping his sword tighter as they all advanced, the silence pressing down on them like a weight.
As they drew closer, the object became clearer.
It was a large clay statue, roughly humanoid, with a grotesque, exaggerated form.
Its limbs were thick and crude, and its face bore no expression, only empty eye sockets staring vacantly ahead.
"Who would make such a stupid-looking statue?" the assassin scoffed, shaking his head in disdain.
Without a second thought, he moved towards it, his footsteps careless on the forest floor.
"Be careful and don’t touch it carelessly," Bruce warned, his eyes narrowing as unease tightened his gut.
His instincts were screaming now.
Nothing about this dungeon made sense, and this statue seemed too deliberate, too... out of place.
"Yeah, yeah," the assassin shrugged off Bruce’s warning with a wave of his hand, an arrogant grin on his face. "Relax, it’s just a statue."
The marksman frowned, his bow held at the ready. "What is even this thing?"
The mage, twirling her staff nervously, chimed in, "Maybe it’s a clue for clearing the dungeon? You know, like a puzzle or something."
Bruce nodded, though doubt gnawed at him. "Perhaps. Dungeons are tricky, after all."
"Let me check it out then," the assassin said with a smug grin, stepping closer to the statue.
He began poking at it, running his fingers along the rough surface, clearly unimpressed.
"See? Nothing wrong here," he called over his shoulder, turning to face Bruce.
But before he could finish his sentence, the air seemed to shift, like something waking up after a long slumber.
A deep, grinding sound filled the clearing as the statue’s stone eyes suddenly glowed with an eerie green light.
Boom!
With a loud crack, the statue’s arm shot out, faster than anyone could react.
In an instant, its massive clay hand wrapped around the assassin’s torso, lifting him off the ground effortlessly.
"What the—?!"
The assassin’s eyes widened in shock, his voice choking in his throat as the pressure around him increased.
He struggled, slashing wildly at the golem’s hand, but his dagger barely left a scratch on the thick, clay surface.
"Step back!" Bruce shouted, his sword raised, but it was too late.
The golem’s eyes flared brighter, and with a sickening crunch, it slammed the assassin into the ground.
The impact was deafening, the ground shaking beneath their feet.
Blood sprayed across the forest floor as the assassin’s body crumpled under the force, a mangled mess of broken bones and torn flesh.
The mage screamed, stumbling backward, her face pale with horror.
The marksman froze, his bow trembling in his hands.
Bruce, heart pounding in his chest, could only watch as the green light in the golem’s eyes pulsed ominously, its massive frame towering over them like a silent executioner.
"A golem," Bruce breathed, his voice barely above a whisper.
Of course.
The signs had been there, but he hadn’t seen it coming—not like this.
The golem lifted its hand once more, readying for another strike.
"Get back!" Bruce roared, snapping out of his daze.
He pushed the mage behind him, raising his sword in a defensive stance.
"This thing isn’t a puzzle—it’s a guardian. We need to take it down, now!"