After the brutal clash with the ogres, Gazel and Vantias began looting the corpses. Despite only a few minutes passing since their deaths, the bodies already reeked — a putrid stench, like rotting sludge, filled the air.
The damp, moldy scent of the dungeon mingled with the foul odor of the corpses. A cold draft blew from the deeper halls, brushing across their faces, bringing with it a chill that crept beneath the skin.
Gazel pulled out a sharp, sturdy steel blade and began severing the ogres' fang-like teeth — thick, jagged tusks that jutted from their twisted mouths.
Nearby, the flame of a slowly melting candle hissed and smoked, casting a faint glow on the wet stone walls. The light trembled gently, unable to fully push back the surrounding darkness.
Vantias searched through one of the ogres' belongings, hoping to find something useful, but a question lingered in his mind. He turned his head slightly toward Gazel and asked in a soft, curious, and slightly friendly tone:
"Why are you cutting out their fangs?"
Gazel's brows were furrowed in focus. His jaw clenched tight as he struggled with the thick root of an ogre's tusk. He pressed harder.
KRACK–SHK!
The tooth cracked free with a wet snap.
A grin spread across Gazel's face.
"Ha! Finally came loose…"
Then, looking back at Vantias, he added:
"Sorry — got a little focused there. What were you asking again?"
Vantias repeated his question calmly:
"Why do we collect their fangs?"
Gazel blinked for a second, a bit surprised — any seasoned adventurer would already know the answer. But then he remembered what Vantias had been through.
He replied:
"Well… the guild offers bounties for certain parts of monsters. Truth is, most of an adventurer's income comes from collecting and selling this stuff."
Vantias's mouth opened in a small "O" of realization. He nodded slowly, but another question immediately followed:
"So... what are ogre fangs even used for? Decoration?"
Still working on the next tooth, Gazel answered patiently, with a calm tone:
"Nah. They're mostly used in alchemy. You can make potions, salves, magical gear... stuff like that."
Vantias continued searching one of the bodies, nodding thoughtfully.
"I didn't know they were that useful."
"Oh yeah,"Gazel said, "lots of uses—"
KRACK–SHK!
Another tooth came free.
A warm smile lit up Gazel's face.
"Got it. That's another one."
After gathering the loot and stuffing it into their packs, they resumed their journey. The narrow, winding corridors stretched deep into the dark, lined with strange fungi and eerie plants thriving in the absence of light. Distant groans and muffled screams echoed from somewhere far ahead — sounds that gnawed at the edges of their courage.
A bone-deep chill lingered in the air, as if the dungeon itself was exhaling cold despair. The deeper they went, the dimmer the oil lamps on the walls became, flickering less often until finally, they vanished altogether. The damp stone walls no longer reflected the golden glow of firelight. Instead, a living silence began to slither in the shadows — silence that moved, listened... waited.
Vantias looked ahead. There was no light anymore — just a suffocating blackness. He reached over his shoulder, unbuckled a small latch on his backpack, and pulled out a lantern. The dormant flame within, protected by a glass casing, felt like a tiny soul waiting to be awakened.
He struck a spark.
The flame caught.
A warm, trembling light bloomed from the lantern's core. The darkness retreated a few steps, wary of its glow. Vantias's face, lit by the dancing golden light, appeared almost dreamlike — half in clarity, half in shifting shadow.
Vantias and Gazel walked side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Their footsteps echoed faintly on the wet stone beneath them — the only sound breaking the tomb-like silence. The lantern cast their long, shivering shadows onto the moss-covered walls. The shadows swayed and jittered, like they were just as afraid of what lay ahead.
Gazel scanned the ground carefully with each step. His eyes flitted across cracks in the stone and the subtle shifts in the floor beneath them.
Then, in a calm but serious tone, he said:
"This dungeon's full of traps — deadly ones. All it takes is one wrong step and…"
He let the sentence hang.
"Keep your eyes open."
Vantias nodded silently. His expression grew more focused, breaths quieter. He began placing his feet more deliberately now, as if each step might decide his fate.
But something else was changing.
As they neared the threshold of the second floor, the dungeon itself seemed to shift — shedding an old skin for a darker one. The air grew colder. The smell of old metal and stale rot replaced the earthy scent of moss and mildew. The stone walls here were different — not rough and ancient, but smooth and black like polished obsidian. They didn't absorb the lantern's glow… they reflected it, cold and lifeless.
One more step, and they crossed the invisible line into the second floor — a place that felt older… and darker.
Gazel gave a small smile.
"Looks like we've made it to Floor Two... Most of these dungeons go five, maybe ten floors deep. It only gets harder from here."
Vantias nodded.
Gazel asked,
"What do you think? What floor do you reckon your team might be on by now?"
He gave Vantias a firm pat on the shoulder.
"Don't worry. We'll find them. They left before us, so they're probably on the second or third floor already. Maybe deeper — they had a full team and more power."
Vantias thought for a moment.
"If they're stopping to rest a few hours per floor... maybe we can catch up around Floor Three or Four..."
Suddenly, a sharp pain pierced Vantias's head. His vision swam. A wave of dizziness rolled over him, and memories — fragments of something soft and sacred — came rushing in.
**Memory Flashback**
The laughter of a young girl echoed in his mind — clear, innocent, full of warmth.
"little brother, I love you — as much as all the stars in the sky!"
"Bet you can't catch me!"
"We'll always be family, forever and ever!"
A gentle smile spread across Vantias's face. His eyes stared blankly ahead, unblinking — completely lost in the memory.
Gazel waved a hand in front of his face, puzzled.
"Hey. You with me? What'd I just say?"
Vantias blinked and snapped out of it. Embarrassed, he waved his hands slightly and lowered his gaze.
"Sorry… My mind drifted."
Gazel's voice softened.
"If there's something you want to ask… ask. I'll answer."
Vantias looked up, a mix of worry and curiosity in his tone.
"Do you think... my sister's still inside the dungeon?"
Gazel looked up toward the low stone ceiling and sighed.
"It's hard to say. That teleport could've thrown her anywhere. But until we know otherwise... we search every floor."
A heavy silence followed — his words sinking deep, pressing like a stone on Vantias's chest.
Still, something didn't sit right.
"How can you be sure the teleport kept her inside the dungeon?" Vantias asked.
Gazel raised both hands in a helpless gesture.
"Good question... but honestly, we can't be sure. Still, the dungeon is our first priority."
That thought weighed on Vantias like a lead cloak.
The fear that he might never find her… twisted like a knife behind his ribs.