Everyone, whether a hunter or a civilian, knew one thing with absolute certainty—Cyrus was dangerous.
A threat unlike any other.
They had seen his power firsthand, had witnessed the devastation his army wrought.
The memory of towns turned to ash, lives snuffed out in an instant, and the unrelenting terror of his golems was etched deeply into their minds.
They didn’t just see Cyrus as a dungeon boss anymore; he was a monster, one that had to be destroyed at all costs.
But with Cyrus locked inside his dungeon, unreachable behind a sealed portal, all they could do was wait—and train.
And train they did.
Driven by a fire born of grief and rage, the hunters poured every ounce of their strength and determination into preparation.
Scarlet and Cain were dead, their names whispered like prayers among those who had loved them.
Their deaths were wounds that hadn’t healed, fueling the hunters’ resolve with a desperate edge.
Every swing of a sword, every shot of an arrow, and every spell cast was sharpened by memories of the lives lost.
Villages burned to the ground.
Families shattered.
Friends taken too soon.
For months, the hunters trained with relentless intensity.
There were no complaints, no hesitation.
Only the shared goal of vengeance—and survival.
Morris, recently returned to the battlefield, became a beacon of inspiration.
His presence reminded the hunters of what it meant to fight, to never give up even when all seemed lost.
With him standing alongside Havard, Derek, and the other elite hunters, they believed their chances had increased.
Together, they would put an end to Cyrus’s reign of terror.
Yet, as the months dragged on, a dark cloud of uncertainty loomed over them.
They couldn’t predict when the dungeon’s portal would reopen, or if they would even survive when it did.
The waiting was agony, but they endured, clinging to the hope that they would be ready when the time came.
And then, one day, it happened.
The portal reopened.
The dark rift split the air like a wound, its swirling, ominous energy casting an unnatural glow over the city.
It appeared exactly where it had first closed, right in the heart of the city—a cruel reminder of the destruction it had already caused.
But this time, something was different.
The hunters stared in stunned silence as the portal’s rank was revealed.
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It wasn’t orange anymore, as it had been before.
Nor had it shifted to red, the expected progression of danger.
It was black.
A black-rank dungeon.
The air grew heavy with dread as the realization sank in.
Black-rank dungeons weren’t just dangerous—they were cataclysmic.
Entire armies had fallen to them.
They were the stuff of legends, whispered in hushed tones as cautionary tales.
But there was no time for hesitation, no room for fear.
The hunters gathered, their grim determination outweighing their terror.
They couldn’t let Cyrus’s dungeon fester any longer.
If they didn’t stop him now, there might not be a world left to save.
A team of nearly 100 hunters was assembled.
Among them were Havard, Morris, and Derek, leaders of the charge.
The elites of the Lionheart Guild and the Black Serpent Guild joined forces, their long-standing rivalries set aside for the greater good.
Even smaller guilds contributed their strongest members, each hunter understanding the stakes.
There was no turning back now.
Yet, there was one absence that hung heavily over the group: Jökull.
The Guildmaster of the Mystic Tower, who had once promised his aid, was nowhere to be found.
Without him, Mystic Tower had chosen not to participate.
Still, the hunters pressed on.
As they marched toward the portal, the streets grew quiet.
Civilians peered out from behind shuttered windows, their faces pale with fear.
Some whispered prayers, others merely watched in silence, their eyes filled with a mix of hope and despair.
When the hunters reached the portal, its swirling energy pulsed ominously, casting an eerie glow over their determined faces.
They exchanged glances, each silently acknowledging the possibility that they might not return.
Havard gripped his weapon tightly, his jaw set with steely resolve.
Beside him, Morris stood tall, his once-ailing body now burning with a newfound vitality, though the cost of it weighed heavily on his soul.
Derek checked his gear one last time, his expression grim but focused.
The moment had come.
As one, they stepped forward, entering the portal and disappearing into the abyss, their hearts heavy with the weight of the world—but their spirits burning with the hope of victory.
After stepping through the portal, the air shifted around them, thickening with an unnatural weight that pressed against their senses.
They were no longer in the city.
The chaotic sounds of bustling streets and human voices were replaced by an oppressive silence, broken only by the faint rustling of unseen movements in the distance.
A vast forest stretched before them, its towering trees clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers.
The branches formed a dense canopy that allowed only the faintest traces of light to seep through, casting the ground in an eerie, dappled glow.
The forest’s layout was unnatural, almost deliberate, its pathways winding and twisting like a labyrinth designed to confuse and trap intruders.
"Keep your guard up," Havard warned, his voice cutting through the heavy air.
The hunters nodded, their weapons already drawn, their eyes scanning the shadowed surroundings for any sign of danger.
Despite their preparations, an undercurrent of unease crept through the group.
This wasn’t just a forest—it felt alive, watching their every move.
As they ventured deeper, the forest seemed to close in on them, the trees narrowing the path ahead.
Rhen they reached a clearing where the trail split into three distinct paths, each one disappearing into the darkness.
"We’ll split up," Havard said after a tense pause, his tone firm and decisive.
The hunters exchanged uncertain glances.
Splitting up felt risky, but they all understood the need to cover ground quickly in such an unpredictable environment.
"I’ll take the left path," Havard declared, stepping forward with his group assembling behind him.
"I’ll take the right," Morris said. His voice was calm, but there was a steely resolve in his eyes.
"And I’ll go straight," Derek announced, his team of forty hunters gathering behind him.
After brief, hurried goodbyes, the groups parted ways, disappearing down their chosen paths.
As Derek led his team forward, the air grew heavier, and the silence deepened, broken only by the crunch of boots on the forest floor.
The trees around them seemed more twisted here, their gnarled branches forming strange, unnatural shapes.
"So, what do you think? Do you think we’ll win?"
The voice came from Cecilia, a young woman with a bow slung over her shoulder.
She glanced at her twin brother, Shaun, who walked beside her with his staff.
"Of course we will," Shaun replied confidently, a grin breaking through the tension.
The two began to chatter softly, their words light-hearted but tinged with nervous energy.
"Cecilia, Shaun. Be silent!"
Derek’s voice cut through their conversation like a blade. The twins immediately quieted, though Cecilia pouted slightly.
Cecilia and Shaun were inseparable, their bond as close as their fighting styles were complementary.
Cecilia, with her sharp eyes and precise aim, was a marksman whose arrows rarely missed their target.
Shaun, a skilled support mage, was her perfect partner, enhancing her abilities and protecting her from harm.
Together, they were a formidable duo, but their youthful energy often drew reprimands from their more serious teammates.
Walking beside Derek was Victor, a hunter known for his elegant spearmanship.
His movements in battle were like a dance—fluid, precise, and deadly.
"Are you alright?" Victor asked, breaking the silence.
Derek turned to him, his brow furrowed. "Why do you ask?"
Victor hesitated for a moment before speaking.
"I know about your sister. Flora. She died in this dungeon… I just thought—"
Derek’s expression darkened.
His grip tightened around his sword as the memory of his sister flooded his mind.
Flora had been everything to him—bright, fearless, and determined to prove herself.
When she had first ventured into this dungeon, Derek had begged her not to go.
But Flora had laughed, teasing him for worrying too much.
She never came back.
The loss had hollowed him, leaving a wound that refused to heal.
He hadn’t been able to recover her body, hadn’t been able to give her the peace she deserved.
The thought of what might have happened to her haunted him every day.
"I’m fine," Derek finally said, though his voice carried an edge of bitterness.
Victor studied him for a moment before nodding, sensing that it was best not to push further.
"I’ll make sure to get my revenge on that monster," Derek added, his voice low and filled with quiet fury.
He had to.
Not just for Flora, but for every hunter and every innocent life taken by this dungeon and the creature at its heart.
The group pressed on, the oppressive forest growing darker and more suffocating with every step.
Each hunter carried their own scars, their own reasons for being here.
And as the path ahead twisted into shadow, they steeled themselves for the unknown, knowing that every step brought them closer to the battle that could cost them everything.