Party Hunt and the Stinking Tunnel

Party hunting. That phrase fit the situation perfectly.

Vulcan just had to nudge the monsters lightly, and the knights and soldiers would handle the cleanup. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Even if he only tagged one, the full party's experience points poured into him—boosted by a whopping 2.5 times.

'Hitting level 147 with this.'

His level skyrocketed in no time. Plus, the hunting contest was a massive seven-day event once it kicked off. No way Vulcan was wasting that—he fired arrows day and night, reaching level 147 in just a week. Averaging over four levels a day.

'Who calls this the hell level section?'

From level 100 onward, each level required exponentially more experience. The 130-150 stretch was notorious: stats and skills stayed mediocre, but monster levels jumped, making every ding feel like hell—hence the nickname.

But with the 2.5x EXP buff and mob trains? Child's play. Vulcan breezed through what used to torment him back in the day. He'd hoped to punch through to 150, but this was plenty satisfying.

His gear alone solved the hell section's big issue—no powerful new skills—but with hundreds funneling mobs his way, his growth was dozens of times faster than solo grinding. The last three levels? He could chew through those with item power alone. Vulcan turned his gaze elsewhere, content.

'Thanks for the feast.'

Only about 30 minutes left in the contest. Knights could mop up dozens of mobs in that time, but after seven days of near-extinction-level clearing, finding them was the real hassle.

'Time to get started?'

Instead of hunting, Vulcan decided to grill Shairun and Raseu Count. That red glow caught in his Dragon Eye since arriving had been nagging him. Red meant main scenario quest ties, from experience. Something was hidden here.

'Probably the bastard who stashed the Plague Origin in the sewers.'

Problem was, he couldn't just point it out. Calling out their undetectable hideout—even Shairun missed it—would raise suspicions. So Vulcan pondered a natural reveal.

"Whoops! Slippery hands!"

- Tsk tsk. Who falls for that amateur act...

Ting!

He picked the simplest way: feign a loose grip but aim dead-on at the red glow.

"Haha, even a veteran like you slips after days of hunting fatigue?"

- Buying it?

The arrow veered way off—Raseu Count smirked, impressed by Vulcan's archery all week but holding back to spare noble pride. Nobles' egos needed tending.

Vulcan had noticed during the event: direct hits gave 100% EXP, indirect party shares about 80%. Multiplied by 2.5x, it was tricky math, but his experience nailed it.

"Must be... Huh? Something over there?"

Boom!!

Casually claiming inaccuracy, he swapped arrowhead for an explosion potion. One shot splashed minor damage across the pack. And it hid his superior aim—no bruising Count's ego from local hunts. Perfect for "accidentally" exposing the hideout too.

Magical concealment risked detection, so they used a camouflage veil—blown away by the blast, revealing the entrance.

"A tunnel!"

"Monsters' doing?"

"We'll check."

The knights buzzed. An unknown tunnel in the lord's ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠private grounds? Serious breach. Monsters were bad; something else, worse.

"I'll scout."

"You?"

"Yes. Immortal player like me should handle unknowns. Just in case—better safe. You elites can crush anything emerging, but block other exits while I check inside."

Vulcan stepped up smoothly, framing it as caution—not doubting knights' strength, but blocking escapes. Selfish dungeon solo ploy, but persuasive. NPCs couldn't respawn; injury hurt.

"Fine. But no solo risk. Three knights, five soldiers with you. Need a reporter if things go south."

"We'll send two priests too."

"Solid. Return safe."

"Thanks."

Raseu relented after thought. Ten escorts: three knights, five soldiers, two Radin priests. Annoying oversight, but handy if real threats lurked—his power might not suffice alone.

"Let's go."

The 10-man party formed fast, knights at late-200s elites. Raseu had 300s too, but they guarded him outside.

'Plenty.'

More than enough—no 300-level horrors in a 150-cap town. Radin priests buffing? Guaranteed win.

Vulcan strode in confidently.

"Ugh."

True to name, a foul stench assaulted on entry—like sewers, acrid and sour, filling the tunnel. Knights, soldiers, priests grimaced but pressed on, dutiful despite disgust.

Radin priests cast buffs first, layering extras on Vulcan—Raseu's favor, plus frontline risk.

"Advancing."

Prepped, Vulcan led as promised. Pitch-black tunnel, torch-dependent for most, but Dragon Eye lit it like day.

"Halt."

"Grrrrrr..."

Low growls ahead—Vulcan stopped them, spotting the foe clearly.

Common in the lord's grounds, but this one's skin rotted, oozing pus.

"As expected."

Vulcan knew: this was the Plague Origin lab. Nailed it.

"Step back. We'll handle it."

Knights surged forward at the spawn. Late-200s pros—easy slice for them.

"Please do."

Trivial for Vulcan too, but he yielded space. Needed to confirm something.

'Works.'

Slash!

One-shot decapitation. Vulcan grinned—even untagged, EXP flowed to him. Contest ongoing, escorts deployed: dungeon EXP was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his.

'Might hit 150 here.'

Three levels to go—possible. Vulcan led deeper.

Monsters popped often, but he let knights handle, eyeing contest clock. 80% EXP stung less than slowing for full shares—faster clears netted more.

"Urk?"

"You okay?"

"Yes. Sudden dizziness. Apologies."

A knight staggered mid-kill. Level gap minimized risk, but dizziness on a high-level? Vulcan sensed wrongness.

Checking: new red spots on exposed skin.

"This...?"

Light armor showed rash.

"Hold on. Recovery!"

Priest healed—spots persisted, worsening. Knight winced in pain.

"Excuse me."

Dragon Eye pinged. Vulcan rolled sleeve: red spots plus blisters oozing.

"...Plague. It's plague."

"What?!"

Infected unnoticed. Holy spells useless—ineffective vs. disease.

Vulcan clocked it: 'Plague Propagator...'

Dying Nols' aura seeped in.

"O-over here too...!"

Soldiers blanched, showing arms—same rash, terrified. Holy power resisted but not nullified disease—incurable killer.

"Impossible..."

Even priests spotted minor rashes.

All infected—except one.

'Not me?'

Ash Crystal's effect. Normally needed Ash Giant approval or 500 Spirit, but Item Master ignored limits. Nullified mid-tier ailments—including curses like plague, akin to poison.

"Take this and withdraw. Too risky deeper."

Decision made. Their aid ended here—solo from now. Plague mild yet; treatable.

He dumped disease potions on them, urging report outside. Mid-tier cures handled advanced plague per Dragon Eye, but materials short—best he had.

"And you, Vulcan...?"

"I'm fine. Radin's blessing, probably."

Half-true—many knew his Divine Mark. Least objectionable excuse.

His original pitch was solo scout anyway. They hesitated, nodded.

"We're ashamed."

"Radin will honor your sacrifice."

No risking lives for recon. Fail-proof anyway—could burn germs later. They bowed, retreated—praising Vulcan's noble resolve.

- Booted them on purpose? Unnecessary.

"Sigh. Booted? Pure safety."

- Hmph. Could've tagged along out and back.

Alone confirmed, Vulcan smirked. They'd cleared deep—now short boss run left.

Strongest foe ahead, but solo meant exclusive loot.

- 'Claiming that alone, huh.'

"Who knows."

Tud pointed to tunnel's end glow—Vulcan grinned.

"Time to wrap this up?"

Eyes sparkling, he charged toward the prize.