The group pressed on like this all the way to the Eighth Floor.
Down here, the monsters were noticeably stronger. Hilichurls no longer appeared in scattered stragglers—they moved in small, organized packs.
Inside a spacious cavern, the three of them had just finished off the last stubborn Rockshield Hilichurl and were about to take a short breather.
"AAAH—! Help! Someone help!"
A shrill scream and desperate plea suddenly echoed from deep within a nearby passage.
Faen's brows snapped together.
Robin and Tifa immediately froze as well, looking to him for direction.
Over the past few days in the Dungeon, they'd run into other adventurer parties, but everyone had kept a tacit distance—no meddling, no conflict.
This was the first time they'd heard a distress call.
Faen caught the flicker of hesitation and pity in Robin's clear eyes and instantly understood what she was thinking.
He smiled faintly. "Let's take a look. We are a 'Familia of justice,' after all. If we can help, we should. It'll also do us good to build our Familia's reputation."
He knew it well, Robin and the newly joined Tifa were both kind-hearted people.
Asking them to ignore a plea for help that close by would be asking too much.
Thankfully, their kindness wasn't blind. They sought the captain's judgment before acting.
That was reassuring.
Faen hated the kind of virtue that ignored context and consequences—that sort of goodness only got people killed.
As long as it didn't endanger them, he didn't mind lending a hand.
With the decision made, the three of them sprinted toward the sound.
They reached the scene quickly.
What they saw made both Robin and Tifa turn their heads away, faces tightening with pain.
It looked like a slaughterhouse.
Severed limbs were scattered across the ground. Dark red blood soaked the earth. Several adventurers lay in pools of gore—bodies incomplete, ruined beyond recognition.
In the center, a human male adventurer covered in blood was clutching a girl to his chest, stumbling and scrambling as he avoided the savage charges of a Charging Hilichurl.
An arrow from a Rocket Hilichurl was still lodged in his back.
When he spotted Faen's group, it was like he'd seen his last hope. He screamed with everything he had left:
"Faen—save us!"
Faen blinked, then recognized him.
It was Luke, one of the people he'd met at the tavern.
No hesitation.
"Evangel."
Faen spoke the shortest possible chant. An invisible sonic blast slammed out like a cannon round, striking the Charging Hilichurl instantly.
The monster didn't even manage a scream—its body was pulverized into a mist of blood under the horrifying shockwave.
"Tifa."
Faen called again.
Tifa understood at once.
Her figure became a black afterimage. She brushed past Luke—who was staggering toward them, and shot straight for the rear, where a mixed group of Rocket Hilichurls and slimes had formed a killing line.
"Luke, what happened?"
Faen stepped forward and caught his friend, who was nearly collapsing from exhaustion.
Beside them, Robin immediately pulled out a healing potion, reaching for the girl Luke had been protecting with his life.
But her hand stopped midair.
The girl's chest no longer rose.
She wasn't breathing.
"Please… please, save her…" Luke begged Robin in a trembling voice.
Grief surfaced on Robin's face. She shook her head gently. "I'm sorry… she's already…"
Luke went rigid, as if struck by lightning. He dropped to his knees, still holding the body against his chest as though refusing to accept the cold.
A long time passed before he slowly looked up, bloodshot eyes locking onto Faen.
His voice tore itself raw as he screamed, "Faen—please! Help me get revenge!"
Adventurers entered the Dungeon for money, for strength—already prepared for death. They had no right to blame the monsters.
They hunted monsters. Monsters hunted them.
That was the Dungeon's fate.
But that didn't make hatred any lighter.
Faced with the sobbing, blood-soaked plea of someone he knew, Faen fell silent for a heartbeat.
Then he drew the longsword at his waist.
In a calm voice that still carried weight, he said only one word:
"Fine."
As soon as the word fell, he turned to join Tifa and charged into the monster pack.
Swordlight and fists interwove.
A cold-blooded slaughter began.
It didn't take long.
The monster group that had nearly wiped out Luke's party was completely eradicated.
Robin treated Luke's wounds, but he remained kneeling there, unmoving—cradling the corpse of the girl in his arms, his eyes empty of everything but deathly silence.
Robin let out a quiet sigh beside him, unable to find any words that could possibly matter.
To lose a companion who fought at your side, right in front of you—was the kind of pain language couldn't touch.
The battle was over, but the stench of blood lingered, mixing with dirt and moss into a nauseating, metallic reek.
In silence, Faen, Robin, and Tifa helped Luke gather what remained of his fallen comrades, wrapping the broken bodies in the coarse burlap adventurers commonly used.
Every movement felt heavy, each touch a reminder of how fragile life truly was.
Then they escorted the shattered Luke out of the Dungeon and back into the sunlight above.
When they carried the blood-soaked bodies out through the entrance beneath Babel, the Guild staff member on duty only glanced up.
No emotion crossed their face.
They simply crossed another name out in the registry.
They'd grown numb.
They'd seen too many living faces enter full of excitement—only to never come back.
In the beginning, they used to chat with familiar adventurers, trade jokes, wish them a safe return.
But later, they stopped.
Because they never knew whether the person smiling and greeting them today would be a cold corpse tomorrow—or vanish so completely that even a body wouldn't return.
Every extra conversation was just another seed of pointless grief.
Other adventurers passing by reacted with the same practiced indifference. They spared a glance and hurried on, their eyes carrying the chill of long familiarity.
Being able to bring a comrade's body back was already mercy among misfortune.
Most adventurers who died in the Dungeon died soundlessly—swallowed whole, leaving not even a single bone behind.
With the Guild staff's assistance, Luke's companions were laid to rest at Orario's First Cemetery, on the outskirts of the city.
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