The Uninvited Guest

The crimson glow in the machine's optical sensor shifted to a docile emerald green—just like Pungsan, the mechanical guard dog Bennett had left back home.

The muzzle trained on the party dipped slightly. The tense, coiled posture of the metallic frame eased, loosening its ready-to-pounce stance.

As the only one who understood the Dungeon Language, Bennett translated the broadcast in a low, composed voice.

"We're supposed to pin these to our clothes?"

"Looks like that clip on top was made for that exact purpose," Bennett replied.

Their party members wore completely different attire suited to their individual classes, but each had enough fabric or strapping on their chest to clip the badge securely into place. The security robot observed their compliance in utter silence, then pivoted smoothly on its jointed limbs and stepped aside, clearing the path forward.

Bennett's party proceeded with measured, cautious steps down the corridor. Bennett glanced over his shoulder just in case, but the quadrupedal robot simply held its station, making no move to follow them.

A translucent prompt flickered into view right on cue.

All I did was make practical use of the Dungeon Language, Bennett thought with a slight smirk. Still, there was no reason to refuse free power. Every stat increase brought him that much closer to his ultimate goal.

"Bennett, look ahead. There's light," one of his companions whispered.

A faint, cool luminescence seeped from the far end of the gloom. The party picked up their pace.

"Is this... some sort of waiting area?"

The space opened up considerably into a reception lounge. Though the benches were cold and rigid, there was ample seating arranged in rows. Standing to one side were several standing placards displaying notices and instructions. Next to them sat an open rack stocked with equipment they had never encountered before.

They looked like full-head masks, combining the protection of a helmet with the coverage of a tactical visor. Most notably, the frontal section covering the eyes and face was crafted from a crystal-clear, transparent material resembling glass.

Bennett approached the locker, picked up one of the masks, and slid it over his head. At first, a mild sense of constriction pressed against his cheeks, but within seconds an integrated circulation mechanism whirred to life. The air flowed smoothly, refreshing and crisp. It felt remarkably cool and invigorating—an entirely different world from the stale, mold-choked air pervasive across the dungeon.

The visor wasn't ordinary glass after all. Tiny glowing glyphs materialized in the lower periphery of his vision. While the word "filter" was unfamiliar, the phrase "remaining amount" made the practical meaning easy enough to grasp.

"Put one on, just to be safe," Bennett instructed, turning to his companions.

"Understood!"

"Once it's on, tell me what number appears in the bottom left corner."

After equipping their masks, each party member confirmed their filter levels were sitting comfortably above ninety-five percent. Not wanting to leave valuable gear behind, Bennett packed every spare mask from the storage unit into their bags.

Screeech!

The moment they stepped over the thick yellow boundary painted across the floor, the sealed steel blast doors groaned and parted on their own. A fine hiss of cold vapor bled out to greet them. Bennett tapped into Insight, sweeping the threshold to ensure no hidden tripwires or anomalies lay waiting, before taking the lead into the complex.

"Incredible..."

The subterranean laboratory of Guseong Bio beneath the Blockaded Prison had been striking enough, but the sheer scale and austere atmosphere of this security wing completely outclassed it. By claiming an entire underground facility, the space felt expansive rather than suffocating, possessing a clinical, desolate openness.

Arrayed throughout the halls were countless pieces of unfamiliar research apparatus, exuding an alien yet fascinating scientific sophistication. The interior remained cloaked in deep shadow, permitting only minimal visibility. Overhead lights flickered awake in sequence as the facility's sensors registered the party's movement, shutting down behind them in rhythm with their stride.

Hemispherical surveillance cameras mounted across the ceiling were impossible to miss, but Bennett paid them no mind. Automated watchers were utterly harmless so long as there were no living eyes behind the screens.

Most of the desktop computers and tablets sat dark and lifeless, but a handful still drew active auxiliary power, their glowing monitors casting pale blue reflections onto the dust. Tapping on the input keys yielded no response; the systems were locked in frozen diagnostic states.

Psychic abilities? What does that even mean?

Regardless of the terminology, the underlying objective of the research was unmistakable: to wage war against the same eldritch Outsiders and Anomalies Bennett had clashed with since descending into this world.

Certain phrases surfaced repeatedly across the reports—namely "SP" and "gene." The former was written in alien lettering, rendering it incomprehensible, but Bennett could deduce the general premise of the latter from the surrounding text.

The fundamental blueprint of a living organism? And they were attempting to manipulate and alter it?

Back home on the continent, people often used idioms like "like father, like son," recognizing family resemblances through lived experience. But the concept of cataloging, isolating, and rewriting the very essence of life on a microscopic level was utterly unfathomable. The dungeon world was always like this: just when Bennett thought he had grown accustomed to its marvels, something even more staggering shattered his understanding.

"Phew..."

Because he alone could read the modern Hangul script, the intellectual shock weighed heaviest on Bennett. Calming his racing pulse, he skimmed through the remaining terminals, but found no further active data. With the records exhausted, he turned his focus toward their primary objective: scavenging.

In the past, he would have strictly gathered items that aligned with the common sense of the continent. But having ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠broadened his horizons, Bennett began selecting optical microscopes and precision scientific instruments that held immense practical value for alchemists and scholars back home.

"Bennett, should we take this as well?"

"That looks like something the alchemists back in the city would pay a fortune for. Pack it."

Throwing himself into the rhythm of looting gradually quieted Bennett's turbulent thoughts—until a faint vibration broke the silence.

Thuuuum!

At the far end of the hall stood another reinforced blast door leading deeper into the complex. Beyond it, a dull, unmistakable thud leaked through the steel.

"To think such an underground bypass existed beneath our feet," Rohas, the expedition leader representing the Drake Family, remarked with an admiring tilt of his head as he navigated the dark subterranean passage. "We were at our wits' end trying to avoid the Blue Moon on the surface. It's no wonder everyone considers your kind the finest scouts alive."

The elf walking ahead spared Rohas a cool, sideways glance. "Empty flattery is unnecessary, human. For our kin, uncovering natural arteries through the earth is second nature."

"It is anything but common! You are far too modest."

The lead elf and his trailing companions maintained their aloof, haughty composure, but their eyes betrayed subtle satisfaction. Even an arrogant race notorious for looking down on humans couldn't entirely resist Rohas's adulation—his tone carried an uncanny ring of total sincerity. Delivering sycophancy that stroked egos without triggering suspicion was, after all, Rohas's greatest craft.

"How much further until we reach the primary objective?"

"Approximately ten minutes at this pace."

"Understood. If you'll pardon me, I must issue a few brief orders to my men."

"Do as you wish."

Of course, Rohas had not survived at the vanguard of the Drake Family on sweet words alone. The instant he turned back toward his squad, the warmth evaporated from his face, replaced by flat, cold indifference. The Drake mercenaries trailing behind reflexively bowed their heads under the chilling pressure of his gaze.

"Silence," a company mage murmured, weaving a sound-dampening ward just in time.

The elves glanced back briefly, but seeing the humans speaking under magical privacy—just as the elves did in their own tongue—they turned away without caring.

"You may speak freely, Captain."

"What about Squad Three?"

The scout touching an enchanted communication earring shook his head grimly. "...Still no response. They're well within sending range. It's safe to assume they've been eliminated."

"Tsk." Rohas's brow furrowed. Officially, the Drake Family had dispatched only two expedition squads, but they had secretly slipped a third into the dungeon disguised as an independent scavenger party. He had intended to use them as an unexpected trump card at the decisive moment, but that play was dead in the water.

"From this moment on, consider Squad Three wiped out. Squad Two Leader."

"Yes, Captain!"

"When I give the signal, don't hesitate. Cut them down."

Rohas flicked his gaze toward the elven scouts ahead. The second squad leader nodded, understanding the command perfectly.

"Stay sharp. Do not trust those pointed-eared bastards for a second, and keep your eyes peeled. This is an uncharted ruin. You never know what horror will crawl out of the dark to slit your throats. Maintain combat readiness."

The mage canceled the ward, and Rohas slipped effortlessly back into his disarming smile as he rejoined the elven vanguard.

"We should be arriving shortly," the lead elf announced.

"Is that so? I'll have our vanguard prepare their arms at once." Rohas made an exaggerated sweeping gesture, prompting the Drake retainers behind him to draw their blades with disciplined speed.

An elven dungeon scholar nodded after deciphering the plate. Though labeled a scholar, he was an elf through and through, possessing all the formidable physical grace of his kind and serving as an elite combatant in his own right.

"This is the access point."

"Open it."

A vivid green blade of Aura ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠flared across the elf's weapon, carving through the locking mechanism in a single, clean strike.

Clang!

Elven rangers slipped inside like shadows, bowstrings taut. Drawn from the finest marksmen of their clans, their razor-sharp vision swept every corner of the entry chamber before they signaled that the sector was secure.

"Move in," Rohas commanded.

"Sir!"

Rohas entered the facility with total vigilance, well aware that breaching unfamiliar territory was when ambushes were most lethal. Fortunately, the room was empty. While a secondary blast door stood sealed on the opposite wall, its locking bolts remained undisturbed. They were the first to set foot in this wing.

"Fan out and search the perimeter," the lead elf suggested.

"Agreed."

Rohas joined the sweep personally. The security wing was massive, housing far more partition rooms than expected. More importantly, there was a specific prize he needed to secure before the elves caught wind of it. Both factions were working off the same leaked intelligence, differing only in their internal interpretations. In this race, whoever found the prize first took everything.

"Focus on heavy safes and reinforced lockboxes," Rohas muttered to his men. "It's bound to be stashed in one of them."

"Yes, Captain."

"And check any temperature-controlled refrigeration units."

Chzzzt.

A soft crackle sounded in Rohas's earpiece as an encrypted transmission reached him.

— Captain, I found something over here.

"...Hold your position," Rohas whispered back.

He slipped away from the main hall toward a compact auxiliary laboratory tucked deep in the facility's perimeter. On the surface, the room looked no different from the surrounding offices.

"You made it, Captain."

"What did you find?"

"Look here."

The mercenary stepped aside, revealing a heavy metallic chest resting on a workbench. Its front door was made of transparent thermal glass, through which rows of small, pristine capsules were secured in shock-absorbent racks. A thin layer of frost coated the interior walls—what the Dungeon Language termed a medical freezer.

"Is this what we were sent to recover?" the scout asked, his voice shaking with anticipation.

"...It matches the description. Excellent work." Rohas patted the man's shoulder and pulled a Sub-space Pouch from his belt. With a practiced flick, the spatial pocket swallowed the entire cryo-unit whole, preserving its freezing temperature within the enchanted void. "Keep your mouth shut. Once we return to the surface, I'll see to it that your report reaches the elders—"

Rohas and the mercenary snapped their heads up, weapons leaping into their hands. The robotic, monotone broadcast suddenly choked on static, replaced by the raw, crackling fury of a living human voice roaring through the facility's intercoms. It was the unintelligible Dungeon Language, yet ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the agonizing rage and venom dripping from every syllable needed no translation.

"...We need to get out of here right—"

BOOOM!

Before Rohas could finish his command, a twisted, mangled steel hatch hurtled through the air and smashed into the floor right before their feet.

Rohas swallowed hard, his gaze slowly tracking toward the source of the impact.

Embedded in the laboratory wall was an upright, coffin-shaped containment capsule. From within its shattered confines stepped a woman whose hair had been completely bleached bone-white.

"A... a human?"

She was clearly no shambling zombie. Yet Rohas and his seasoned mercenary involuntarily staggered backward, cold sweat drenching their spines. Her pupils were entirely blown, her gaze glassy and utterly vacant.

"You're all finished. Before they dragged me down here, I leaked everything to the press."

"..."

"You'd better let me go right now. Do you hear me? DO YOU HEAR ME?!"

As the woman screamed in that strange, foreign tongue, the white strands of her hair surged upward, defying gravity as an invisible, tempestuous gale detonated around her frame.

"LET ME GO! RELEASE ME RIGHT NOOOOOOOW!"