Rapid Administration

'…!'

Even amid his sheer shock, Bennett acted on raw instinct and flipped the restorative injector upside down. As if sensing the shift in his grip, a needle slid out from the opposite end with a cold metallic click. When he had used one on his sister before, the needle had been short and blunt. For reasons he couldn't fathom, this one was long, slender, and wickedly sharp.

Bennett quickly flattened his free hand against his chest, searching for the mark. It was abrupt, but locating his own heart posed little challenge; his daily trade, after all, revolved around driving daggers and punching crossbow bolts into precisely that spot on others. Pressing his fingers down twice to verify the rib gap, Bennett cocked his elbow back and slammed the injector home.

Thunk!

He braced himself for the agonizing, white-hot blaze of a needle puncturing his cardiac wall, but to his surprise, nothing of the sort came.

'Hm?'

Aside from the blunt force of the casing striking his sternum, there was virtually no pain to speak of. Yet it was far from uneventful. A familiar, potent energy surged violently into his bloodstream, rushing through his core like an uncapped geyser.

Up until now, increases to his otherworldly power had trickled in by increments of two or three, four or five at best. This single injection had boosted it by a massive ten points in one fell swoop.

For reasons he couldn't entirely explain, his Stamina stat surged upward in tandem. He suspected that the biological vessel housing his otherworldly power was directly linked to his physical endurance.

The mission concluded and the experience points settled into his pool, but Bennett found himself focusing on an entirely different sensation. Though no status screen or numerical prompt broke it down, he could instinctively feel the qualitative shift: his psionic energy had grown distinctly purer. It wasn't as if his reserve had felt murky before, yet the contrast was unmistakable. It felt burning hot, yet startlingly crisp and clear.

"Whew."

Bennett pulled the spent cylinder away from his chest. The needle had already retracted without a trace, and the fluid reservoir sat hollow, the empty device remarkably light in his grip. After stowing the used injector inside the bedside drawer, he channeled his energy to activate Detection.

As his psionic energy flooded outward, his sensory horizon dilated smoothly. On the surface, the radius hadn't expanded much, but there was one monumental difference: the drain rate on his pool. Previously, maintaining the sensory field had bled forty-five units in barely four seconds; now, that same amount sustained the scan for nearly eight. While it still wasn't cheap, the operational efficiency had doubled overnight.

Nor was the improvement confined to his scanning skill.

Shring!

Channeling psionic energy into his chainsword proved that he could keep the motorized teeth whirring far longer than before.

'Not bad at all.'

Satisfied, Bennett stretched out on the bed. With the tension draining from his shoulders, the suppressed mental exhaustion from consecutive battles hit him in a heavy wave. Rather than fighting it, he closed his eyes and drifted off.

Meanwhile, across the city in the estate of the Drake Family, key figures summoned on emergency notice had gathered in tense silence.

BAM!

The double doors flew open with violent force. Every retainer present bowed their heads low in unison. Alteon, Lord of the Drake Family, strode past his vassals with a dark scowl and took the high seat at the head of the chamber. Despite his twisted expression, Alteon uttered not a single word, and the suffocating silence pressed down on the room until the air felt thick as tar. The retainers stole anxious glances at one another, but the patriarch merely sat there, looking as though he had swallowed a mouthful of ash.

It was only when cold sweat began beading on their foreheads from the sheer pressure that Alteon finally shattered the silence.

"Step forward."

He hadn't named anyone, but every gaze in the hall naturally converged on a single man: the retainer who had overseen their illicit food and beverage enterprise. Swallowing hard, the man stepped out from the ranks.

"Report."

"The fires have been completely suppressed, and we are assessing the operational status of the surviving machinery—"

"Not that, you fool!" Alteon's booming voice shook the rafters, making the retainer squeeze his eyes shut in terror. "...We are currently tracking the culprits."

"Tracking? Traaaacking?"

Alteon slammed his fist onto the chair's armrest. With a brittle crunch, the dense hardwood splintered beneath his fingers.

"You lost the recipe, blew up the facility, got an Elite killed, and failed to bag the perpetrator! Is there a single damn thing you handled properly?"

Alteon thrust his hand forward. Invisible mana seized the kneeling vassal, yanking him into the air and dragging him across the floor straight into Alteon's grasp.

"Guh—kch!"

By the time the retainer came to his senses, thick fingers were locked around his throat like an iron vise. The man kicked and clawed desperately as his windpipe was crushed. Just when it seemed Alteon would snap his neck like a twig, the patriarch abruptly relaxed his fingers, letting the retainer crash limply onto the stone floor.

"Drag him out."

"W-Wait! My Lord!"

Guards seized the coughing retainer by both arms and hauled him toward the exit. The panicked vassal pleaded frantically with his peers for help, but every single retainer averted their eyes, feigning indifference.

Thud.

The heavy doors shut. Alteon muttered beneath his breath, though his words were meant as a sharp interrogation for everyone left standing.

"Whose work is this?"

"We suspect it was orchestrated by those who stand to gain the most from our misfortune, My Lord."

"And I'm asking who that is!"

As the first retainer hesitated, another spoke up cautiously. "A short while ago, rumors surfaced that a certain noble house was preparing to enter the processed food market."

A murderous glint sparked in Alteon's eyes. "A food business?"

"Yes, My Lord. While details remain sparse, word has it they intended to replicate delicacies from the dungeon world using our own ingredients."

A food business, and dungeon-world cuisine. That was already two direct overlaps with the Drake Family's venture. Alteon crooked a finger, beckoning the retainer closer.

"They sound suspicious."

"...I will look into the matter thoroughly, My Lord."

"I grant you full authority to pursue this."

The retainer stiffened in pleasant surprise before bowing deeply. "Thank you, My Lord."

"Recover the recipe. And anyone bold enough to pull this off, along with whoever aided them—drag every last one of them before me in chains."

"At once, Patriarch."

Rising from his throne, Alteon returned to his private office, where the head butler greeted him with a respectful bow.

"What news of the Holy Alliance?"

"They remain entirely preoccupied with hunting down heresies. It appears they unearthed separate leads recently, so their scrutiny has largely shifted away from our house."

"And those heretics? Did you discover who they are?"

Alteon was a man who stopped at nothing when advancing his family's interests, but being framed for harboring heretics had infuriated him to no end. He wanted to know exactly what kind of vermin they were to dare use his name as cover, which was why he had instructed the head butler to investigate them in secret.

"Nothing good comes of tangling with zealots, yet these cultist bastards splashed filth all over our house. I have no intention of taking that lying down."

"A very wise assessment, My Lord."

"So, did you find anything?"

The head butler retrieved a file and offered it with both hands. Alteon skimmed the contents, his brow furrowing as he read.

"Ra'al?"

"Yes. Their missionary efforts seem primarily targeted at desperate sellswords, cutthroats, and criminals who gamble their lives daily. Dungeon scholars under our patronage note that Ra'al is referenced in several ancient texts."

"Oh?"

"He is said to have originally been a prominent figure within a massive religion of the dungeon world known as Islam. He took the name of their deity, reversed the spelling, and claimed it as his own."

"He turned his back on his god and openly mocked him? And he survived that?"

"...The dungeon world does not appear to be a realm where deities intervene directly."

Alteon tilted his head in mild bewilderment. While divine interventions were hardly an everyday occurrence on the Lancelot Continent either, the presence of gods could be verified through various tangible means: holy magic being the most prominent, alongside historical records of divine apostles descending whenever catastrophic crises threatened the continent.

"Every time I hear about that dungeon world, it strikes me as bizarre in every sense."

"Indeed, My Lord."

"Tsk. No matter ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠how popular dungeon artifacts have become, out of all things to smuggle back, they bring over cults..."

"The faith is believed to have been imported to our continent by scavengers, expanding its influence primarily around the Dungeon City. Had the Holy Alliance intervened any later, the cult's numbers would have multiplied exponentially."

"Insolent, fanatical bastards."

Had the cult's ringleader been standing before him, Alteon would have gladly severed his head with his own blade. As a rule, he abhorred religious factions growing too influential on ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his territory. "Dammit all. The moment things go wrong, every kind of parasite latches on."

When Bennett opened his eyes, he turned his head toward the side of the bed. Erika lay fast asleep beside him, completely uncovered, her rounded chest rising and falling in rhythm with her calm breaths. He pulled the blanket up over her shoulders, then quietly climbed out of bed and walked into the kitchen.

"Bennett-nim?"

"Awake?"

Erika rubbed her sleepy eyes as she emerged, wearing only a loose shirt just as Bennett was plating the morning meal. "I should have been the one to make breakfast..."

"Whoever wakes up first handles it. Doesn't matter."

They sat across from each other, chatting casually over their meal.

"You mentioned you started studying the Dungeon Language, right? Does that mean we can leave all the reading to you from now on?" Erika asked with a playful smile.

Bennett let out a quiet chuckle. "I've only had a single day of lessons. Turns out there are far more scripts down there than I anticipated."

"I heard there are eight distinct dungeon languages identified so far. There are probably more, but eight is what's officially cataloged..."

Bennett nodded in agreement before steering the topic. "How is your marksmanship coming along?"

"Really well! The more I practice, the more natural it feels."

"Then I'll look forward to seeing it in action."

"Oh, don't expect too much—I'm nowhere near your level. When I tried your Shooting Star last time, it was surprisingly heavy, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and the recoil felt totally different."

Perhaps feeling guilty that Bennett had handled breakfast, Erika insisted on brewing the tea herself. Watching her slender back as she busied herself by the counter, Bennett quietly stepped behind her.

"Bennett-nim, just a moment more—ah?"

A startled gasp slipped from her lips as his hands found her waist and glided down over her hips. Bennett wrapped his arms around her from behind, his palms sliding beneath her loose shirt to cup her soft breasts. At a glance, her slender frame seemed almost delicate, but beneath the fabric, her curves were surprisingly full and firm to the touch.

"Ah...!"

After a thoroughly invigorating start to their morning, Bennett and Erika departed their lodgings together.

Upon arriving at Pioneers' Hall, they were greeted by an ocean of scavengers. Countless explorers were milling about, waiting for the dungeon portals to reset, seemingly paying no mind to the catastrophic structural collapse from their previous expedition.

"Bennett-nim, over here!"

Kyle and Edgar waved enthusiastically as they pushed through the crowd.

"Honestly, I don't care what kind of dungeon it is this time, as long as it doesn't collapse like the last one..." Kyle muttered with a weary sigh.

"A real man doesn't whine over a little rubble!" Edgar barked with a grin.

"I really don't think you're in any position to preach about that, Edgar."

Bennett scanned the throngs waiting near the gates. Part ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of him hoped to spot retainers from the Drake Family, but none were visible; they had either not arrived yet or decided to sit out this rotation entirely. Other organized factions and mercenary syndicates, however, stood out clearly in the plaza.

Among them was a familiar sight: a squad from the Hunters syndicate, clad in tidy matching uniforms. They were currently locked in a tense staredown with an opposing scavenger syndicate across the hall.

—Dungeon Resetting!

RUMBLE!

A violent squall swept through Pioneers' Hall, buffeting the crowd as the dimensional barriers fluctuated. Vibrant emerald and sapphire portals materialized anew within the gate frames. Falling into step with the shifting crowd, Bennett's party moved toward the azure swirl.

A momentary sensation of weightlessness and dizziness washed over them as they stepped through the blue vortex, passing almost as quickly as it had arrived.

Just as Bennett began taking in their modern corporate surroundings, his instincts flared violently, and he barked an urgent command.

"Ten o'clock!"

Edgar reacted instantly, snapping his heavy reinforced shield across his torso. A sharp metallic screech rang through the hall as an arrow deflected harmlessly off the plating, showering sparks across the concrete floor.

Their fifth dungeon had opened with an immediate spawn ambush.