Inside the dungeon was your classic, run-of-the-mill cave layout: damp air thick with humidity, jagged stone walls oozing with condensation, and an overwhelming stench that could make a grown man gag. It reeked of monsters—unwashed fur, rot, and the iron tang of blood long dried into the cracks of the stone floor.
"I think this vessel will die from the smell alone…" Aren muttered with a wry chuckle, striding forward like he wasn't surrounded by the foul essence of death itself.
The path ahead was uneven, carved out by claws and violence rather than tools or time. Jagged rocks jutted from the ground at awkward angles, and scattered across the corridor were remnants of the unlucky—cracked bones, both human and animal, some still bearing the marks of teeth far too large for comfort.
The dungeon was a maze, chaotic in structure and unmapped by any sane adventurer. Darkness clung to the walls like a second skin, thick and suffocating. But Aren walked without hesitation.
He simply followed the pull.
A pulse. A beacon. The strongest aura in this entire subterranean tomb blazed like a bonfire to his senses, and Aren, avatar of death itself, followed that thread with ease. Finding the boss room wasn't a challenge—it was inevitable.
"We haven't come across a single monster and it's already been a minute," he said, voice flat, tired.
A yawn escaped him as he scratched the back of his head, eyes half-lidded in visible disinterest.
"At least you seem like you're having fun…" he muttered, glancing sideways.
Ebony, perched lazily on his shoulder, remained completely unbothered. The cat was snoozing, its tail curled like a scarf around Aren's neck, purring as if the dungeon's oppressive aura were nothing more than background noise.
But the truth wasn't that the dungeon lacked monsters.
No. Quite the opposite.
The dungeon was teeming with life. The gnawed bones and rotting corpses were proof enough. But not a single creature dared show itself.
Because while the body might be that of a weak E-rank hunter… the soul inside it was anything but.
They could feel it. The monsters. Born to kill, made to rend, their instincts screamed in the presence of something far older, far worse.
It was like watching a legion of wolves scatter at the scent of their ancestral predator.
Aren was death incarnate. And death had entered their home.
"Are we getting near yet…?" he mumbled, rubbing at his eyes in a futile effort to ward off the boredom, only to walk straight into something solid.
"Ow…" he groaned, stepping back with a small frown.
Before him now stood a massive gate—twice his height, forged from blackened steel and etched with cruel artistry. A gigantic metallic skull stared back at him from its center, eyes hollow, yet somehow still watching.
"Wow, they're really not hiding anything, huh?" Aren muttered, sighing with enough disappointment to fill a room.
At this point, he was ready to punch a rat if it meant something would happen.
What was the point of calling it a dungeon "adventure" if he just ended up on a lonely cave stroll?
Without further ceremony, Aren raised a hand and pressed his palm against the cold surface of the gate. The metal beneath his touch thrummed faintly, as though recognizing him. The skull's eye sockets glowed—sickly red, like burning embers.
With a heavy groan, the gate began to rise.
Stone ground against metal. Air whooshed as the room beyond revealed itself.
Aren stepped into the boss chamber.
It was massive—a colossal arena shaped in a perfect circle. The floor was crafted from dark blackstone, etched with glowing red runes that pulsed with heat. Streams of lava flowed through deep cracks along the edges, bathing the chamber in hellish light. Gigantic pillars, scarred and ancient, held up the cavern ceiling above.
"Finally!" Aren called out, his voice echoing across the chamber. "An actual monster to fight!"
Ebony stirred at last.
The cat leapt from his shoulder and landed soundlessly on the floor, fur bristling and eyes narrowed. A low hiss escaped its throat, fangs bared in open hostility.
"Not into monsters, huh…?" Aren said, crouching slightly to pat Ebony on the head with mock sympathy. "I get you. They do smell bad."
His eyes drifted to the center of the room.
There, standing like a mountain of muscle and rage, was an ogre.
It wore a wolf's hide like a cloak, crudely draped over one shoulder. Its skin was a sickly gray, veined with red lines that pulsed in rhythm with its heartbeat. In one hand, it gripped a massive cleaver—easily the size of a city bus—its jagged edge stained with old, blackened blood.
Above its head, a chime echoed through the room, and glowing text appeared mid-air:
[Boss: Redfang, The Harvester]
Aren tilted his head, unimpressed.
"Well… let's get started then," he muttered, cracking his knuckles.
"Time for my first taste of actual combat!"
He grinned, wild and eager, rolling up his sleeves as he bounced lightly on the balls of his feet.
Death, finally, had something worth its time.