Trevus remained still for a long while, the soft crackle of the campfire weaving through the heavy quiet that had fallen between them. His hands rested upon his knees, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp—fixed upon the masked figure who sat across the flames.
The others had retreated into uneasy silence. Harlen had gone back to polishing his blade in slow, thoughtful motions, though his gaze flickered often toward Theseus. Camylle leaned back against the stone wall, her flames dimmed but her eyes alight with wary curiosity. Nira and Lotha whispered softly near the campfire's edge, while Mina and Ashe exchanged uncertain glances from their place by the ledge.
For Trevus, however, silence was a tool, an an old soldier's patience, honed by years of listening to what others didn't say.
The man across the flame, this Theseus, seemed too at ease. There was no weight of deceit in the way he moved, no twitch of paranoia, no calculating glance for escape. He simply stared into the fire like one who had seen too many like it before—campfires, pyres, cities burning under a war.
And despite the iron mask, despite the strange cold that clung faintly to his presence, there was something undeniably human about the way he sighed and warmed his hands by the flame.
Perhaps that was what made him dangerous.
After a long pause, suddenly Trevus spoke, his tone firm yet not unkind as he broke the silence.
"Name's Trevus Regulus," he said, voice low but steady. "I'm the captain of Party Five."
The introduction hung in the air like a bridge being built, uncertain whether it would hold.
Theseus turned his head slightly, the faint rasp of metal against cloth accompanying the motion. The red glint within his mask flickered once, and he inclined his head just a fraction in acknowledgment.
"Regulus, eh?" The name rolled from him like he was tasting it, searching his memory. "What a strong name. Sounds… Barrylian. Are you from the East?"
Trevus gave a small nod. "Born there, yes. Raised and trained under the Legion of Decanton before I deserted. I've been in the guild for seven years."
"A Legionnaire," Theseus murmured, as if the word carried ghosts. "Ah, that explains the posture. You stand like a man who's used to taking orders even when the situation looked so grey..."
Trevus allowed himself a faint smile. "And you talk like a man who's been through worse."
That earned a sound from behind the mask—something between a chuckle and a sigh.
"Okay fair."
The flames danced higher for a moment, painting the hollows of the chamber in gold.
Theseus leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. "It's rare," he said after a time, "to meet a someone like you who gives his name first. Most would demand mine again, or my allegiance, before offering theirs."
"Consider it trust," Trevus replied evenly. "A small one, but trust all the same."
"Hah," Theseus breathed, faint laughter rolling from his chest. "Trust, in a dungeon. That's a novelty."
Trevus's gaze softened slightly, though his body remained alert.
"I supposed you've been here long enough to know what kind of trust keeps people alive."
Theseus was silent... Before escaping his trance and nodded once. "Aye..."
For a moment, the conversation lulled, carried by the rhythm of the fire and the faint echo of dripping water in the distance. The rest of Party 5 watched, unsure whether to relax or ready themselves again.
At last, Trevus leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "Theseus," he said quietly, his voice steady but carrying the calm authority of command.
The masked man tilted his head in acknowledgment. "Yes?"
"You said you were once an adventurer, yes? That you've cleared dungeons before?"
Trevus met the glow of his faint red eyes without flinching.
"These hands, have done a lot y'know?" Theseus said softly, flexing them once in the light, "Have broken more stone than I care to remember."
"Then…" Trevus continued, his gaze narrowing in thought.
"Would you—consider joining us? For this dungeon clearing. Only temporarily."
At that, the rest of Party 5 stirred slightly. Harlen straightened, blinking in surprise.
"Wait, seriously?"
Camylle tilted her head, half-grinning but uncertain. "We're inviting some old bum now?"
Lotha frowned softly but said nothing, watching Trevus with the patience of someone who had learned long ago that he didn't make decisions lightly.
Trevus continued. "If you decline, I'll understand," he said, tone level. "We've made good progress, and your presence alone has already tell me that you're pretty strong. But…"
He paused, folding one hand into the other. "An extra blade—or spear—never hurts. Especially one that knows the shape of dungeon anomalies."
Theseus remained still for a moment. The crackle of the campfire echoed faintly in the chamber, and the others could hear the faint scrape of leather as he shifted his posture.
Then, at last, a low chuckle rumbled from within the mask. "Hah… a captain who knows when to take a risk. I like that."
He rose to his feet slowly, the movement smooth and deliberate despite the faint metallic groan that came from his joints as he walked out of barrier towards his spear. His hand found the shaft of his spear, still buried deep within the stone, and with a single motion—light and effortless—he pulled it free.
The sound echoed like thunder.
He rested the spear against his shoulder, its worn head catching the light of the flame.
"It's been a long time since I walked beside a guild..."
Trevus stood as well, meeting him eye to eye. "Then is that a yes?"
"Of course."
The iron-masked man tilted his head slightly, the red glint of his eyes flashing faintly behind the slits of his mask. "After all…" he said, his tone turning almost playful.
"…a little warm-up against dungeon anomalies wouldn't hurt, yeah?"
Harlen groaned, burying his face in his palm. "Great. Now the rusted scarecrow's on our team."
Camylle elbowed him lightly, smirking. "Oh, hush. He's more interesting than you are."
"You'll find I'm very good company when the blades start flying." Theseus chuckled again, the sound low and hollow.
Trevus allowed himself a faint smile before looking around at his companions.
"Then it's settled. Get your rest while you can—we move deeper later."
As the others went about their quiet tasks such as Lotha checking charms, Mina folding her sleeves, Ashe preparing his chants, Theseus lingered by the fire, his shadow stretching long against the cavern wall.
For a brief moment, when no one was looking, he reached up and brushed his fingertips against the iron mask—just at the edges, where the metal met skin. His voice was too soft for anyone to hear.
"…A little warm-up, indeed."
And deep behind that faint red glow of his eyes, something flickered—an echo of ancient purpose, long forgotten but not yet gone.
After a long wait and final checks upon their gear, Party 5—now joined by the iron-masked wanderer—set forth once more into the depths of Dungeon #89J.
Their ranks now stood as eight: Trevus, Harlen, Camylle, Lotha, Nira, Mina, Ashe, and Theseus. The camp behind them remained sealed within Harlen's golden barrier, a glowing dome of safety amidst the shifting dark. Only essential supplies were carried, for to wander deeper meant to trust in one's endurance and precision.
Lotha carried her journal close, its pages filled with freshly inked translations of Strygan runes found etched upon the chamber walls. The first text she had deciphered read:"Maintenance towards Here."The second: "Archive."
Two paths lay before them, the former marked by an ancient Strygan arrow pointing down a tall, rectangular corridor. After a brief discussion, Trevus chose the first—the one marked Maintenance—reasoning that it might lead toward either the Computare's main console or the Heartbox Chamber itself.
The group advanced in formation.
Trevus and Camylle took the lead—his perception honed toward detecting malice or killing intent, hers toward the subtle vibrations of motion and magic within the stone. Each step forward was measured, their senses stretched across the silence.
Halfway through the corridor, the very texture of the dungeon began to change. What had once been rough stone and worn brick gave way to clean, seamless walls of faint teal, gleaming with a sterile light. The floor, once carved from rugged earth, now became an intricate mosaic of polished tiles, too precise to have been shaped by natural means.
It was as though they had crossed from ruin into something living.
At the rear of the party walked Theseus, his spear in hand, steps unhurried. Behind him trailed Mina and Ashe, their whispers carrying softly through the corridor's still air.
"You kids can ask whatever you want," Theseus said without turning his head. "You make me feel left out when you whisper about me."
"O–oh! You can hear us?" Ashe stammered, voice tight with guilt.
"Yes," Theseus replied flatly. "You're barely three meters behind me. Whispers aren't exactly subtle."
Mina smiled sheepishly, stepping up to walk beside him, with Ashe following close. "Y'know," she began, her tone half teasing, half sincere, "your appearance just made things a whole lot more exciting for me!"
"Oh really?" the masked man asked, glancing down at her. "And how's that so?"
"'Cause you're a Null!" she said brightly.
Theseus's masked head tilted slightly. "…Is that an insult?"
Both Mina and Ashe froze in panic. "Ah! No—no, not at all!" Mina sputtered, waving her hands. "It's just that—you don't feel like one. You're… strong. Way too strong for a Null!"
"Ah," Theseus murmured, the faint rasp of amusement threading through his tone. "That makes more sense." He looked ahead again, the faint crimson glow of his eyes pulsing gently behind the mask. "I'm like you, after all—a Null."
Mina frowned, curiosity overtaking her nerves. "But how? I mean, how are you that strong—and still alive after a hundred years? Are you lying about that part?"
Theseus chuckled softly, the sound low and echoing off the walls. "No. No lies. I'm as human as any of you… I just age slowly."
"Slowly?" Ashe repeated, disbelief in his voice. "That's not exactly normal."
Theseus's steps echoed faintly as he walked. "Neither is surviving a dungeon this long without going mad," he replied calmly. "Guess I'm not much for normality."
The faint glow of the teal walls reflected upon the iron of his mask as he added, almost to himself—
"Some men burn fast… others just keep burning, long after they should've gone cold."
And with that, the group pressed onward—deeper into the strange, pristine halls that waited ahead, where the world of stone began to hum with the faint pulse of a sleeping machine.
They treaded through the narrow, towering corridor, where the faint teal of the walls gradually deepened into a cool shade of blue. Thin veins of orange light pulsed faintly across the stone, splitting ahead into two diverging paths.
Camylle halted first, her senses spreading outward like ripples upon still water. "The left path leads only to a small chamber," she said, her voice low but certain. "The right descends much farther, into the deeper network."
The group prepared to move onward when Nira spoke up. "If the left path's just a small room," she said casually, "why not check it out first? Might be something useful—or at least not crawling with Sentries."
Her reasoning met no resistance; curiosity outweighed caution. The group turned left, entering a short hall that opened into a single, metallic chamber.
"Woah… what is that?" Harlen muttered, brow furrowed in intrigue.
Before them stood a strange contraption—an enclosed platform of metal and glass, its frame bound by thick wires running into the ceiling, where gears and pulleys disappeared into darkness.
"Looks like… an elevator?" Lotha guessed aloud, approaching with fascination. "Maybe a transport platform. We haven't seen any active Sentries yet—so it might be safe to use?"
"I'm not so sure…" Trevus replied, his tone guarded. "If this leads to the Maintenance Sector, that's likely where they repair and store the dungeon's constructs. We could be walking right into their den."
Nira crossed her arms. "He's right. Maintenance usually means Sentries—lots of them."
A heavy silence followed, the kind that weighed on even the most steadfast hearts. The decision lay before them—descend into potential danger, or retreat and continue along the winding corridors for who knew how long.
Harlen and Camylle leaned back against the glowing walls, exchanging uncertain glances, while the others lingered in thought. Then a rough cough broke the quiet.
"Ah—sorry," came Theseus's gruff voice from beneath his mask. "Didn't mean to interrupt your pondering. But if you're all too nervous to go down there, I'll take the ride myself."
Trevus raised an eyebrow. "You're certain?"
"Pretty sure," Theseus replied with a hint of amusement in his tone. "I'm hella strong, y'know."
Behind the iron mask, a grin could almost be heard.
Trevus turned toward the others, scanning their faces for dissent—but none came. One by one, they nodded in agreement. Perhaps it was trust—or perhaps curiosity—but all shared the same silent thought:
This would be the first true measure of who, or what, the masked man truly was.
Just to be certain—and partly out of her own curiosity—Nira extended her left arm forward. The veins of shadow within her mana pulsed as her hand dissolved into an inky swirl, dripping like black oil before reshaping itself midair. From that living shadow emerged a crow, feathers slick and glistening like tar beneath moonlight. It flapped twice before perching neatly upon her shoulder, cawing once, its crimson eyes reflecting the chamber's dim light.
"I'll see it for myself," Nira said, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Since we're staying topside, my little friend here will keep watch. That fine with you, old man?"
Theseus turned slightly, his masked face tilting toward her. "That's fine," he replied simply, stepping into the rusted cabin without hesitation.
The moment he entered, a dull clink echoed and a faint light flickered to life overhead. The glow revealed more of the chamber's interior—dust-caked metal, corroded railings, and the faint scent of ozone. Lotha examined the space carefully and muttered, "Strange... this elevator looks just big enough for one to three Sentry Stone Soldiers. Same as the corridors we passed—two-way paths, built for them to move freely. But… there's none here."
"Maybe they all clocked out," Harlen murmured dryly.
Inside, Theseus peered at the small console at the rear wall. Eight circular buttons glowed faintly blue, some cracked, others unlit. He stared at them like an old man deciphering an alien language.
"Uhhh…" he muttered, scratching the back of his head.
Ashe leaned in curiously, his upper body halfway inside the cabin. "That one, right there," he said, pointing to a button etched with a downward arrow. "That should take it down."
"These?" Theseus pressed the button—
CLANK—SHHHHH!
The entire cabin lurched downward with a violent jolt, startling Ashe, who yelped and jerked back just in time before the closing frame nearly clipped his chin.
"Whoa! Careful!" Camylle barked.
From within, Theseus called out as the platform began to descend, his tone oddly cheerful for someone dropping into pitch darkness. "Oh! Sorry about that! Anyway—I'll scout ahead and come back with a report! Don't miss me too much, eh?"
The rusty elevator shuddered and sank into the depths, the faint hum of its old mechanisms echoing through the corridor until it faded entirely.
Above, Nira's crow cawed once before spreading its inky wings, diving into the abyss after him. Its eyes burned faintly red, a beacon in the dark. Nira herself sat cross-legged by the elevator's entrance, her gaze dimming as her consciousness split between her own sight—and that of her shadow-born familiar descending into the unseen depths below.
The crow dove ahead of the descending lift, its inky wings cutting through the still air as it spiraled downward. Nira's awareness stretched with it, her real eyes dimmed as her familiar's vision overtook her mind. The elevator's metallic echoes faded behind as the crow reached the bottom first, slipping out into a cavernous chamber vast enough to house a palace.
Rows upon rows of dormant Stone Golems lined the chamber floor, silent as statues. Around their feet, smaller Stone Soldiers moved in tireless rhythm—scraping, scavenging, and salvaging fragments of broken constructs. Sparks flickered among them like fireflies as they stripped cables and mana conduits from the fallen giants. The scene was both eerie and methodical, a mechanical graveyard of labor and decay.
Then the ground trembled.A great iron door at the far end split open vertically with a deafening clang. From within emerged three towering Inner Stone Sentries—sleeker, their armor shaped of dark metal, their joints hissing faint steam. Their eyes glowed white at first… then one by one, shifted to a burning crimson as they began to patrol the vast chamber like wardens of a dead empire.
Nira's crow tilted its head upward, and through its eyes, she saw it—the largest of the Sentries, its gaze drawn to the sound of the descending elevator. The creature's head pivoted with a grinding noise, and its red light flared brighter.
Within the cabin, Theseus stood still, hand resting lazily on his spear. The descending light flickered over the steel of his mask, reflecting that same red glow in his own eyes.
"Warm-up, huh…" he muttered beneath his breath, the words almost lost in the mechanical hum.
Before the elevator could even touch ground, his figure blurred—a sudden burst of motion and power. The metal frame rattled violently as he launched himself from it, landing with enough force to shatter the tiled floor beneath him.
The nearest Sentry barely had time to react. Theseus drove his spear upward, piercing deep into the junction between its shoulder and neck. Sparks and oily mana erupted as the spearhead screeched through the creature's inner workings.
With a quick twist, he tore the weapon free—then spun, slamming a single right fist into the Sentry's head.
CRACK!
The blow sent the massive construct careening across the chamber, crashing into a wall and collapsing into a heap of steel and stone. Steam hissed from its mangled frame as Theseus landed atop it, the tip of his spear glowing a molten red before slowly cooling in the shadows.
High above, Nira's crow cawed once, its crimson eyes narrowing—then the link trembled as if even her familiar could feel the shockwave of his strength.
"U-unbelievable…" Nira whispered, her voice low but trembling with awe.
Back in the narrow antechamber above, she sat still against the teal wall, her eyes closed, her hands clasped tightly over her knees as the link between her and the crow pulsed with light. The others could see her tense, breath shallow, her mind far below the surface.
Trevus stepped closer, his tone calm but edged with concern."What is it? What's happening down there?"
Nira exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening against her knees. "That guy… he wasn't kidding. He really is hella strong."
Through the eyes of her crow, the scene below unfolded like a vision from a nightmare. The inky bird perched upon the shoulder of a dormant colossus, its head twitching from side to side, recording every moment in eerie silence.
Theseus stood amidst the wreckage—steam hissing from broken machines, fragments of armor scattered across the floor. His stance was relaxed, almost casual, as he swept the long white strands of his hair from before his mask. With one gloved hand, he adjusted his coat, rolling a shoulder as though merely stretching after a nap.
Then, he moved.
To Nira's crow, he didn't run—he vanished. A blur of motion carved through the haze, his spear striking first. The sharpened, rust-coloured head cleaved through the leg of a Heavy Sentry, severing it at the joint in a single, ringing blow.
The construct teetered, screeching in metallic agony as Theseus appeared atop it, weightless, almost gliding across the surface of its armored frame. With precise thrusts, his spear darted into the narrow seams and exposed joints, each strike igniting sparks like falling stars.
The Sentry roared—a chorus of metal screaming against metal—as it raised a massive arm to crush him. But Theseus lunged again, this time toward the incoming hand. His fist met it head-on.
The impact shattered the mechanical palm into splinters of molten steel.
Fragments rained down as he used the collapsing arm as a springboard, launching himself high above the struggling machine.
Then came the final blow—He dove, spear-first, through the Sentry's chest, piercing clean through. The weapon's glow turned white-hot as he tore out the construct's heart.
The golem groaned—a sound like metal breaking under its own weight—before collapsing to one knee, the light within its core dimming to nothing.
Back in the antechamber above, the silence of Party 5 was broken only by Nira's breathless voice. She sat rigid by the wall, one eye closed—its lid twitching faintly as her familiar's vision streamed into her mind—and the other open, darting between her companions. Her tone was trembling, feverish, unable to contain what she had just witnessed.
"Holy hells… you guys won't believe what I'm seeing! He—he just shattered a Sentry's fist with his bare hand! Then he slammed a haymaker straight into its head and sent it flying! Gods, and now—he's using himself like a damned spear, tearing through a Heavy Sentry's chest like it was paper!"
Her words poured out in awe and panic alike; perhaps she was exaggerating—but even her tone carried a truth that silenced the chamber. No one in Party 5 had ever heard of a Null—a being without mana—displaying such overwhelming might.
Trevus exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his hair. "What's more troubling is… how in the world am I supposed to write a report for this?"
Harlen let out a low laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. "Oh, that's gonna be rich. You'll have to put down that a Null man just demolished fifty golems in under five minutes. Good luck explaining that one to the Guild board."
Lotha, still seated by the fire, murmured under her breath, "Scary…"
While the others spoke in disbelief and jest, Mina sat apart—her back pressed against the cold wall beside Ashe. The sounds of the group blurred and faded into a distant hum. Her amber eyes, tinged with faint red spirals, caught the glint of the firelight.
That kind of strength… the thought echoed through her mind, steady and obsessive. That kind of strength—without mana…
Her heartbeat quickened. In that moment, admiration twisted into longing—longing into something darker. The spark within her chest burned with envy, awe, and desire all at once.
Unseen by the others, that faint crimson glow in her eyes deepened. A silent hunger awoke within Mina's heart—an unspoken wish that would one day shape the path she walked…
All because of one man—The Iron Masked Null known as Theseus.