The tunnel felt narrower than before.
Bright moved at the front, one hand on the rough wall, the other gripping his weapon tight enough that his knuckles blanched. Behind him, the others walked in a disciplined line—at least, they tried to. Fatigue gnawed at them. Their breathing was ragged. Every step sounded too loud.
They had escaped the cavern of that quasi-boss monster—just a projection, but strong enough to crush them. The realization that they had been toyed with still sat like stone in their stomachs.
They needed to warn the others outside the Shroud… if any were even left alive.
"Keep going," Bright whispered, voice hoarse. "The entrance shouldn't be too far."
He didn't believe that. Not fully. The Shroud seemed to distort their sense of direction. Turn right long enough, and somehow you ended up back where you started.
But giving up meant death.
Silas walked near the back, spear resting on his shoulder. The wrappings around his waist had loosened, revealing the bite mark from hours earlier. Even faint, it still pulsed with pain.
His mind wandered—not to the battle, not to the boss—but to his goal.
A drastic improvement in his shitty life, that he will see be made happen, one way or another …
A flicker of yearning warmed him.
He always felt that the corruption of the army was a very terrible thing, ruining the lives of the masses. As a born and bred street rat, like most recruits who willingly joined the army, the corruption was only terrible when he wasn't involved but when his interests were tied to that corruption he was front and center, defending it.
In this world where the strong stepped on the weak as though they were mere stones, he refused to remain a visible, noticeable target.
This more or less aligned to his soul talent in illusions.
The faster he improved his ability, the better.
He wiped his mouth. Hunger grumbled in his belly—a beast of its own.
Hold on… just hold on.
Meanwhile, Adam stood a little apart from the rest. His steps were steady… too steady for someone who had eaten so little.
His eyes were clear and focused. No shakiness. No weakness. He kept his hands hidden behind his back as though afraid the others might notice a stain still clinging beneath his fingernails.
His thoughts curled inward—quiet and clean.
What I did wasn't wrong.
Survival came first. Those who died first weren't victims—they were mistakes. Lessons. Resources.
He didn't feel guilt. Not even for a second.
The crawlers' flesh was poisoning them slowly. Their stamina gains from killing monsters were being offset—rotted—from the inside. They were degrading, falling apart while thinking they were improving.
Human flesh, however…
It revitalized.
His breathing was smooth. His mind, sharp.
If they knew…
A tiny smile tugged at his lips.
They'd beg me for a piece.
But he'd only share when it suited him.
A click echoed ahead. Bright froze, signaling with his fist. Everyone halted instantly, weapons raised.
For a moment—nothing.
Then, a whisper of air… like something exhaling.
A shadow glided across the ceiling, too fast for eyes to track.
"Hsss…"
A slithering noise followed, reverberating from all directions.
"Not again…" Bessie murmured, swallowing hard.
Silas's spear lowered, muscles coiled.
But then—silence returned. Only the lingering stench of damp stone remained.
Bright forced himself to move again.
They could not afford another battle.
As minutes passed, the tunnel widened into a small chamber. A collapsed supply crate lay at the center—rotted wood and rusted metal. But the cloth wrapping inside…
Bessie rushed forward and tore it open.
"Rations!"
The group crowded around, eyes ravenous.
Dried strips of meat—real meat. Not corrupted crawler flesh.
They should've rejoiced.
But Adam smiled faintly.
He didn't need it. And fresh food would only erase the advantage he had carved for himself in blood and bone.
Still, he reached forward and took a small strip—pretending.
"Don't get greedy," Bright warned, distributing the rest evenly. "We don't know how long it'll last."
They sat around, chewing in tense silence.
For a brief moment, hope flickered in the dimness.
A taste of safety.
But the ground beneath them trembled—light, subtle, almost delicate.
Adam looked up immediately.
He recognized the pattern. A heartbeat.
No.
Not a heartbeat.
A footstep.
One. Heavy. Calculated.
It found us.
Far away—deep in the Shrine's heart—the true Dungeon Boss opened its single, vertical eye.
A fragment of its projection had been destroyed—not defeated, but dismissed. Amusing.
These humans—their fear was ripe. Their flesh, tender with panic. Their minds, cracking under pressure.
All it needed to do now was shepherd them—like livestock finding their way into a slaughterhouse.
The earth pulsed again, soft as a sigh.
Step closer.
Just a little longer and their desperation would ripen into sweet despair.
Dinner would come crawling home.
Bright stood immediately, rushing to gather what they had left.
"Move. Now."
No one argued.
No one asked.
They ran.
But panic makes mistakes.
Feet stumbled.
Breathing quickened.
The darkness seemed to twist, stretching longer, deeper.
The path forked ahead—two identical routes.
Adam quietly slowed his pace, observing Bright's frantic eyes.
Leader? Not for long, although he had a favorable opinion on bright but being put in the spotlight was a nasty thing in their situation.
Bright chose left.
They sprinted down the tunnel—but Adam lingered a heartbeat longer, turning to stare into the right.
He knew something the others didn't:
That was the path where the air smelled cleaner.
Where a faint draft promised an exit.
He could take it now.
He could escape.
Live and abandon his godforsaken brothers' in arm but this wasn't the real world, they were in a shroud, with twisted rules and a structure built like a damn prison. There was no out of your cell without taking the key from your guard and in this case the guard would rather see you dead screaming between its horrid teeth.
But he watched Bright disappear down the wrong path…
And so he followed quietly.