The cavern still stank of scorched stone and lingering smoke. The last sputters of fire hissed as they clung stubbornly to the turret's charred husk.
Harlen sat heavily on a broken ledge, his arming sword laid across his knees. His once-neat blond hair was now frizzed and curled at the ends, blackened in places where the flames had licked too close. His face was streaked with ash, a few patches of skin reddened and raw. He let out a long, defeated sigh, shoulders slumping.
The laughter broke quickly from the others. First Mina, then Camylle, then even Trevus let a chuckle slip.
Lotha, kneeling beside Harlen, shook her head with an exasperated smile as she pressed her palms over his burns. Golden runes spiraled outward, drifting from her hands into his skin, dulling the pain and sealing the worst of the damage. "Hold still," she murmured. "You're lucky it only kissed you. Another second and I'd be scraping you off the wall."
Harlen groaned. "Feels like I was scraped off the wall."
Mina leaned against a chunk of rubble, arms folded, dagger still dangling from her hand. Her grin was wide, wicked. "You know… you and Camylle match now. Left side, right side. Burnt, blackened, and broody. A real pair."
Camylle barked out a laugh, tossing back her flame-colored hair. The faint scar across her left cheek caught the firelight, contrasting against Harlen's soot-blackened right side. "She's right! We're like mirror images now. Though I wear it better, obviously."
Harlen gave her a look halfway between irritation and reluctant amusement, though his lips tugged into a crooked grin despite himself. "How Fantastic."
The group's laughter softened the lingering tension of battle, the chamber echoing faintly with their voices. For the first time since stepping into Dungeon #89J's depths, they let themselves breathe.
For now, the group rested.
Trevus leaned against the stone pillar with his sabres across his lap, eyes half-closed but ears sharp. Harlen muttered curses under his breath, groaning while Lotha continued to fuss over the last of his burns, golden runes fading from her palms one by one.
Camylle, restless as always, paired with Mina. The two were given the task of marking the path they had come from to ensure their own bearings and to leave a trail should the dungeon try its tricks.
They walked side by side along the main corridor. Mina brushed her hand along the stone as she went, quiet, thoughtful. Camylle lifted her palms every few steps, snapping bursts of fire against the floor. Small jets of flame hissed out, leaving scorched marks—blackened soot and ash scars forming a straight, unmistakable line back to the maw.
After a time, Camylle broke the silence. "Strange, isn't it? The walls shift, shafts grind like teeth… but the main path we came from hasn't moved. Almost as if the dungeon itself knows to leave the entrance untouched."
Mina glanced back at the burn-marks, then forward again. "Convenient for us, at least."
Camylle smirked, then cast a sidelong glance at her companion. "Say, Mina. Humor me a bit. What do you really want to do in life? In the future, I mean." She lifted a hand quickly, cutting off any offense.
"Don't get me wrong—I'm not mocking you for being a Null. But it's… hard to picture you choosing a life of endless combat especially in the battlefield. Most Nulls I've ever met end up writers, laborers, philosophers… even politicians."
Mina slowed, her hand tightening faintly on Ruth's hilt. Her voice came soft, troubled. "Well…The future's a heavy thing for me. Being Null means there's always a wall I can't climb. I can't sling spells or weave wards, and especially in a country that values magic, that makes me… feel limited."
She exhaled, her eyes tracing the scorched marks Camylle left.
"But I still want to be a guilder. Like areal one. I doubt I'll ever be as sharp a blade as you guys. But I can be useful in other ways. I've been thinking—maybe my place is to guide. Not just as a handler, but as someone who studies what we face. Life, duties, expectations… even the dungeons themselves. If I can't burn or break monsters, maybe I can teach those who can. Pass down what I've seen, what I've learned... So far that's what I think."
Camylle stopped for a moment, turning toward her. Firelight danced on her face, catching the faint scar across her cheek. For once, her grin softened into something gentler, almost approving.
"That's noble enough, Mina," Camylle said quietly. "Not every fight is won with fire or steel. Sometimes, you gotta the ones who prepare others for the storm."
Mina blinked, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "Noble, huh? Coming from you, that almost sounds believable."
Camylle chuckled, snapping another burst of flame against the floor. The ember marks glowed faintly in the dark, a trail back to where they had come.
"Believe it or not, I can be serious sometimes~"
The two continued forward, their path marked in ash and fire, a small line of certainty in a dungeon built on shifting lies.
Mina hesitated for a moment as they walked, tracing one of Camylle's scorch marks with her eyes. Then she asked, almost offhandedly, "So… did you know Trevus has been training me at dawn?"
Camylle blinked, caught by surprise. "What? Training you? No, I didn't know that, well I live within Alpime after all, I don't know what goes on in Western III all the time. He's been keeping secrets then. Hah. What's he teaching you, anyway?"
Mina smiled faintly, though it carried a shade of embarrassment. "To be honest… he's training me the way he was trained back in the Legion. I was the first to ask him. Nearly bawled my eyes out before he finally agreed."
Camylle laughed, a low, amused chuckle, shaking her head. "You? Crying? Can't picture it. But… eh, it's a human right. Even tough ones like you get a pass." She tilted her head curiously.
"So what's he putting you through?"
"Mostly cardio. Running at dawn. Fitness drills. Weight work," Mina said.
Her hand rested casually on Ruth's hilt as she spoke, though her voice carried pride.
"Been at it two years now. I've changed a lot. Bet I could even carry Ashe on my back pretty easily."
Camylle barked another laugh. "Ha! That's something. Don't overdo it though, Mina. Push too far, and you'll burn out before you ever hit your peak."
Mina nodded, but her grin showed she took it in stride. "Yeah, I know."
She added after a moment, "Trevus also mentioned… before the Adventurers' Certification Exam, he'll teach me Kamsport. He says it's good for close quarters. You know, that self-defense style used by the non-Imperium folk in the Central East. Since me and Ashe are debuting together as certified adventurers… figured it'd help." She glanced downward, murmuring, "If we fail, there's always next year."
Camylle's eyes lit up. She stopped mid-step, her grin wide and mischievous. "Kamsport, huh? Oh, I'm practically a master at that. Maybe I should get to you first. Show you a few tricks before Trevus dumps you in the dirt."
Mina looked up at her, eyes widening. "Wait—you'd really—?" She broke into a smile.
"Of course you would. You're the Martial Mage of Party Five. If anyone knows how to fight without mana, it's you."
Camylle puffed her chest with playful arrogance, fire flickering faintly around her wrists. "Exactly. Stick with me, and you'll be kicking boys twice your size flat on their backs before Trevus even bothers to teach you the first stance."
Mina laughed, her earlier doubt fading like smoke. "Then I'll hold you to it."
The two pressed on, flame-marks trailing behind them, the quiet corridor filled with the sound of their footsteps and the warmth of a bond forged in banter.
An hour later, the echo of footsteps marked Mina and Camylle's return. The flames Camylle left earlier had long cooled to soot, their faint burn-marks guiding them back through the dim corridor.
"Nearly an hour," Camylle murmured, rolling her shoulders as they neared the cavern's opening.
"Not bad for a dungeon that tries to eat its own halls. Let's get back before Trevus thinks we got lost."
When they got back and stepped into the checkpoint chamber, the space had changed. What had once been a battlefield of shattered stone was now a makeshift camp—Harlen's barrier glimmered faintly in the background, enclosing a safe pocket of calm.
The faint golden shimmer hummed like a heartbeat. Within it, Nira and Lotha were busy setting up the campfire.
Nira crouched by the arranged firewood, her expression quiet and focused. She pressed a gloved palm flat against the stone beside it, whispering something low and unintelligible. Shadows rippled outward, flowing like liquid ink. From within that ink, she pulled a small black pebble etched with runes—the faint sigil of Long Living Flame.
She rolled it between her fingers before pouring a thread of her mana into it. The rune flared red, cracks forming across its surface like molten veins. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed it into the pile of wood.
The campfire bloomed instantly, a slow, steady blaze of deep orange that would burn for days if needed.
Lotha leaned back with a small smile, resting her mace against her shoulder. "You know," she said, "it's pretty convenient that you can just… pull things out of there. No wonder you don't bother with a pack. You've got your own pocket dimension."
Nira smirked, brushing ash from her gloves. "Don't get too jealous, Paladin. Everything I store in the Realm of Shadows is still tied to me. Weight, mass, all of it. So unless you want me to collapse under ten crates of gear, don't ask me to carry your stuff."
Lotha laughed softly. "Ah, makes sense. Guess I'll stick to my own back, then."
Across the camp, Trevus and Harlen worked over a wide patch of bricked stone they'd cleared for a table. A sheet of parchment was spread over it, pinned by loose bits of rubble. Trevus's notes—neat, sharp handwriting—filled the corners in ink. Harlen added symbols and routes, comparing the sketch with what he remembered from earlier chambers.
The faint scent of burnt ink mixed with smoke from Nira's fire.
When Camylle and Mina stepped into view, Trevus looked up briefly from the parchment.
"You're back."
Camylle shrugged, tossing a glance toward the corridor. "Nothing changed. The dungeon's still shifting outside, but the main path stayed untouched. We've got a clear trail back to the maw."
"Good." Trevus gestured toward the map. "Then mark it down. From the entrance to here—trace every turn and mark every flame you set. Once that's done, we'll start planning routes for the other exits."
Camylle rolled her sleeves, ready to work. "You got it, boss."
Mina sat nearby, stretching her legs toward the fire. The orange glow danced over her dagger's silver edge as she exhaled in quiet contentment. Around her, the rest of Party 5 settled into the rhythm of rest and routine—each role in harmony, the air finally calm after chaos.
For the first time since entering Dungeon #89J, the cavern felt almost like a home.
The checkpoint chamber had grown still again, save for the soft crackle of Nira's fire and the steady scratching of quills on parchment.
Those who needed rest took it: Mina leaned against her pack near the flames, eyes half-lidded; Harlen reclined against his barrier line, checking the edges for cracks in its glow; and Lotha sat cross-legged for a moment, letting her breath even out after hours of tension.
But Trevus, Harlen, and Camylle were still working—voices low, methodical. They had turned the bricked floor at the chamber's edge into a cartographer's table. Trevus traced some unexplored routes from memory, Harlen corrected the distances, and Camylle marked turns and branching halls in small flicks of coal. The map from the Dungeon Maw to the Checkpoint Chamber was beginning to take shape, a spiderweb of progress carved out in the heart of shifting stone.
Once everything was in place, Camylle set her quill down and began rechecking her gear—refitting her gauntlets, tightening the clasps on her flame-scorched boots, ensuring every metal and flint was secured. Trevus watched, always the same quiet precision behind his gaze, before returning to his own notes.
A few minutes later, Lotha exhaled softly and rose. The rest had done her good, the tightness in her shoulders loosened, the weight of her armor lighter somehow. She opened her pack, rummaging for a moment before pulling out her Staynic journal, its cover lined with gold filigree and faint runes of preservation.
She glanced toward Ashe, who was seated by the barrier's edge, tracing idle barriers surface trying to understand as the barrier's essence sparkled in his fingers before escaping his trance.
"Ashe," she called, voice steady but firm. "Time to work."
He blinked, looking up. "Work? I thought we were still pretending to rest."
Lotha's smile was faint, patient. "Rest later. We've got Strygan writings on these walls, and we're the expert on the old tongues. Let's see what we can pull from them before we head deeper. Usually, they mark directions—or warnings."
Ashe groaned dramatically, though he was already getting to his feet. "Fine, fine."
Lotha chuckled softly, slinging her journal under her arm as they started off together, their steps echoing faintly against the ancient brick.
Their footsteps faded into the other side of the large chamber beyond as they began inspecting the walls, deciphering faint carvings under the dim light of Nira's long flame.
Back by the fire, the chamber felt almost tranquil.
Mina sat with her knees tucked to her chest, tracing idle lines in the dirt. Across from her, Nira lounged lazily on a flat slab of rock, elbows resting on her knees, watching the firelight flicker across her blade.
After a moment, Nira's voice broke the silence. "Hey, kid," she said, glancing sideways. "Once this whole dungeon mess is over, you wanna hit a salon with me?"
Mina blinked, caught off guard. "A… salon?"
"Yeah," Nira said, smirking faintly. "C'mon, don't give me that look. My treat. I'm serious."
Mina chuckled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "That's… unexpectedly domestic of you."
Nira leaned back, grin widening. "Well, after weeks of crawling through stone guts and dodging beams of death, a little self-care doesn't sound so bad, does it? Besides—" she gestured vaguely toward Mina's head, that wonderful hue of coral red. "—you've got good hair. Be a crime not to see it cleaned up proper."
Mina laughed quietly, shaking her head. "Alright, alright. I'll humor you—wait! Does the salon offer massages?"
Nira chuckled. "No promises, kid. No promises."
The two shared a quiet grin, the warmth of the fire wrapping around their laughter as the distant echoes of shifting stone filled the chamber once again.
The faint glow of Nira's campfire flickered in the distance, casting long, reaching shadows across the Checkpoint Chamber. Farther ahead, where the cavern walls rose uneven and ancient, Lotha and Ashe worked in relative silence.
This was their usual duty in any dungeon and it was to decipher the Strygan writings carved into the walls. Not just idle curiosity, but survival. These inscriptions often contained directions, warnings, or even fragmented records left behind by the long-dead architects of the Pre-Rapture age. To ignore them was to walk blind.
Lotha's journal rested open in her hands, a thick, well-kept volume of parchment edged with brass, its pages filled with intricate glyphs and corresponding translations. It was her Strygan Translation Journal, a companion as constant as her mace.
Both she and Ashe were fluent in the Old Strygan System, an ancient alphabet that predated nearly everything written after the Rapture. Understanding it fully was considered common education among scholars and high guilders, but only a few cared enough to truly use it.
Lotha cared. Ashe, in his own eccentric way, did too.
The two moved slowly along the curved walls, tracing old etchings. Ashe knelt near one of the larger stone pillars, his eyes narrowing as he ran his fingers along a faint line of text. "Sixteen sets of Strygan markings," he muttered, marking each one down with a flick of his charcoal stick.
"All of them carved into the natural stone. I think they predate the dungeon itself."
Lotha hummed softly, jotting notes beside his. "Meaning this place existed long before the Computare made it part of own dungeon influence. A recycled ruin."
"Exactly," Ashe replied, standing. "Though… I also remember some carvings near the entrance. Not purely Strygan. They looked newer—rougher. Probably left by past delvers. They had the same structure, but… not the same grammar. Half the words were nonsense."
"That happens," Lotha said, crouching down to inspect another line. "Some guilders think carving Strygan symbols into walls keeps monsters away. Others do it to mark paths. The language's reputation as divine tends to invite superstition."
Ashe smirked. "So we're basically reading graffiti from dead adventurers?"
Lotha chuckled under her breath. "Well it wouldn't be the first time, would it?"
After another few minutes of quiet work, she let out a soft grunt and unfastened the clasps of her chestplate. It fell to the floor with a heavy thud, the sound echoing through the chamber. Ashe flinched slightly at the weight of it.
"Wow," he said, raising a brow. "What's that made of?"
Lotha smiled faintly as she brushed dust from her shoulder. "Mana-reinforced composites. I had it reforged not long ago. It's durable, heavy, and… well, it fits me however if something breaks it, it'll shatter in a thousand pieces. My mana's apparently rough and dense—turns out that trait translates into raw physical strength and endurance."
She rolled her wrist, feeling the pull of her muscles. "I never used mana reinforcement before, not properly. But Trevus said my punches hit harder than they used to. I'm still not on his level, or Camylle's finesse—but I'll get there. I'm new to frontlining, after all."
Ashe watched her, faint admiration in his eyes. "You're all absurdly strong. Sometimes I wonder if I'm in the wrong profession."
Lotha laughed, closing her journal with a soft clap. "Maybe. But strength isn't everything, Ashe. You're an illusionnaire. That's not a weakness—it's just a different kind of strength."
Ashe smirked, tilting his head. "Still, wouldn't hurt to build a few muscles. Maybe learn how to hit something if my illusions fail."
"Ha! Maybe." She nudged him with her elbow, teasing. "But honestly, with how you think and move? I see more of a rogue in you. Sleek, cunning, quick. The illusionnaire bit just makes you sound mysterious enough to get away with it."
Ashe snorted, amused. "A rogue illusionist, huh? That's one way to brand it. I could live with that."
Lotha grinned, gathering her things. "Just remember—whatever menace you plan to be, make sure it's our menace, not the dungeon's."
"Deal," Ashe said, smiling faintly as the two continued down the curving wall, torches flickering against the Strygan runes that whispered fragments of an older world.
Half an hour had passed since the clamor of battle faded into the deep hush of the chamber.
Beyond the faint orange flicker of Nira's long-burning campfire, Ashe and Lotha still worked tirelessly beneath the cavern's vaulted dark. Their voices echoed softly from afar — the murmur of ink scratching parchment, the quiet rhythm of analysis, and the glow of runes being traced and deciphered. For the last stretch of minutes, they had been poring over every strand of Strygan text scattered across the walls — hoping, among the countless ancient verses and fragmented warnings, to find a clue.
Somewhere beyond one of the many gaping holes that tunneled deeper into the earth, there had to be a way to the Computare's main console, or the Heart Box that anchored its sentience. A direct route meant saving hours… maybe even lives.
Back at the safe camp encased within Harlen's protection barrier, Mina lay sprawled on the cold stone floor — her back against her travel pack, her legs half-crossed and twitching from fatigue. The dim firelight played across her face, drawing soft gold lines beneath her closed eyes.
Her mind, however, was far from resting.
Damn it… I should've brought that cushion, she muttered inwardly, shifting to no avail. My spine feels like it's cracking in three places…
Her silent lament was cut short by a familiar voice.
"Sleeping like that's a fine way to wake up looking like a twisted corpse," said Trevus, his tone dry with amusement.
Mina cracked open one eye. Beside her, Trevus had appeared, sitting himself down upon a slab of fallen stone. His twin sabres rested against his sides, his gloved hands idle, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. He looked relaxed — or as relaxed as one could look in the depths of an A-Ranked dungeon.
Mina groaned softly, shifting up with a creak of her pack straps. "Heh, well, what do you suggest? We left most of our sleeping rolls back at the carriage. We were supposed to be in and out in a day, remember? We're substitutes, not squatters."
"True enough," Trevus replied, chuckling quietly. "Still, a corpse with a sore back isn't much help. Endure it for now, alright? You and Ashe are doing well — better than I expected, actually. Dungeon work this deep isn't easy for young hands."
Mina puffed out her cheeks and crossed her arms, feigning pride. "Hmph. You bet we're doing well. Kids my age would've turned tail the moment they saw those walking rocks."
Trevus arched a brow, clearly amused. "Oh? Sixteen and already comparing yourself to veterans?"
"Almost certified," Mina shot back, raising her chin smugly. "Few more months, and I'll be a full-fledged adventurer. Then you'll have to take me seriously."
Trevus laughed. a low, genuine sound that echoed faintly through the barrier's still air.
"Then I'll be sure to treat you like a proper guildmate, not a kid trying to nap on a pile of metal."
Mina snorted. "I'll take that as a compliment."
"You've got spirit, Mina. Keep it that way. The deeper we go, the more you'll learn that spirit keeps you alive as much as skill." Trevus leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked toward the direction of Ashe and Lotha's work, where the flicker of their torches painted runic shadows upon the wall.
Mina's expression softened, a small smile replacing her usual smirk. "...Y'got it, Trev."
The two sat quietly for a while — the campfire crackling softly beside them, its warmth mingling with the hum of the barrier. Somewhere deeper in the dark, the walls of the dungeon groaned faintly, alive with shifting mana veins and the distant whisper of the Computare's unseen mind.
For now, though, Party 5 rested. The silence, for once, was kind.