As the group approached the Duke's sprawling, stone-clad residence, the silence in the truck cab became a physical weight.
It was an awkward, shared space where four pairs of eyes gazed intently at the empty air above them, anywhere but at each other.
The only sound was the low, steady thrum of the running engine, a monotonous beat accompanying their mutual avoidance.
No one wanted to be the first to break the thick, uneasy silence.
Finally, with a quiet sigh that seemed to carry the tension of the last few minutes, Lena gave a light, clearing cough.
This small action successfully drew the attention of the other three.
"Ahem," she began, a forced, slightly awkward smile stretching across her face.
"Since we are working together as a squad, we should at least get familiar with each other's abilities. Myself, Max, and Marvin have been a trio for three years now, so we are quite familiar. I'm a combat healer, Marvin is an assassin, and Max, obviously, is a tank and close combatant."
Her explanation hung in the air, a quick summary of their established dynamic.
Kael's gaze washed over them for a few silent seconds before he offered his one-word reply, his voice flat and unrevealing. "Assassin."
So, they've been a squad for three whole years, Kael mused inwardly, his eye momentarily fixed on the healer, Lena.
That means their coordination should be great, probably seamless in a fight.
He quickly ran a mental simulation.
Dealing with them individually shouldn't be a problem, but dealing with them together might be a hassle.
They aren't like the previous teams I've encountered—the ones without coordination, full of exploitable flaws.
These three are likely tight.
In any skirmish, Kael knew information was a key factor.
The more the enemy knew about him, the harder his job became.
In truth, his thoughts continued, I'm a close combatant. He mentally prioritized his strategy: Take out the healer first, then bait the assassin, and finally take out the tank. But I must be careful about the assassin, though; they are great observers.
He subtly glanced at Marvin, noting the sharp, assessing look in the other man's eye.
"Great, just great," Marvin grumbled, his voice laced with annoyance as he caught Kael's gaze.
"Great This red eyed prick does the same job as me." He bristled, shooting a challenging glare at Kael. "What? Don't think because we do the same job that we are in the same league."
"That's enough, Marv," Lena interjected, her sigh now tinged with helplessness.
She turned apologetically to Kael. "Sorry for that."
Kael simply looked out the window, his attention elsewhere.
"Doesn't matter," he replied dismissively.
"And besides, we've arrived."
The truck shuddered to a halt. As they disembarked, the grand, imposing gate of the Duke's residence loomed before them.
Waiting outside was a group of six men wearing immaculate black tuxedo suits.
Of particular note was a young man sheltered beneath a large, black umbrella held by one of the suited attendants.
This young man was clad in a lavish blue robe with exquisite gold linings, a clear mark of his high status.
At the sight of the squad, the young man stepped forward, his followers trailing closely behind. Kael intentionally hung back, allowing Max, the burly tank, to take the lead.
The young man in lavish attire offered a welcoming, though practiced, smile. "Hello, ladies and gentlemen. I'm Thoren Bluehorn, son of the Duke Kaion Bluehorn."
Max simply nodded, offering no hint of a self-introduction.
His deep voice cut straight to the point. "Where's the dungeon?"
Thoren's hand twitched almost imperceptibly at Max's bluntness and the lack of courtesy, but the practiced, perfect smile remained plastered on his face, successfully masking his displeasure.
"Straight to business, I see," he said, his tone still smooth. "My dear guards, please show them the way."
At that command, one of the guards stepped out of the group.
"This way, please," he instructed, turning to lead the way.
The mercenaries followed, brushing past Thoren without so much as a glance, barely acknowledging his presence.
Thoren's smile finally slipped as he gritted his teeth in silent frustration, his pride clearly wounded by the mercenaries' disrespect.
A few minutes later, after several twists and turns through manicured gardens and service paths, the group finally arrived in front of a phenomenon only a few ever saw in their lifetime while some saw it on a daily basis: a red-black warping space.
It was an unstable, pulsating rift that shimmered like heat haze, marking the entrance to the dungeon.
The guard silently stepped aside, allowing the group to approach.
As they moved toward the rift, their casual demeanors visibly changed, morphing into a professional, battle-ready focus.
To Kael's slight surprise, Marvin's usual goofy, irritating mannerisms dissolved entirely, replaced by a serious, cold, and utterly silent intensity.
The guy might be annoying, but he's not a rookie, Kael noted.
They stepped into the rift.
The dungeon manifested as a rocky tunnel, the most common dungeon manifestation, a raw, unrefined space carved into the earth.
The space rippled for a second before a red portal opened, ejecting Kael alone.
Some dungeon portals, especially those to newly discovered or unstable instances, teleport a group at random points but always at the dungeon start.
The portal closed behind him with a silent fwoomp.
Kael took in his surroundings, adjusting his eye to the dim, natural light filtering from deeper within.
Ahead of him, a group of thirteen Goblins shrieked in unison, their small, hunched bodies bristling with hostility.
Kael tapped his crystal-shaped earrings, supplying a small jolt of Mana into them.
With a flicker of light and soundless morphing, they coalesced into two familiar red-clawed gauntlets that seamlessly covered his arms and hands.
"It's show time," Kael smirked under his mask, the words a low murmur of anticipation.
The goblins, seeing the single figure and his obvious weaponry, rushed Kael.
Their shrieks grew louder as they wielded their crude tools—sharpened rocks, rough stone slabs, and splintered wooden clubs.
The first goblin arrived in front of Kael, attempting a wild swing with a stone shard.
Kael met it not with a parry or a punch, but with a precise, lightning-fast kick to the throat.
The goblin was sent flying backward, a sickening crack confirming its broken windpipe, silencing its shriek forever.
The other goblins momentarily halted in their tracks, their initial rush tempered by a flicker of fear. This pause was brief, however, and they continued their sprint toward him, but with a newfound caution.
Two goblins, more agile than the others, charged simultaneously.
They leveraged the uneven, natural tunnel walls, pushing off the rock to jump toward Kael, stone spears raised for a downward thrust.
Kael simply moved into the attack.
He caught one of the goblins mid-air, his five fingers of his right gauntlet clutching the creature's head tightly.
He turned his body slightly, using the momentum of his captured foe to pivot, and delivered a precise kick to the chest of the second mid-air goblin, sending it hurtling back into the group behind.
The remaining ten goblins now surrounded Kael in a tense circle, their primitive weapons raised, wary of the speed and power he had just displayed.
Kael looked at this circle with a cold, almost detached look in his red eyes.
His fingers tightened around the skull of the goblin he held.
The creature's eyes were bloodshot, and its small, clawed hands scratched and hit Kael's armored arm, frantically trying to loosen the grip on its head.
To no avail. Kael didn't even flinch, his attention fully on the circle of enemies around him.
Then, with a brief, sickening sound—a noise like a coconut being crushed—the goblin's head went soft.
Green blood mixed with brain matter coated Kael's red gauntlets.
Kael casually flicked the blood away, a gesture of utmost disregard for the life he had just taken, while simultaneously activating his magic.
Lightning sparks began to crackle and dance across his body and his gauntlets, illuminating the dim tunnel and sending streaks of blue-white light over the rocky walls.
Feeling the raw, primal threat of the energy discharge, the surrounding goblins let out a final, desperate war cry—or in this case, a ragged, unified screech—as they charged Kael, weapons raised high, hoping to overwhelm him through sheer numbers.
To this final, desperate assault, Kael simply muttered a single command, his voice barely audible over the growing electric hum:
"Lightning Discharge."
And it happened. Bolts of raw, high-voltage lightning were released from his body in an instantaneous burst, not as a general explosion, but as targeted strikes.
The lightning arced out, piercing the heads of the charging goblins, ending their lives before they could even cover the final few meters of ground.
Ten small bodies collapsed almost simultaneously, their crude weapons clattering uselessly onto the rocky floor.