Hunting monsters down here had its gold-plated rules, top of the list: expect the unexpected and know that any scrap of “truth” you hold is likely the tip of an iceberg. Never, ever let your guard down—even if you've taken down 99 out of 100 beasts, it’s that one time you slip that a monster will be right there, eager to remind you why that’s the only number that counts.

Now, the lower-tier creatures? Sure, you could outwit a few—sometimes even bait them into their own traps if they were dim enough. But every so often, you’d stumble on a sharp one, a beast with just enough cunning to flip the game when you thought you had the upper hand.

Carel knew this far too well. The Delver’s Guild had drilled it into his bones with training that left no space for errors. His father, in the handful of lessons he’d managed to share before he was gone, had hammered it home too.

So, when Carel spotted the tall, scruffy elf emerging from the trees, bearded and laughing with an all-too-easy familiarity as his team filed in, Carel recognized him in an instant. And he knew another golden rule: a few were exceptions to all the rest. Those were the prodigies, late bloomers who'd traded past pursuits for the thrill of delving, advancing their cores at breakneck speed. As for their skills, teamwork, instincts? The odds of a monster getting the jump on them were slimmer than slim.

Tharen and his crew were cut from that cloth. Carel had heard the stories: Tharen, once a captain of the City Guard in border town of Vakaris and the governor’s enforcer, had left that life behind after a scandal involving corruption at the top. He’d walked out, joined the Delver’s Guild, and wasted no time rising through the ranks. It wasn’t just Tharen, though; his team—all as rare as they came—had shown up already at the peak of the grey core, and in no time had surged ahead, sitting comfortably at mid-yellow. Carel felt a twinge of jealousy, a smolder of envy.

But he wasn’t a fool. As meteoric as their rise was, there was always more to the story, and Tharen’s “justice-seeker” reputation was only one side of the coin. Carel had heard the rumors, and he knew—no further evidence needed—that it was time to cut his losses and get the hell out.

Before Carel could even think of slipping off, Tharen’s gaze locked onto him—sharp and sudden, like a hawk on a field mouse. A wide grin broke across Tharen’s face as he threw a casual wave, though Carel felt a cold shiver run down his spine. Stars above—what sort of mid-yellow core had perception that sharp? He caught Soril and Lira exchanging wary glances, and with a quiet nod, they all stepped forward. Too late to back out now without giving offense.

“Carel! Out for a bit of sport?” Tharen’s voice was warm, maybe too warm. His boot, meanwhile, tapped idly against the side of a beast ensnared in a gold-etched, shimmering metallic vines—a high-end enchantment, no cut-rate kit. Carel squinted at the creature inside. It matched the poster’s description, but its edges wavered in shadowy haze, giving its long limbs, spindly neck, and whip-like tail an almost ghostly shimmer. It looked smaller than expected, and Carel stifled an inward groan. If only they hadn’t missed the divinator; this would’ve been a breeze.

“Some kind of familiar, drenched in distortion magic,” Tharen added with a smirk, catching Carel’s stare. He sent a kick straight into its exposed chest, the crack echoing in Carel’s ears. “Crafty little beast,” Tharen sneered. “Would’ve been a fun fight, though capturing’s not my usual sport.”

Two more kicks, each more vicious than the last, made Carel’s stomach twist. Tharen’s grin showed he was enjoying it far too much, savoring every blow. And then he turned to Carel with that same easy grin, as if he hadn’t just stomped all over the creature’s dignity.

“Good to see more folks out here,” he said, almost friendly. “These creatures are a damned scourge, tame or not. Would’ve rather ended it.” He punctuated the thought with another brutal kick. Despite its small size, the creature glared at him, fierce red, slitted eyes practically ablaze with defiance. Carel felt a flicker of fear—there was a ferocity in its stare that made him question just how “tamed” it really was.

“Thinks it’s clever, does it?” Tharen snarled, grinding his heel into the creature’s side. “Tried to make the most of my mercy for letting it live. Looks like it didn’t appreciate the favor.” Another disdainful kick. “What’re you staring at, you little pest?”

Beside Carel, the divinator shifted uncomfortably, apparently aware it was time to intervene before Tharen went too far—no handler would pay full price for a battered creature.

“Uh, maybe go easy there, Tharen,” the divinator said, voice as smooth as he could manage. “Unless you’re hoping for a pay cut on account of a broken product?”

Tharen threw him a look, his irritation briefly flaring before he chuckled. “A pay cut? Please. They should be giving me a bonus for teaching this thing some respect.”

The robed mage chimed in with a grin, “Careful, Tharen. If that cage slips up, looks like it’s got a score to settle with you.”

“Oh, let it try,” Tharen scoffed, landing one last jab to the beast’s side, though less brutal this time. “Better it serves our own here than running wild, tearing up the land,” he added, his tone suddenly warm as he leaned on his sword, eyeing the caged creature with that predator’s glint. “At least this way, they’re useful. Won’t just go to waste in the wild, feasting on anything that moves.”

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

Carel offered a faint, skeptical smile. This guy was a piece of work—clearly bruised by the creature’s little act of defiance and now taking his wounded pride out on it. “Efficient, I guess,” he said, “And… less mess.”

Tharen laughed, deep and hearty. “Exactly! And to think, I used to dream about hunting them to the last, wiping them out to see the forest free of the things. But here we are, in a place that’s practically a breeding ground for them.” He looked back at Carel with a fierce gleam. “What about you, Carel? How do you feel about the dungeon?”

Carel hesitated, as if his answer might actually matter to this bastard. “Well… hunting monsters makes us stronger, and we rely on the resources we get from these dungeons. Not sure many would welcome seeing these pits vanish, no matter the risk,” he replied, carefully choosing his words.

Tharen seemed satisfied, giving Carel a nod. But the mage beside him nudged him forward. “Alright, let’s get moving. Might actually snag another mission if we don’t loiter.”

Tharen groaned but shot Carel’s team a warm grin. “As much as I’d rather stick to straight-up hunts, coin has this pesky way of deciding my priorities.” He chuckled. “Good luck with whatever sneaky vermin you’re after! Show it that clever doesn’t count for much.” He tossed a final glare at the caged creature, still a bit sore.

Carel nodded, and just like that, Tharen’s group moved off. Carel let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“What now?” Soril grumbled as Tharen and the mage’s shapes faded into the trees.

“Nothing!” Carel huffed, glancing back in the direction of Tharen’s gang, then turning towards the camp. Lira and Soril followed, no questions asked. “Let’s get back and pick a new mission. This contract’s been a disaster since the start. Three missions, three dead-ends. And still empty-handed.”

Soril snorted, adjusting her staff as she refreshed a spell. “Maybe if we hadn’t chased unknown monsters each time. We were flying blind on all three hunts.”

“Oh, I adored every second,” Lira drawled, tone dripping with sarcasm. “Chasing after a target that’s always a step ahead and still sidestepping random attacks? My idea of paradise.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Carel shrugged. “We could’ve been stuck with Tharen the whole time.”

Lira laughed. “Fair point. That guy gives ‘team morale’ a whole new meaning. I think the creature’s the one who outsmarted him.”

“Probably,” Soril agreed. “So, what’s the plan for later? Less... wild goose chasing?”

Carel sighed. “Let’s go with something familiar. Hunt the monsters we know, ones we’ve tackled before. Coin is low but better than a whole load of nothing.”

“Back to basics, then. I can live with that,” Lira grinned.

“Great,” Soril muttered. “Because if we’re chasing shadows again, I’ll probably turn into the next monster on the bounty list.”

Carel scoffed, still a bit down but glad for Soril and Lira’s company. His gaze stayed sharp, aware they were still in a dungeon. Their chatter continued until they saw the camp just downhill—along with Tharen’s team descending toward it.

Almost pitied that caged creature, though. Probably belonged to some high-core pathwalker, and heaven forbid if they came looking to reclaim it. If anything, the handlers should get a taste of their justice. And Tharen, maybe.

He half-smirked, amused by the thought of the beast getting loose right in Tharen’s face—wait.

Carel froze, his expression shifting from mirth to horror. Lira and Soril, catching his look, exchanged glances and asked what was wrong. He simply pointed at Tharen’s crew and the gold cage where the creature had been ensnared moments earlier.

It was empty. And Tharen’s team hadn’t noticed.

***

A tall figure floated near the cavern’s vaulted ceiling, draped in a gown of deep, blood-red satin and resting lightly on an ornate cane. Below her, the forest shimmered in a spellbinding glow—a veritable ocean of bioluminescent light. But beneath that gleaming blanket, there lay... something. Something thoroughly magnificent. Something that had held her in rapture for as long as she could recall.

Ah, those ever-flickering hues. Dancing just at the edge of her perception, taunting her with a coy flash here, a tease of a glimmer there—only to vanish the moment she sought to pin them down.

Oh, they did love their little games. And how she relished playing along.

Far below, the forest dwellers scurried about like busy ants. The sheer intricacy of their comings and goings would twist a mortal’s mind into knots, but not hers. No, she drank in every nuance, every skitter and scuffle, every ripple of life. There—a hunt on the eastern fringe. Predators stalking prey, tusked giants rustling through the underbrush, and winged serpents circling the canopies like spectres. A world thrumming with tooth and claw.

Yet, one particular spectacle caught her attention.

There it was: a bound beast, her pride as bruised as her hide. And there, her captor—a strutting lout of an elf, preening as if his feeble victory meant a jot. A flicker of wrath ignited within her—a fiery outrage that this pest would dare bind something so sacred, even go so far as to plant his grimy boots upon it. The flame was swiftly quelled, snuffed out like a spent candle. Emotions were little more than passing amusements for her. Her one constant? The hunt for pleasure, unending and undeniable.

A screen materialised before her, glowing softly in a spectral blue. A mission prompt.

She cast it a mere sidelong glance before her attention drifted back to the dragonling. Poor creature, with pride as wounded as her body. Oh, how tempting it was to descend and peel apart her captors, one sinew at a time. But, as it happened, she likely wouldn’t have to lift a claw. A smirk played at the edges of her lips. Her slitted eyes narrowed as the scales along her spine undulated in a wave of satisfaction. Her time would come when it was ripe.

But no, not now. Who was she to intrude upon the sacred theatre of a dragonling’s retribution? For now, she’d be quite content to observe.

[Mission Declined]

Her gaze drifted toward a distant cave, where foul Elven wretches were once more dabbling in things both forbidden and foolish. She made no move to stop them. Her forked tongue flickered out, wetting her fangs in anticipation. Ah, perhaps there’d soon be something potent enough for a proper meal.