Predator and Prey

"Boss."

The office ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠door clicked shut as Lisa, Dickson's executive secretary, nodded curtly and took the head seat. Her public identity was merely that of an assistant to the boss of the Hunters, but behind closed doors, she commanded the syndicate's private assassination squad.

"Status on the target?"

"Currently engaged," a subordinate answered promptly. "The honey trap was confirmed a failure, and our strike team moved in immediately afterward."

Lisa furrowed her brow. Had the seduction worked, the loose end would have been tied up cleanly without a sound. Silently cursing the idiot woman who couldn't even manage a simple honey trap, her expression turned icy.

"Wrap it up quickly. If the City Guard gets involved, the cleanup will become a nightmare."

"Understood!"

Yet despite her swift order, the situation began to unravel in a direction she had never anticipated.

"B-Boss! The target is closing in on our position!"

"...What?"

This location was a temporary command post. While it wasn't far from the operation site, it was hidden deep in the alleys—hardly a place someone could stumble across by accident. Yet the target, this Bennett, had somehow pinpointed their outpost and was cutting a path straight toward them.

What is he?

Lisa pulled up the target's dossier again. With the Mercenary Guild stonewalling their inquiries, they had been forced to dig up information through secondary channels, but the parchment contained nothing extraordinary. Aside from ten years of mercenary service and a respectable reputation, he was completely ordinary on paper.

"Reposition all deployed forces," she commanded coldly. "Rally them here and crush him with sheer numbers."

"Right away."

"The rest of you, gear up and get out there."

True to an assassination unit, every operative in the room was a trained killer. They hastily checked their weapons and filed out of the command post.

"There he is!"

Shouts, choked screams, and the harsh clash of steel echoed through the corridors, drawing closer with terrifying speed. Listening in silence, Lisa rose from her chair.

"Useless bastards."

She had taken pride in raising this assassination unit, but apparently it had all been a waste of effort. To think a single mercenary had wiped out the vanguard and forced her to step in personally. Hearing her men die one after another irritated her, yet part of her felt it was good riddance. If they couldn't even eliminate a lone ranger, they didn't deserve to call themselves assassins anyway.

Crash!

Lisa kicked the heavy door open, her gaze turning razor-sharp. Corpses from her strike team littered the ground, and standing atop the carnage was their quarry. Bennett was splattered with blood from the skirmish, but he bore no signs of any fatal injury. When her eyes fell upon the weapon gripped in his hands, they narrowed to slits.

A Dwarven repeating crossbow?

She knew his type at a glance. He was a specialist who relied on distance rather than hand-to-hand combat. In that case, his fatal weaknesses were obvious: never allow him distance, and never give him time to acquire his target.

Her boots kicked off the floorboards in an explosive sprint, closing the gap before he could blink. Thrusting her arm forward, the slender, piercing blade of her rapier shot straight for the bridge of Bennett's brow.

Finished—

A smirk crept onto Lisa's lips, only to freeze instantly. The man who was supposed to be helpless at close range was staring right into her eyes. At first, she thought it was a fluke, but his pupils were minutely tracking every shift in her trajectory. Then, a volley of bolts erupted toward her face.

Lisa hesitated for a fraction of a second before committing to her thrust, parrying the incoming fire with sharp flicks of her blade. The gap wasn't fully closed yet; dodging backward would only give him the distance he wanted. Accelerating her charge, she weaved through the trajectory of the bolts, the whistling shafts grazing past her cloak.

"Got you!"

Closing within arm's reach, Lisa drove the tip of her rapier forward. But just as Bennett went to pull the trigger again, he reversed his grip on Shooting Star and swung the heavy dwarven frame with both hands like a club.

She had never imagined anyone would use an exorbitant piece of dwarven engineering as a bludgeon. Caught completely off guard by the unorthodox parry, the heavy kinetic force clobbered her guard, tearing through her balance and driving her backward. Stumbling back a few ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠paces, Lisa frantically reset her stance.

It was barely a separation of several feet—yet for Bennett, that brief opening was more than enough to align his sights.

Thud.

"Ugh...!"

A bolt sank deep into Lisa's shoulder, tearing an involuntary groan from her throat. Snapping the wooden shaft with a swift slash to keep it from impeding her arm, she glared daggers at him. Assessing the wound as non-fatal, she gritted her teeth and lowered her center of gravity to lunge once more.

"Die!"

Her eyes flashed with murderous intent, but the moment she pushed off the ground, her legs folded beneath her. Skidding across the cobblestones, she rolled onto her side, her eyes widening in disbelief.

"What... the hell?"

She tried to scramble to her feet, but her limbs refused to respond. Her mind was crystal clear, yet her body had slipped entirely beyond her control.

Don't tell me...

Forcing her stiffening neck around, Lisa's face drained of color. The bolt head embedded near her feet glistened with a sickening, viscous sheen. It was paralytic poison—the very human-hunting neurotoxin issued exclusively to Hunters operatives. In fact, she was the one who had taken the crude market poison and refined it into this lethal, fast-acting concoction.

Overwhelmed by the grotesque irony, a hollow, bitter laugh escaped her lips.

"Fuck... you've got to be shitting m—"

Thwack!

A bolt punched clean through her chest. Lisa's body convulsed violently once before slumping limp against the floor.

Having emptied his drum on that final shot, Bennett loaded a fresh magazine into Shooting Star and swept his gaze across the quiet street. If I hadn't taken that new trait, this could have gone very badly.

The rank-and-file assassins had been manageable, but this woman, Lisa, had been on an entirely different level. Her blinding speed made her a lethal threat. If not for the rewards he had reaped from surviving the previous dungeon, it might very well have been his corpse lying on the stones instead of hers.

When he had leveled up after escaping the LT Department Store, three options had been presented to him. Exhaustion and caution had caused him to delay his selection, but when ambushed by the assassination squad tonight, he had finally invested five points into Strength and chosen Reflexes.

In hindsight, it had been a lifesaving gamble. His heightened reflexes allowed his eyes to perceive Lisa's blinding trajectory, and his augmented muscular power let him swing his crossbow with enough force to shatter her momentum and plant a poisoned bolt into her flesh.

Bennett looked down at Lisa's body and the dead operatives around her. It has to be the Hunters.

He had arrived in Dungeon City only recently; very few people held enough of a grudge to send a professional hit squad after him. That cowardly squad leader from the department store must have slipped out of the dungeon alive.

Which means their syndicate boss has to die next.

Click.

Just as Bennett pivoted to track down the Hunters' headquarters, a blue window materialized before his vision, freezing him in place.

He closed his eyes. An indescribably electrifying sensation surged through his veins, washing over every fiber of his muscles before gradually settling into a cool, lingering warmth.

Three new options floated before him. One of them was Stone Fist, which had already appeared during his very first level-up. After reviewing the other two choices, Bennett locked in his decision on Flash Sprint.

Unlike passive traits like Night Eyes or Reflexes that provided permanent physical alterations, this was an active skill. Given that he lacked any dedicated mobility or evasive techniques, obtaining an instantaneous dash was a massive upgrade to his combat repertoire.

Come to think of it...

He hadn't touched the Hunters' syndicate boss yet.

"Why did the quest register as complete?"

Puzzled, Bennett shook his head and melted into the shadows of the alley. Behind him, nothing remained in the cold night air except the corpse of Lisa, wearing an expression of bitter disbelief, and the silent bodies of her fallen assassins.

"The boss of the Hunters was found dead."

"...Is that so?"

Seated across from Kyle and Edgar in a private tavern booth, Bennett raised an eyebrow.

"It appears to have been an assassination," Kyle reported in a hushed tone. "Word is he was found dead in his personal office at their headquarters. The Hunters tried to keep a tight lid on it, but rumors have already spread through the entire underbelly."

Who did it?

Bennett wasn't complaining. He didn't know whose blade had struck Dickson down, but the man had been on his hit list anyway. The timing couldn't have been better.

"Man, I was sweating bullets thinking they'd come hunting us, so that worked out great!" Edgar chimed in with a boisterous grin. Catching Bennett's quiet, piercing stare, he immediately shrank back and cleared his throat. "...I mean, it worked out great, sir."

"In any case," Kyle continued, "the Hunters are tearing themselves apart in an internal power struggle right now. They won't have the luxury of worrying about us, and the odds of that squad leader surviving to rat us out were slim to begin with."

Bennett saw no need to mention that the squad leader had indeed survived, or that he had already buried the assassination squad Dickson sent after him. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠It was water under the bridge.

"Are you entering the next dungeon right away?" Kyle asked.

When Bennett gave a single nod, Kyle and Edgar exchanged glances before bowing their heads in unison.

"Please, Bennett-nim! Allow us to accompany you!"

Their voices rang out so loudly that patrons at nearby tables turned to look.

"You saved our lives in the department store," Kyle said earnestly. "You could have easily abandoned us, yet you stepped forward and wiped out the Hunters' human-hunting squad."

It was half overwhelming gratitude and half unshakable trust. Both of them knew that sticking by this man's side was their best shot at surviving the dungeons alive.

"We know that so far we've only been on the receiving end of your help," Kyle added, "but we take pride in carrying our own weight in battle. We swear we will never drag you down."

Bennett kept his face stoic, letting the silence hang just long enough to test their resolve. Inwardly, however, he had already reached a favorable verdict. In terms of combat capability, they were solid, and their character had passed his standards with flying colors.

During their first encounter, he had expected Edgar to be a selfish brute who would run at the first sign of danger, yet the burly warrior had volunteered to act as live bait so his friend could escape. And while Kyle wasn't as outspoken, his disciplined posture showed he was always prepared to lay down his life for his partner. During their time navigating the ruins together, Bennett had deliberately exposed openings, but neither of them had ever wavered. Considering that stabbing comrades in the back for loot was the standard etiquette in Dungeon City, these two were practically saints.

"Bennett-nim?"

Did he trust them completely? No. Absolute trust was a luxury for fools. But teaming up with them was certainly far from the worst choice. Ten years of mercenary blood and mud had taught Bennett one fundamental truth: as long as you avoid the worst possible choices, your odds of survival skyrocket.

I need a vanguard like Edgar. And while Kyle hasn't awakened mana yet, his pure sword technique easily matches a formal knight.

His decision made, Bennett looked up.

"Very well. We ride together from here on."

"Thank you!"

Kyle let out a breath of relief and scratched the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. "Um... you don't need to speak so formally with us, Bennett-nim. Please speak comfortably."

Bennett considered it for a moment, then gave an easy nod. "Right. Are you packed for the descent?"

"We prepped our kits based on our last run."

"Let me see what you're working with."

When they returned to their rented room and laid out their equipment, Bennett's brow furrowed into a deep scowl. It wasn't nearly thorough enough. Now that they were operating under his banner, their oversights were his problem.

"Ditch that boiled leather armor," Bennett said, pointing at Kyle's chestpiece. "Get something proper."

"This cuirass? But the cost-to-performance ratio is actually quite—"

"I wore that exact model during my second year as a mercenary," Bennett cut him off flatly. "It shattered and nearly got me gutted."

"..."

Kyle closed his mouth. The armor he was wearing was substandard garbage. After nearly dying in it, Bennett had made a personal rule never to touch that cheap brand again.

"Swap out that rucksack, too. Get one with reinforced straps and twice the volume."

Edgar's awkwardly shaped, undersized pack was added to the discard pile. Though slightly overwhelmed by his relentless critique, both men listened with rapt attention. Despite their small age gap, Bennett possessed a decade of mercenary grit while they were greenhorns barely stepping into the world. The casual tips he dispensed were worth their weight in gold.

"If you don't know what to buy, stick to Black Hammer gear. It isn't flashy, but their baseline durability is rock-solid."

"Black Hammer... understood."

"And if it doesn't hinder your sword draw, strap on steel vambraces."

Bennett himself was already wearing reinforced vambraces and greaves, hidden neatly beneath the folds of his dark coat.

"Where are your medical supplies? Are you keeping them in a separate pouch?"

"Medical supplies? What do you mean?"

"Basic antitoxins, sterile bandages, recovery potions."

"P-Potions?" Edgar blurted out. "Those exorbitant little vials?"

Thanks to the loot they had brought back from the department store, they had coin to spare, but up until recently, they had been dead broke. They could afford linen bandages, but high-grade alchemical draughts were an unthinkable luxury.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Are potions more expensive than your lives?" Bennett asked coldly.

"..."

The stark reality struck them like a physical blow. Once you died, silver and gold were meaningless. Kyle and Edgar lowered their heads in shame.

"Keep at least two on your person at all times."

"Yes, sir."

A few days later, their gear fully overhauled, Bennett, Kyle, and Edgar stepped into Pioneers' Hall. Just as before, a massive throng of scavengers packed the great pavilion, waiting for the rift cycle to turn.

—Dungeon reset confirmed.

Rumble!

Twin vortexes tore open side by side: one a pale, shimmering emerald, the other a deep, roaring azure. Entrances leading to Easy and Hard difficulty domains, respectively.

"Knight order, advance!"

Lines of knights clad head-to-toe in polished plate armor marched in formation straight into the blue gate. Mages bearing the sigil of the Magic Tower swept forward in hurried robes, followed closely by private expedition forces belonging to wealthy syndicates. Noble retinues and royal scholars flanked by heavily armed escorts pressed inside. Independent parties and small scavenger bands were scattered throughout the plaza, but even those who had arrived early were aggressively shoved aside by the institutional forces, their entry pushed to the rear.

For an unaffiliated group like Bennett's party, their place in line was naturally dead last.

"Look at those arrogant bastards strutting around like they own the place," Edgar muttered under his breath, spitting onto the stone floor.

"...Let's move," Bennett said calmly.

Bennett, Kyle, and Edgar stepped toward the swirling vortex. After lengthy deliberation, they had chosen to brave a Hard difficulty dungeon. Their original plan had been to clear another Easy dungeon before taking on greater challenges, but the gross yield from the LT Department Store had fallen far short of their financial needs. More importantly, experience had taught Bennett that mortality was a constant in the ruins, regardless of the designated rank.

If death was a shadow that stalked every step anyway, it made far more sense to shoulder the calculated risk for guaranteed, exponential returns. Kyle and Edgar had agreed without hesitation.

ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧn̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥt͖͖̠̬͛ḛ̡̰̳͓̥ͬ͋ͪͧṛ̣̬̫̍͌ͩ͟i̧̻̻͉̜͑ͪ̾͟n̫̫̘̗͕̲̲̎ͥg̬̬̱ͩ͋͟͟...

The world dissolved into static. An instant later, the three men found themselves standing in an alien, suffocating expanse. It bore the same eerie atmosphere as the previous ruins: the sharp tang of burning wire, an unidentified stench of decay, and oppressive, cloying darkness. But unlike his last venture into the unknown, Bennett was no longer walking through the dark alone.