The Fox Den (2)

A monster luring players into an ambush was about as common as dirt. From the goblins you started seeing after just a few levels to any creature with even a shred of intelligence — you'd run into the trick at least once.

But here, in Lucifen Forest? That was another matter entirely.

No matter how real everything felt, Al Fantasia was still a game. Lucifen Forest might as well have been a tutorial zone for people who'd just logged in for the first time. Everything about it was designed to be intuitive and gentle. The first monsters you were supposed to hunt were non-aggressive neutrals. Aside from the boss, nothing traveled in packs — they wandered as solitary creatures.

There were exceptions, of course. The blade squirrels. That fight with the rabbit pack last night. But even accounting for those, this place was easy enough. You didn't need to overthink anything. Just deal with whatever came charging at your face.

But what if that premise fell apart?

I chased after the fox ahead of us, tail swaying, turning the thought over as I ran. Our pace had dropped ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠considerably from when we'd first started, but the gap between us and the creature never quite opened up. We hadn't been running long enough to be tired — and even when I sped up, the distance refused to shrink. It always kept a consistent interval, just far enough to stay in sight, never quite slipping from view.

That was how I knew for certain the monster in front of us was luring us in. The intent behind it was obvious.

Common sense said we shouldn't follow. Of course, taking them as single entities, there wasn't a monster in Lucifen Forest that could beat us. Even the boss — the Black Wolf Pack — would probably have a hard time against Yeon if they fought one-on-one. And if all that waited at the end of this fox's trail was a pack of forest foxes, that would be fine. A fox pack was basically just a pile of experience points.

But what if some monster I'd never heard of popped out? Or a boss I'd never seen before?

Maybe we should stop chasing after all.

The thought had barely formed when the fox we'd been pursuing vanished. It happened in the blink of an eye. I hadn't taken my eyes off it for even a second. How?

"A hole?"

Yeon's mutter answered the question for me. Unlike me, with my low-to-the-ground stature, Yeon was tall enough to have seen the whole thing play out — including the fox slipping right into a pitch-black hole.

I stared at the crude black opening. It looked like someone had slapped a blotch of paint over the world in MS Paint, and I considered our options. It wasn't large. Big enough for me to slip through comfortably, and for Yeon if she put in a little effort. But even someone four times Yeon's size wouldn't have any trouble getting in.

And that was because this thing looked like a dungeon. A dimensional dungeon, at that.

Dungeons came in two types. Terrestrial dungeons, where monsters gathered in places like caves for whatever reason and formed their own ecosystems — and dimensional dungeons, which only opened when certain conditions were met. Lucifen didn't have the kind of terrain that could support a terrestrial dungeon in the first place, so if this was a dungeon, it had to be the latter.

And if it was the latter, you generally wanted to go in. Dimensional dungeons paid out handsomely if you cleared them. There was a reason people shouted "jackpot" whenever they found one. Get lucky enough to snag a named piece of gear in there, and you could rocket straight into the upper ranks.

But I couldn't bring myself to step through so easily. The difficulty of a dimensional dungeon didn't scale with the region it appeared in — it was completely random. A dimensional dungeon in a high-level hunting ground could spit out wild rabbits. One in a low-level zone could cough up a minotaur, the kind of boss even high-level players struggled to take down.

And if you failed even once, that was it. It would never open again. Going in required genuine caution.

I had more reason to be careful than anyone. You couldn't leave a dimensional dungeon of your own free will. Clear it, or die. Those were the only two ways out. If we walked in and a minotaur happened to be waiting, resistance wouldn't mean a damn thing. One stomp and my body would burst like a water balloon.

It was a shame, but backing off was the right call. There was no need to take a gamble this dangerous. This wasn't like before. I couldn't afford to go adventuring. You had to be alive to have adventures, didn't you?

With that thought, I looked over at Yeon.

And then my eyes went wide and my mouth fell open. Yeon had her hand inside the hole.

"Oh, no way. My hand disappeared."

"Kyang?!"

What the hell is that crazy girl doing?! I lunged at Yeon in a panic, but it was already too late.

"Huh?"

Yeon's dazed voice hung in the air as our vision warped. And when the distortion cleared, we ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were inside a dark passageway. The thick smell of earth suggested we were underground.

"Whoa, it's tight in here!"

I turned toward the voice behind me and found Yeon on all fours, just like me. There was no other choice. The passage was so low that Yeon couldn't even sit up, let alone stand. For me, of course, the tunnel was more than spacious — but given the dungeon's name, that wasn't particularly strange. Of course a human would have trouble using a tunnel built for foxes.

"Choco? Where are you?"

Unlike me, who could see perfectly well ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in the dark, Yeon sounded anxious — unsettled by a space where not a single sliver of light reached. I was right in front of her, so I opened my jaws wide and bit her in the face.

"Eek! Kyaaah! ...Wait, that didn't do any damage?"

Yeon shrieked in surprise, then muttered in confusion.

"Wait... Choco?"

Yep, that's me. I chewed on her a bit more to confirm it, and she snatched me up in her arms and squeezed.

"Ghk—"

"Haaah... you really scared me..."

Yeon let out a long sigh of relief and buried her face in my fur. I, on the other hand, was dying. The position was bad enough, but she was hugging me way harder than usual.

I'm gonna die like this. I wheezed and thrashed until Yeon finally noticed and jolted in alarm.

"Ah, s-sorry. All the tension just drained out of me at once... That hurt, didn't it? I'm sorry..."

"Kyang..."

I'd been the one who startled her on purpose, so I wasn't really in a position to complain. The problem was how damn vivid these sensations were. We were inside a game. Why did I still have to breathe? Why did I still have to feel pain? I grumbled internally as I wriggled free of Yeon's hands.

"Ah..."

Yeon made a disappointed little sound, but that wasn't important right now. I stood on all fours and looked back and forth — toward Yeon, then the opposite direction. There was no path behind her. I couldn't tell for sure, but something seemed to be blocking the way.

Which meant we had to go the other way... Surely a monster wouldn't pop out in here, right?

The passage was already so low Yeon couldn't even straighten her back. If a monster appeared in this tunnel, I'd have to fight it entirely on my own. Fighting in a space this cramped was a disadvantage. Especially for someone like me, who fought with speed rather than raw power — a straight, narrow tunnel was basically fighting with every penalty in the book stacked against me.

The one silver lining, I supposed, was the buff.

The problem being that I wasn't the only fox here — the monsters that spawned in this place would be foxes too. We'd gotten here by chasing a fox, and the dungeon was called Fox Den. You'd have to be trying ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠not to figure that out. On top of that, it didn't apply to Yeon, our most important combat asset. So it was a buff that might as well not have existed.

If I could at least use magic, that would've been something. I clicked my tongue internally and was about to head back to Yeon when—

"Hahh... hahh..."

Rapid, shallow breathing. It was coming from Yeon. I looked at her in confusion and saw that she wasn't just gasping — her whole body was trembling. She looked like someone in pain. I hurried over to her, and a smile touched her disoriented face.

"Ah, Choco..."

"Kyang!"

"It's okay. I just... a bad memory came back for a second, that's all..."

That didn't sound like something you say "it's okay" about. I fidgeted, watching her — if this were the real world, she'd be dripping with cold sweat. The contrast with her usual lively self was so stark that I couldn't help feeling anxious. Was it because we were in pitch darkness where she couldn't see a thing? I could see as clearly as midday, but she couldn't. Maybe that was it.

So if there was light, she'd feel better? I started thinking fast.

I knew a spell that generated light. I knew the incantation, too. I had mana, so if the conditions were met, I could use it. But I was missing a condition. The most important one.

A Magic Book. A type of skill book for learning magic skills — every single magic skill could only be learned through one of these. You could meet every other condition in the world, but without a Magic Book, you couldn't manifest a spell. That was why mages were expensive. Physical skills developed through repetition, but magic required you to buy a Magic Book and learn from it, no exceptions.

Granted, there were people called Archmages who could use magic without any of that — but those freaks had mana stats over seven hundred. Compared to that, I was still a rookie with a mana stat in the thirties.

But I couldn't not even try. This wasn't just anyone — Yeon was suffering. I usually snapped at her for being a weird girl, but looking at her now, she just seemed like a child. A frightened, fragile child.

I wasn't cold-hearted enough to just sit there and watch. I groped through the faint memories that surfaced and drew up a handful of mana.

I wasn't a mage. If I had to classify myself, I was a swordsman. But I'd enjoyed soloing, so I'd dabbled in most roles — and magic had been one of them. I pulled up the mana, recalling the sensation of casting a spell. The image I held was of a bright light. Not a sun that illuminated everything — just a gentle glow, like a candle lighting the way immediately ahead.

As I held that thought, white grains of light began to rise from my body. Mana taking shape as magic.

"Whoa..."

It looked like a swarm of fireflies drifting along a dark mountain path. Even Yeon, still trembling, parted her lips in wonder and stared. And when I thought everything was ready, I murmured softly.

"Kyang."

The rising grains of light vanished with a soft pah.

Darkness settled over us once more. I closed my eyes and thought:

Goddamn vocal cords.