The Morning After the Howling Darkness
The day after emerging from Saddark Dungeon, Amon's party gathered at the training ground to discuss the dungeon. They shoved the training equipment into a corner, and while Amon fetched the whiteboard, the party members curiously inspected his private training space.
"Whoa. Our leader must be loaded. Back at my university, only the rich kids rented places like this."
Vox, the ogre heavy gunner, muttered to himself. It was just a bare space about the size of a tennis court with no fancy facilities, but renting even something this basic wasn't cheap. A training ground wasn't merely an empty lot—it was a private spot where no one could spy on your sessions. Sure, mercenaries could afford it with their earnings to some extent, but those incomes were notoriously unstable. Only someone with rock-solid revenue could swing a long-term lease like this.
"Gotta cost a pretty penny monthly. Got some side income, huh?"
Torso, the water buffalo tank, rubbed his chin in admiration. Amon, who had just returned with the whiteboard, overheard and replied,
"No comment."
Between the steady trickle from his occasional mercenary gigs and the protection money that rolled in just for breathing, keeping this place rented was no big deal. His comrades eyed him enviously.
The mute sniper nodded in agreement. Not every mercenary was like this, but for those whose bodies were their greatest asset, the drive for self-improvement was monstrous. They all dreamed of having their own training spot or research facility. But without the cash, they made do with cheap shooting ranges. Naturally, those places weren't suited for real combat drills, so they couldn't compare to a proper training ground.
"I wish I had a place like this too, Amon."
The androgynous utility mage said wistfully. Amid the party's envy, Amon shrugged it off casually.
"Feel free to come train here on off days. Kashi and I only use half of it anyway."
""...Huh?"
"Didn't know? Kashi's been renting it with me and training together."
Kashi nodded beside him. The others gawked, alternating stares between her and Amon. Torso, their unofficial spokesman, asked,
"You sure that's okay?"
"What's the problem? Anyway, enough about the training ground—let's talk dungeon."
"Uh? Oh... right."
The party members, stunned by the sudden permission, looked awkward but couldn't hide their twitching smiles. The strategy meeting kicked off in a slightly buoyant mood, but as soon as the dungeon talk began, everyone focused on the whiteboard.
Amon circled the label "B1" on the board.
"We'll call the floor where we first detected the anomaly B1."
The anomaly Amon's party had spotted was the dungeon deploying monsters tailored as counters to specific weapons or classes. The upper floors hadn't been much different from other dungeons, so they'd labeled them A1 through A13. From there on, it was B.
"The ghouls on B1 seemed specialized to neutralize snipers."
They had tough hides that shrugged off bullets, could scuttle along walls, made almost no noise, blended into the dungeon's darkness for camouflage, and as undead, evaded thermal scans. If Amon's party sniper hadn't had mana-sensing eyes installed, they'd have eaten a backstab and wiped in seconds—a deadly foe.
Bens rubbed his arms as if chilled by the memory. Torso patted his back reassuringly.
Amon continued to the next floor.
"We didn't fight much, but B2 had slimes."
"Yeah, black slimes that eat electricity. Probably designed assuming the tank would have to brawl them up close."
"Seeing them explode on death, even vanguards could get drenched if they slipped up."
"Which would fail the scout."
Hen sighed deeply. Neutralize the sniper on the upper floor, cyberware on the next, and pick them off one by one after that—the dungeon conquest would be impossible. This filter-like setup, like a water purifier with ten layers of membranes, was exhausting in every way. And the problems didn't stop there.
"No guarantee the upper-floor mobs won't show up below."
"If anything, that's more likely."
Kashi agreed with Amon. Assuming specialized mobs accumulated floor by floor, they'd have to reshuffle formations every fight, accounting for all possibilities. Fatigue aside, it was a nightmare.
"The placements are straight-up malicious."
Vox grumbled. Borrowing Amon's words, it was a dungeon that played dirty.
"Probably some corp behind the boss suggested this setup."
Hen and Bens sighed heavily. But sighing wouldn't change a thing. They shelved the complaints and started plotting based on what they knew.
"First, B1 ghouls—Kashi and I'll handle them."
Torso had to protect the backline, and Hen lacked the firepower plus needed chant time, making them vulnerable to ambushes. Naturally, sword-and-spear wielders Amon and Kashi took the ghouls.
"Good thing they only countered guns—swords sliced 'em fine."
Specialization against one class meant weakness to others. Amped against bullets and stealth for snipers, they were paper to vanguards. Amon and Kashi could manage easily.
"Next, B2 electric-eating slimes. I'll take those too."
Amon had zero cyberware, so a slime shower was safe. Kashi's spear was mechanical, making slime fights awkward for her.
The party prepped for various scenarios. Maybe overkill, but better safe. Undead specialized against gene mods, magic engravings, vanguards, and so on—they brainstormed contingencies.
And as they debated, a pattern emerged.
"Isn't our leader handling most of these?"
Once Torso pointed it out, the others noticed. Aside from kamikazes, Amon countered nearly every specialized undead. All eyes turned to him.
"You got zero cyberware implants?"
Amon nodded at Torso's question.
He shook his head—nope. Vox asked,
"No gene mods either?"
Nod. Hen followed up,
"So you're running pure on one essence—Sky Step—and still this strong?"
Another nod. Jaws dropped. Kashi, watching, chimed in.
"See? I told you—Amon's gotta have dragon blood or something."
She poked his side playfully. Amon recoiled in disgust.
"I don't. I'm human."
"Then explain. How's a guy with one essence—just Sky Step—this OP?"
"'Cause I've got divine power."
"...Huh?"
Kashi froze mid-tease. The whole party did. As they doubted their ears, Amon doubled down.
"I can use divine power. My physical stats are part of that."
"What the—!?"
The party's shock echoed through the training ground.
After Amon's divine power coming-out and a bit of chaos, the party settled. His reason was simple: they were trustworthy now. No point hiding it from people he'd stake his life on. He looked refreshed, satisfied with the reveal. But the recipients were still dumbfounded.
Kashi, recovering fastest, asked,
"Why drop it now?"
"When else?"
"Uh... fair."
Strictly speaking, they'd never had a spot or timing for such intimate chats. Gradually, the party accepted Amon as a divine power user.
Everyone agreed telepathically. Surprisingly smooth acceptance. Makes sense—they all had backstories rivaling Amon's. Ex-European war vet tank, foreign intel sniper, arms corp researcher ogre, corp academy adjunct mage—deep histories all around, so no hang-ups. They'd shared bits over dungeons and dinners; now it was Amon's turn. Cool.
"Then build the formation around Amon. No matter how cunning the lich, it couldn't counter a mystic power user..."
"Divine power."
"Pardon?"
"Call it divine power in front of me."
He fiddled with the cross necklace, asking for respect now that they were comrades. Hen, mid-meeting, corrected awkwardly.
"Even a cunning lich couldn't make undead to counter divine power users. Undead are weak to it anyway."
"Formation centered on me, then—logistics?"
"Minimize bulk... my energy bars could substitute."
The party's faces paled at Hen's words. They knew those energy bars well.
"Those? The feed bricks?"
Amon called them feed bricks. Even the beastman tank recoiled:
"I'm a beastkin, not a livestock pup. Even compacted fodder's better than that."
The others uniformly rejected Hen's energy bars. Cursed food they'd tasted once and sworn off. But one line from Hen shut them up.
"Got a better idea?"
"..."
Silence. Hen's plan passed. Feed bricks, livestock blocks, solidified fodder—whatever the name, faces soured. Hen pulled them from their pack regardless.
"Taste-test before we descend. Gotta stomach 'em here to eat 'em down there."
Staring at the vacuum-sealed blocks, they recalled the recipe: GMO grain cereal, bug faux-ham, fake-egg base spiked with vitamin fruit, veggie fiber pinch, salt dash, caffeine kick for pep. Vacuum freeze-dried for sterility—hellish energy bars complete.
Amon pinched one, grumbling,
"Fuck. Who the hell dreamed this up?"
"Dunno. Someone made 'em when I was an academy grad student."
"Why still haul 'em?"
"Habit. Packs light."
"Haa..."
Amon sighed deeply, squeezed his eyes shut, and shoved it in. Seconds later—
"Ptoo!"
He spat it into the wrapper. The others, watching warily, tried one by one. Results:
"Urk!"
No better. Even cyberpunk vets numb to sawdust kebabs and plastic boiled eggs couldn't handle this. Cursed grub.
"Gets easier with time."
Hen munched nonchalantly. Tips followed, but ruined tastebuds offered little help. Only after Amon boiled one with water and spices—making it barely edible—did the bars officially join the rations.