The world held its breath.
Across countless screens, in offices, homes, and bustling streets, eyes were glued to the stream that had taken the Hunter community by storm. For the first time in history, someone had made it past the fourth floor of the Ulkis Dungeon—a feat previously deemed impossible.
And not just someone. Two hunters.
Snow, the enigmatic man with a mysterious presence, and Ruciel Faithhood, once dubbed The Fallen Flame, were now the center of global attention. Together, they had breached the fabled fifth floor of the ancient S-Rank dungeon, a place so perilous that even top guilds had long resigned themselves to using it as a training ground, unable to make any real progress. Yet here they were—Snow and Ruciel—clearing bosses, looting untouched zones, and unraveling secrets no one had dared approach.
Inside a news broadcast studio, a pair of reporters sat before a large display, their attention locked on the live footage playing behind them. The feed showed the duo approaching what was clearly the entrance to a boss room.
"||What do you think about this sudden stream by that unknown streamer? They're calling it the Ruciel and Snow Dungeon Arc now, and it's blowing up.||" the female reporter asked, eyes wide with both disbelief and excitement.
Her colleague, a composed man in a sharp black suit, nodded thoughtfully. "||To be honest, no one expected this kind of growth from Ruciel. She was written off, cast aside. But now? She's soloed nearly half of the Ulkis Dungeon. That alone deserves recognition.||"
"||Indeed... though I can't help but wonder—who is that man beside her?||" she continued. "||From the stream, it looks like he's the one enabling Ruciel to fully explore the dungeon's depths.||"
"||You're not the only one wondering. It's been two days now, and those watching closely have started speculating about him.||"
"||Speculating what, exactly?||"
The man leaned back in his chair, gaze flickering toward the screen. "||They say he's an F-Rank Hunter... with a unique skill that allows him to map dungeons and uncover hidden items.||"
The female reporter blinked. "||An F-Rank...? That's unheard of. If such a skill exists, why hasn't the Association publicized it?||"
"||Because the world doesn't value what it doesn't understand. Everything runs on combat and support hunters. Anything outside that paradigm is considered irrelevant. Skills like his—non-combative, non-support—are overlooked, left to rot in obscurity.||"
She frowned. "||So you're saying... the Association disregarded him because his skill wasn't flashy or destructive enough?||"
"||Exactly. And now, ironically, the entire world is witnessing the value of that 'irrelevant' skill—thanks to a hunter they once labeled fallen.||"
He paused for a moment, then added, "||Actually... I think I've seen him before.||"
"||Wait—you know him?||" she asked, turning to him in surprise.
"||Not personally. But during the last Hunter Summit, I remember trying to get interviews with Ibrahim Ishaq and Arthur Pendragon. There was a commotion—Ruciel was involved in a fight. People said it started because a young man approached her.||"
Her eyes lit up in realization. "||Oh! I remember that! We covered that incident. You're saying... it was him?||"
"||I'm sure of it. That was the same man.||"
The two reporters turned their focus back to the screen, the tension in the room growing with every passing second.
"||If these two are truly raiding the dungeon as a duo, what do you think will happen if they manage to clear it?||" the female reporter asked.
"||Hard to say. Ruciel has clearly built up a lot of fatigue. They've been careful to rest, and they seem to be enjoying the exploration... but I fear they'll be forced to retreat if their resources run low.||"
She tapped the tablet in front of her. "||Actually, there are reports saying her support—this mysterious Snow—has been crafting potions and food that reduce fatigue. Some viewers claim that's how she's kept going this long.||"
"||If that's true, then Snow isn't just supporting her—he's carrying her through this dungeon. Though honestly, I've never heard of consumables that reduce fatigue.||"
"||Either way, it's impressive. Let's see how they intend to clear the fifth floor.||"
As they spoke, the live feed zoomed in.
There, standing before an ominous black gate laced with glowing crimson runes, Ruciel and Snow prepared to enter the final chamber of the fifth floor.
"||They're already at the boss room entrance,||" the female reporter said quietly.
"||The world is watching. The last boss they faced consisted of knights—dozens of them, each more powerful than the last.||"
"||Do you think the boss here will also be a knight?||"
The male reporter nodded. "||It's likely. The first floor's guardian was a dark knight that commanded undead. Each floor has had its own twisted variation of knight-themed enemies. If that pattern continues... we might be about to witness something terrifying.||"
"||The second-floor boss was a White Knight that teleported and fired beams of light,||" the male reporter explained, eyes still locked on the screen.
"||And the third?||" the female reporter asked.
"||A Red Knight—he wielded blood as a weapon, manipulating it mid-combat. It was brutal.||"
He paused before adding, "||Then the Fourth Knight... frost-based. His entire domain was an icy wasteland, and his armor was like jagged glaciers fused with steel.||"
A hush fell between them.
"||So... if this pattern holds, then the fifth boss must also be a knight. Perhaps one tied to another element—or something entirely different.||" the male reporter speculated, voice hushed with anticipation.
"||Then let's see what lies beyond the door of the Fifth Floor Boss Room.||" the female reporter whispered, eyes widening as the camera feed enlarged across the studio's screen.
The scene shifted.
From the stream, millions of viewers watched as Snow and Ruciel stood before a colossal door, its surface etched with worn carvings and faintly glowing runes. Dust and time seemed to press against it, as if the weight of the dungeon's history lived in that door alone.
Ruciel exhaled slowly, barely believing they had made it this far.
Alone, the two of them—no guild, no backup. Just her and the mysterious support who had, time and again, guided her past limits she didn't even know she had.
"Are you nervous?" Snow asked quietly.
"...Slightly," she admitted, her gaze lingering on the sealed door.
"Pfft," he chuckled, lightening the tension.
She gave him a playful glare. "You shouldn't make fun of me."
"Yeah, yeah. Sorry," he replied with a warm grin.
Ruciel glanced at him again. Calm, confident—always unshaken. He wasn't the strongest hunter she'd met, nor the flashiest, but his presence always centered her. Maybe it wasn't the dungeon that made her heart race. Maybe it was the knowledge that the whole world was watching, judging, hoping... or waiting for her to fail.
Sensing her unease, Snow stepped closer. Gently, he tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear. The gesture was simple—yet it made her smile, if only for a moment.
"If there's anything you're worried about," he said, voice low but unwavering, "I promise you—not even death will take you away from me. So give it your all. I'm right here."
She blinked, then laughed softly. "You sure know how to sweet talk."
"I know, right?" he replied with a smirk, clearly proud of himself.
"But... thanks. I'm fine now." She exhaled deeply, steadied.
"Then, I'll open the doors," he said.
She nodded.
And just before he moved, she stepped in and pressed her lips to his.
A brief kiss.
His eyes widened in surprise before a boyish smile spread across his face. He turned and walked forward, stealing a glance over his shoulder—eyes teasing, flirting.
"Stop being naughty," she said, laughing quietly.
"Yeah, yeah," he replied, placing both hands on the ancient door.
A pulse of light surged through the stone, responding to his touch. The carvings shimmered. Then, with a soft rumble, the massive doors creaked open, revealing what lay beyond.
They stepped inside.
What awaited them was unlike any floor they'd seen before.
A vast desert sprawled endlessly in all directions—golden sand rippling beneath a scorching, artificial sun that hung in a sky too bright to be real. Broken columns rose from the dunes like half-buried monuments, some collapsed, others smashed as if crushed by titanic force.
Shattered swords, rusted and bloodstained, were scattered like forgotten memories. Skulls, armor fragments, and skeletal remains littered the battleground. It was a graveyard—no, a sanctuary of death for fallen heroes.
In the center stood a throne, built from stone. Upon it sat a lone figure, draped in silence and shadow.
A massive sword lay before him, his gauntleted hands resting atop its hilt. His head was bowed. He looked as if he had been there for centuries.
Frozen.
Lifeless.
Until the silence shattered.
"|\ Haaa... Have thou come to challenge the will of my Lord? /|"
The knight's voice echoed across the desert, neither warm nor hostile—just... tired.
"|\ How pitiful. Yet I applaud thy courage, for it takes no small measure of it to walk this far. /|"
Slowly, the knight stood.
Sand fell from his plated shoulders. Even from afar, Snow and Ruciel could feel it—his aura, immense and suffocating.
His eyes, two pale glows beneath a battered helm, locked onto them.
"|\ With your deaths, you shall become the fifteen thousandth to fall before me. And only then shall I rest, knowing I have fulfilled my duty. /|"
The knight grasped the sword.
As he lifted it, his armor began to crack and crumble. Armour shattered away from his body like peeling bark, revealing a form beneath that was impossibly fast—sleek, agile, and entirely unarmored.
His figure shimmered with energy. A Slim Knight, refined by time and fury.
Snow narrowed his eyes. Ruciel tensed.
The stone Throne shattered into dust.
What remained was a figure clad in a skin-tight bodysuit—pure white, smooth as silk, covering him from neck to ankle, down to the wrists. His hair flared like white fire, whipping in a wind that wasn't there. Behind him hovered a radiant golden ring, orbiting slowly, humming with power.
And then, with slow confidence, he raised his sword, resting it lazily on his shoulder. His cold gaze locked onto Snow.
"|\ Now, Challenger favored by My King... present your struggle before me. /|"
His words echoed with no warmth, like a judgment passed by a divine hand.
Suddenly, the desert vanished.
In its place was nothing—a world turned white. There was no floor, no sky. No horizon. A boundless space made of light, yet devoid of any shadows. A sterile, perfect void.
Then came the system prompts—one after another, all of them in red:
============================
FLOOR 5 BOSS
NAME: ASMODEUS
CLASS: WHITE KNIGHT
ATTRIBUTE: UNIVERSAL LIGHT
TITLE: Right Hand of the King, Sin of Pride, Totem Bearer
LEVEL: ??
============================
============================
PATHFINDER HAS FOUND AN EGO
============================
============================
PATHFINDER HAS CRAFTED A PATHWAY
============================
============================
PATHFINDER URGES YOU TO DEFEAT ASMODEUS TO AVOID A CASUALTY
============================
============================
PATHFINDER WORRIES FOR YOUR GEM SAFETY
============================
"What in gracious name is going on with this Pathfinder...?" Snow thought, watching as every notification turned crimson. His interface glowed in warning.
"Stay behind me," Ruciel said quickly, stepping forward.
But she didn't get the chance to move.
A deafening slam echoed through the white space as an unseen force shot forward. Snow's instincts kicked in—he grabbed Ruciel and shoved her back.
BOOM!
The impact hit him head-on.
A shockwave burst out, hurling Snow across the vast white void. Blood sprayed midair, trailing behind him as he crashed into the distance.
"SNOW!!"
Ruciel's heart dropped. She ran after him without thinking, eyes wide, breath sharp with fear. But before she could reach him—
Something stood behind her.
Unseen.
Unfelt.
Unheard.
And it raised a blade to strike.
But just as the killing blow was about to land—Snow reappeared.
"GET AWAY FROM MY GIRL!!" he shouted, intercepting the invisible force with all his strength.
His push sent the assailant staggering—but barely. A fraction of a second later, a lightning-fast kick sent Snow flying again, this time crashing into what felt like an invisible wall, shattering it with his body.
Ruciel stood frozen.
Nothing made sense. There was no enemy she could see, no trace of a weapon. Just Snow—bleeding, hurt, and yet still shielding her.
To Snow—he saw everything.
The White Knight, Asmodeus, stood still—arms folded, unmoving. And beside him... his sword. Alive. Detached. Fighting on its own as a separate entity, obeying his will with lethal precision.
It was the sword that had attacked. A living extension of his pride.
Snow wiped blood from his lips as he stood up, shaky but unbroken.
"ASMODEUS!!!" he roared.
He emerged from the rubble, body bruised and lacerated. Rage and resolve burned in his eyes.
"LEAVE HER OUT OF THIS AND FACE ME!"
The knight gazed down at him, still expressionless.
"|\ I take no orders from you. But fine... I shall let the irrelevant soul be. /|"
His attention shifted fully to Snow.
Ruciel rushed to Snow's side, frustration and worry building in her chest.
"Hey! What are you even thinking—"
He silenced her with a kiss.
Just a brief one.
His lips touched hers, bloodied and trembling, yet warm.
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
Snow smiled faintly. "Just sit this one out, okay?" he whispered, his hand brushing gently against her face.
She looked at him, stunned. "But... I'm stronger than you. I should be the one clearing this floor—"
"Yeah, well, apparently the dungeon thinks otherwise," he said with a tired chuckle. "Right now, we need the Totem he carries to move forward. And the dungeon chose me to face him."
He glanced at Asmodeus—still standing motionless in the distance.
"So trust me... and wait this one out."
Ruciel bit her lip, trembling. She hated this. Hated feeling helpless.
But the earlier attacks—the way Snow shielded her from forces she couldn't even perceive—reminded her that this was more than strength.
"...Fine," she whispered, but her fists clenched at her side.
"Don't worry," Snow whispered, gently pressing his forehead to hers. "Even if something happens to me... I'll guarantee your safety."
"Don't say that," Ruciel replied softly, her voice trembling.
His words, meant to comfort, only deepened the ache in her chest. He was always the one shielding her... even now.
"You're not a combatant," she said, trying to remind him—trying to pull him back.
"I know," he said with a quiet smile. "But I have my ways."
She had no argument for that. No counter. Just silence.
Snow leaned in and kissed her forehead—slow, tender. It wasn't romantic. It was grounding. A promise, sealed in warmth.
"Stay behind me this time," he said, voice firmer now.
Then, he stepped forward.
From his inventory, he retrieved three vials—one blue, one red, and one yellow.
He uncorked the blue one first, downing it swiftly. Light shimmered across his wounds as the potion knit flesh and bone with soothing magic.
Next, the red—he drank it without hesitation. His body tensed as strength surged through his limbs.
Finally, the yellow. A radiant glow enveloped him briefly—his speed spiked, his reflexes heightened.
He exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders, feeling the effects take hold.
"Thank you for your patience," he called out to Asmodeus, voice echoing across the white void.
The knight didn't move.
"|\ Save your breath. Just struggle as much as you can. /|"
His voice was laced with disdain—noble, yet cruel.
"Very well then!" Snow replied, a fire igniting behind his eyes. "Then fight me with all you've got!"
"|\ Then prove you are worth the full strength of my blade. /|"
Asmodeus finally moved.
The sword that had fought of its own volition before was now in his grasp—a slim, elegant weapon from afar, but one that carried immeasurable weight. His feet never touched the ground. He hovered, just inches above it, his golden ring rotating slowly behind him like a halo.
Snow reached for his dagger—gripping it tightly in his left hand. He dropped into a combat stance, feet wide, knees bent, heart steady.
"COME!!" he roared.
And the air within the white chamber turned cold.
The space that had once felt sterile now grew oppressive. Heavy.
The aura that radiated from Asmodeus was suffocating.
From where she stood, Ruciel could only watch—her heart hammering in her chest. She had faced monsters before. Strong ones. Terrifying ones. She had cleared floors. Slain beasts.
But never... never had she felt fear like this.
This wasn't just another boss.
This was something different. Something ancient and Deadly.
She watched as Snow stood alone, blade in hand, facing a being who bore the title of Pride—and who now wielded his sword with intent to end.
And for the first time in a long while... Ruciel was frozen.
Not by weakness.
But by the realization of how small they truly were...
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To be continued...