A Private Mission
Artificial light washed the Silver Wolves Guild hall in a pale glow that hollowed the faces of everyone inside. Kael sat alone on a cold metal bench, his porter's bag clasped between his legs like a fragile shield. Holographic screens paraded the latest hunting achievements of top-ranked Awakened, all shining smiles and monstrous trophies.
Mara Konstantin approached with sharp heel strikes echoing across the marble floor. Tall. Rigid. Her steel-gray hair pulled back in a strict bun. Her black suit probably cost more than Kael's entire apartment.
"Morse," she said, checking her tablet. "Change of plans. This is no longer a standard emergency mission."
Kael frowned. Sudden changes always meant a complication.
"The Valenhall family purchased exclusive rights to a newly emerged Rank E dungeon on private grounds. They want their son, Damien, to train for his Imperial Academy entrance exam. You'll serve as their porter. Same pay. Private mission. You sign a confidentiality agreement."
Kael nodded. The Valenhall name carried weight. A thriving empire built on dungeon resources, profiting from the lives of countless nameless Awakened who never returned.
"They're waiting in Briefing Room C. Do not make them wait."
The Weight of Contempt
Room C oozed discreet wealth: real leather furniture, touchscreens embedded in every surface, a coffee machine worth more than Kael's life expenses. Four figures sat around an oval table, sucking the oxygen out of the room by their presence alone.
Damien Valenhall sat at the head of the table. Twenty years old. Blond hair perfectly styled. Symmetrical features. Eyes like sculpted ice. Pure confidence. His gear looked straight from a luxury catalog: drake-scale light armor, a long sword glowing with mana, rune-etched gauntlets pulsing softly.
To his right, Elena Korven, a fire mage. Fiery hair and a staff crowned with a flame crystal. To his left, Marcus Stone, a heavily armored tank with battle scars engraved in steel. Beside him, Lysa Windhawk, an elf-blooded archer, slim and poised with her composite bow resting casually at her side.
Elegant, powerful, and privileged. The kind of people who ruled the new era.
Kael halted at the threshold, painfully aware of his patched gear and worn boots.
"Ah, here's our… assistant," Damien said, wearing a smile made for insults. "Come in. Don't be shy."
Kael approached and sat opposite him. Silence settled, filled with silent judgment.
"So, you're our porter," Damien continued, studying him like a disappointing specimen. "No weapon. No armor. What will you do if something attacks? Punch it?"
Elena hid a cruel laugh behind her hand. Marcus only shook his head with contempt. Lysa watched Kael with pity that hurt almost as much.
"I'm not here to fight," Kael answered. "I carry your gear."
"Exactly!" Damien clapped the table. "You carry things, and you stay out of the way. A quiet burden."
He stood, circled the table, and leaned over Kael like a predator savoring a cornered prey.
"But we can't let you die instantly. A dead porter reflects badly on us."
He pulled a rusted sword from his belt and dropped it in front of Kael. The blade was chipped and crooked, fit for a scrap heap.
"There. Now you're armed. Be grateful."
Kael stared at the weapon. A part of him wanted to drive it straight into Damien's perfect teeth. That part had been buried long ago. Liam's face came to mind. The 300 credits waiting at the end of this job.
He picked up the sword and fastened it to his belt.
"Thank you."
Damien's grin widened with the satisfaction of someone stepping on an ant.
On the Road
The luxury pickup devoured the highway, smooth and silent. The mood inside felt like a storm trapped in metal. Kael rode in the back, wedged between supply bags. Damien insisted he sit "with the freight."
Elena and Lysa reviewed combat tactics up front. Marcus checked his gear, brushing his shield like a prized relic.
Damien turned toward Kael, eyes glittering.
"So, porter. No powers at all? Not even a tiny F-rank perk? Tough skin? Night vision?"
"No," Kael said, watching the city fade behind them. "Nothing."
"Incredible. How did you survive? Charity?"
Lysa glanced back, ears twitching. "Enough, Damien. His condition isn't his fault."
"Deficient," Damien repeated with delight. "Perfect word. Like a defective product."
A tight pressure formed in Kael's chest, but he kept his eyes on the passing towers. Sunlight struck crystal buildings and scattered rainbow colors across the skyline. Beauty that belonged to others.
"You know what amazes me?" Damien leaned closer. "You obey. You never complain. You endure everything like a beaten dog. It's pathetic. Yet admirable."
Kael finally met his gaze. For a moment, something cold passed between them. Not hatred. Something sharper. Recognition of Damien's nature. A predator polished by luxury.
"We're close," Marcus announced.
The Unstable Gate
The dungeon site lay inside an old quarry beyond the city. Safety barriers encircled a wide area, and technicians in hazmat gear monitored flickering devices.
Kael stared at the portal.
It pulsed like a wounded organ. The surface rippled as if stirred by unseen hands. Violet sparks crawled across the edges. The air carried buzzing tension and a metallic taste.
"Damn," Marcus muttered. "Did it look like that earlier?"
"No," a technician said. "It's been unstable for two hours. We recommend delay."
Damien brushed the warning away.
"My father paid for this access. We proceed."
He spoke with offensive confidence.
"A Rank E dungeon won't stop us."
Kael loaded every piece of equipment onto his back. Food. Med kits. Tools. Rope. Torches. The weight reached nearly forty kilos. His shoulders screamed, but he pulled the straps tighter.
Their group marched closer. The portal shimmered harder. Kael heard faint whispers threading through the air.
"Ready?" Damien asked, sword glowing brighter.
He stepped into the vortex without waiting.
First Ambush
The other side reeked of humid stone and rot. A narrow carved passage stretched ahead, lit by sickly green fungi.
Screeches burst from the dark. Goblins swarmed out, moving with unnatural coordination. Their eyes burned red. Their jagged weapons glittered dangerously. Too sharp for Rank E.
A massive white wolf stood at their center. Its glacier-blue eyes held intelligence. Kael felt the creature assessing them one by one.
"To battle!" Damien roared, aura flaring.
Elena's staff ignited. Marcus locked his shield. Lysa drew her bow in a single smooth motion.
Kael stumbled back, buried under supplies. The rusted sword bumped his hip uselessly.
The battle had not yet begun, and Kael already looked like the first casualty.
Yet the white wolf kept watching him. There was something in its gaze. Not hostility. Something closer to recognition.
Something waiting.