Chapter 12: Dungeon World (2)
Michael considered lying. But then again, what did it matter? The bandits were dead. No one would dare question him too closely.
"I was testing my strength," he said simply. "They tried to steal my potion. So I killed them. End of story."
He didn't mention the shadow beneath the desert, the sensation of chains breaking. That knowledge was his weapon, not something to hand over.
Maria's eyes lingered on him, searching for cracks. Finding none, she nodded. "Efficient. Ruthless. I like that."
She leaned closer, lowering her voice so only he could hear. "And next time, if you sense something unusual in a dungeon… tell me first. Understood?"
Michael's gaze was steady. "We'll see."
---
The inspector coughed awkwardly. "With this achievement, the Guild Council may consider elevating his status beyond intermediate deacon. A field kill of two wanted criminals… it's no small feat."
Maria's lips curved. "I'll handle the Council. For now, let's not rush." She glanced at Michael. "Titles mean nothing if your foundation isn't solid."
Michael shrugged. "As long as they don't get in my way."
The soldiers exchanged uneasy looks. The way he spoke like someone who already stood above rules wasn't how a high school student should talk.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the dunes. The bodies were carted away, tagged for bounty rewards. The soldiers resumed patrol, though their eyes lingered on Michael with newfound caution.
Maria gestured to her armored vehicle. "Come. There's much to discuss. And… you've earned more than a pat on the back."
Michael considered refusing. But the thought of the alchemy furnace she promised and the unanswered questions about the dungeon made him step forward.
As he climbed into the vehicle, he glanced once more at the barrier. The yellow sands inside rippled unnaturally, as though something within still stirred.
Safe dungeon, huh?
His fists clenched.
Then what the hell did I see under that desert?
---
Inside the Frostheart Armored Vehicle
The interior was a stark contrast to the dusty wasteland outside. Plush leather seats lined the cabin, enchanted sigils glowing faintly along the walls to dampen noise and stabilize mana flow. A faint scent of frost lilies perfumed the air arround Maria's subtle way of marking territory.
Michael leaned back, one arm draped casually across the seat. His uniform was still covered in sand and blood, but he looked entirely unbothered.
Maria sat opposite him, legs crossed, a crystalline tablet hovering in front of her. With a flick of her finger, she dismissed the projection, her sharp gaze locking onto him.
"Efficient, fearless, and already drawing attention." Her lips curved into a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're every bit as troublesome as Aurelia described."
Michael's brow twitched faintly. "Aurelia Frost?"
"My cousin." Maria's voice was smooth, but a sliver of pride slipped through. "She told me about a quiet classmate who suddenly started… acting differently. I didn't believe her at first. Until today."
Michael said nothing. Silence was his armor.
Maria leaned forward, her tone dropping lower.
"Tell me, Michael. When you were inside… did you feel anything unusual?"
Michael's eyes narrowed. He replayed the moment—the chains, the colossal shadow writhing beneath the dunes, the hunger clawing at him. Every instinct screamed to keep it secret.
But Maria's stare was unrelenting, sharp enough to slice through silence.
Finally, he replied, measured. "Something was… beneath the desert. Chained. Struggling."
The vehicle jolted slightly as the driver hit a rut, but Maria didn't flinch. Instead, her pupils constricted, and the frost lilies' scent seemed to vanish.
"You saw it," she whispered.
Michael tilted his head. "So it wasn't just my imagination."
Maria leaned back slowly, her expression unreadable. "Safe dungeons are lies. They're stable, yes, but not harmless. What you saw was a Dungeon Core Entity. Every dungeon , whether wasteland, forest, or abyss has one. They're sealed remnants of ancient beasts, divine experiments, or worse. As long as the seals hold, monsters spawn in limited numbers. Manageable. Predictable."
"And if the seals break?" Michael asked.
"Then a dungeon ceases to be a training ground… and becomes a catastrophe." Her tone hardened. "Cities fall. Guilds crumble. Nations mobilize armies just to contain the aftermath. That is why soldiers guard every 'safe' gate because safety is only a word."
Michael let her words sink in. The weight of what he had glimpsed pressed against his chest. Yet a flicker of excitement stirred in his veins. So even the 'beginner's sandbox' hides monsters strong enough to wipe out empires…
---
Maria studied his reaction closely. Most students, upon hearing this truth, would pale, panic, or vow to avoid dungeons forever.
Michael's calmness unnerved her.
"Interesting," she murmured. "You don't look afraid. If anything, you look… eager."
Michael smirked faintly. "If the world is full of chains, then breaking them sounds like a good challenge."
Maria exhaled through her nose, both exasperated and amused. "Reckless. But perhaps that's why you intrigue me."
She tapped her tablet, sending a document to Michael's phone. "Intermediate deacon is just the beginning. With today's achievement, I can push for your promotion to junior executor. That means more freedom, more resources, and—most importantly—access to classified guild archives about dungeons."
Michael skimmed the document briefly. "And the price?"
Maria's smile sharpened. "Loyalty. To me, and to Sky Fist. You'll be my sword in the shadows and my shield in the open. In exchange, I'll give you everything you need to grow—elixirs, an alchemy furnace, dungeon permits, even political cover when you step on the wrong toes. Because you will step on toes."
Michael leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "And if I refuse?"
"Then," Maria said sweetly, "you'll still live. But the Guild Council will bury you under restrictions. No high-level dungeons. No classified resources. Just a talented boy trapped in mediocrity. I won't harm you, but the system will."
The air in the vehicle grew colder, frost forming along the window edges. Maria's aura pressed down, testing him.
Michael met it head-on. His eyes gleamed with defiance. "I don't bend easily, Maria. If you want loyalty, earn it. Don't demand it."
For a moment, silence. Then Maria burst into soft laughter, the frost melting away.
"You remind me of someone," she said. "Someone who once told me the same thing… before he died chasing power."
Michael's gaze sharpened, but Maria waved the memory aside. "Very well. No contract. Not yet. For now, take the resources, take the furnace, and take the title. Prove to me that your ambition won't kill you like it killed him."
--
The vehicle slowed as they neared Aurion's central district. Through the window, towering skyscrapers of glass and enchanted steel pierced the skyline, banners of guild crests fluttering proudly.
Maria glanced at the view, then back at Michael. "One more thing. Aurelia doesn't know you've signed with me. She'll come for younwhether to save you or to claim you, I can't say. But she's my blood. Don't underestimate her."
Michael's lips curved faintly. "If she gets in my way, I won't hold back."
Maria's smile returned, sharp and delighted. "Good. I wouldn't want you to."
As the vehicle pulled into the Sky Fist Guild compound, a cloaked figure watched from a rooftop across the street. His eyes glowed faintly with arcane light, his expression unreadable.
"So… the boy survived. And he saw the Core's shadow."
He disappeared into the night, his message already flying toward the Guild Council chambers.
---
Inside the guild's guest quarters, Michael finally had a moment alone. He set the sack of bandits' loot on the desk and stared at his own hands.
Hands that had crushed bones, torn flesh, and shattered a puppet designed to withstand eight hundred kilograms of force.
He flexed them slowly.
Two days. Just two days, and I've already surpassed legends of the old world.
But the shadow beneath the desert haunted him. The sound of chains straining echoed in his ears.
If that thing breaks free… strength alone won't be enough.
He reached for the bottle of advanced spirit-strengthening potion Maria had gifted him. The liquid shimmered, golden threads dancing like miniature suns.
"Then I'll keep getting stronger," Michael murmured. "Stronger than chains. Stronger than shadows. Stronger than fate itself."
He uncorked the bottle and drank.
It seems it's my time to go home.