Chương 16: Before the Report

The simple wooden door closed behind Rayne with a low, muffled thud. The noise and chaos of the camp seemed to be forcibly shut outside by that thin wooden panel.

"Greyhound really had it rough this time. Did you see them just now?"

"Yeah! Though I accidentally got myself killed in there last time too…"

"Wait, so that dungeon really can bring people back to life? I came all this way for it. Don't tell me it's fake." The scattered voices still drifted in through the gaps around the door, but through the wooden wall, they had already blurred as if covered by a layer of thick cloth. Inside the cabin, silence settled at once. Serin was led into a small side room by a priestess. Barton, Tyren, and Asar sat separately on wooden chairs and low stools while the priests stationed at the camp tended to their wounds.

For a while, the only sounds in the room were the deliberately lowered voices of the priests.

"Barton, didn't I just finish bandaging you up yesterday? What did you go and ram yourself into this time?"

"Heh… more or less." Barton's face had gone white from the pain, but he still forced out a smile and gave the priest a thumbs-up.

"Don't worry. Still alive." The priest glared at him in exasperation. On the other side, the priest treating Asar frowned and said, "Asar, I think this is the first time I've ever seen you hurt this badly." Asar only shook his head helplessly. Even a bitter smile seemed like too much effort to force out. The smells of blood, sweat, and medicinal herbs mixed together, trapped inside the cramped wooden cabin. The air was so heavy it made breathing difficult.

Rayne leaned back against the door and slowly slid down to the floor. Only then did he realize his legs were still trembling beyond his control. In sharp contrast to him was Greer, who sat by the table. The old man was bright-eyed and full of energy. He even had the leisure to brew himself a cup of tea. He looked as if the person who had just died and come back had not been him at all. Camilla, seated nearby, could not help glancing at him several times.

In the end, she still asked,"Guildmaster, are you truly feeling no discomfort at all?"

"Mm?" Greer lifted his head, as if only then noticing that everyone was looking at him. He lowered his eyes to his own hands, moved his shoulder, then gave a soft snort of laughter and lifted his cup for a sip of tea.

"Isn't it obvious?" He set the cup down. His tone was so light even he seemed to find it absurd.

"I'm perfectly fine. I haven't felt this unburdened in more than ten years." Tyren opened his mouth, seeming about to say something, but in the end, he swallowed the words back down. Greer did not explain further. He stood with the help of his cane, walked over to Rayne, and held out a hand.

"Up you get, Greyhound." Rayne lifted his head. The old man looked down at him. His eyes were no longer as sharp and pressing as they had been inside the dungeon, but they were still steady and strong.

"You did well this time." The corner of Greer's mouth lifted slightly.

"Looks like I didn't go through all that for nothing." Rayne froze for a moment. Fatigue and frustration still weighed on his chest, but when he heard those words, the corners of his mouth still tugged upward before he could stop them. He gripped that callused hand and used it to pull himself to his feet.

"Go sit over there." Greer let go, his tone gentler than usual.

"Rest first. Once the priests finish treating your wounds, we'll continue the discussion." Rayne nodded. He did not force himself, and walked over to sit beside Asar. Asar raised a hand and lightly patted him on the back. He said nothing. He only closed his eyes and leaned back against the chair, as if he were saving even the strength it would take to speak. The cabin fell quiet again. Greer also returned to his seat. His gaze fell to the tea in his cup.

This was completely different from what Rayne and the others had described before. No headache. No weakness. None of that hollow sensation, as if a chunk of his soul had been forcibly torn out of his body. Even the heaviness that had built up over the years in his shoulders, back, knees, and old wounds seemed to have been wiped away all at once. His body felt so light it was almost unreal. Could it be that the Soul Damage caused by resurrection was not actually as severe as they had imagined?

But then how was he supposed to explain Finn's deathly pale, almost burned-out state? Greer was just about to follow that thought further when the cabin door was suddenly shoved open from outside. Bang. Everyone in the room lifted their heads. Bram stood in the doorway, face flushed red, both hands braced on his knees. He was panting so hard even his beard was trembling.

"Bram?" Greer frowned.

"What has you in such a hurry?" The moment the words left his mouth, he saw that a young man was following behind the old priest. Finn. He was panting just as heavily, his forehead covered in sweat. His complexion still could not be called healthy, but it was no longer the hollow, deathly white of the past few days, as if he might collapse at any moment. Greer's gaze sharpened slightly. Bram lifted his head, as though he had finally gathered enough breath.

"G-Guildmaster!" The old priest's voice trembled with excitement.

"Finn's soul… it's h-healed!" In the next instant, Greer shot to his feet. The chair behind him was knocked backward and toppled over, striking the floor with a heavy crash.

"Healed?" His voice shook the room enough that several of the priests looked up.

"Not completely healed!" Bram jumped in fright and hurriedly waved both hands.

"I mean, it's gotten much better! His condition has been recovering over the past few days, and far faster than I expected." Greer stared at him.

"Explain clearly." Bram took a deep breath and finally steadied his breathing. He pulled a wrinkled roll of parchment from inside his robes and hurried over to Greer.

"I've been examining Finn every day. Physical condition, mental responses, soul stability, and the Guild's magical instruments for measuring soul strength. I used all of them." He stuffed the parchment into Greer's hands, his fingers trembling faintly from excitement.

"And the results show that he isn't merely recovering." Greer unrolled the parchment. His gaze swept across the densely written records. During the first few days, Finn's soul state had been almost like an oil lamp on the verge of going out. Weak, drifting, unstable, as though it would scatter if touched even lightly. But starting yesterday, that faint glow of soul had actually stabilized bit by bit.

By today, the measuring instrument's results even showed that Finn's soul strength had risen slightly compared to when he had first been sent back. Only slightly. If Bram had not checked several times in a row, even Greer would have thought it was merely an error in the instrument.

"This data is real?" Greer lifted his head. For the first time, an undisguisable shock appeared in his eyes. Stolen novel; please report.

"I checked it six times," Bram said irritably.

"I have better things to do than scare you with fake data." He paused, then pulled another roll of parchment from inside his robes.

"And it isn't just Finn. These past few days, I've also examined other adventurers who were 'returned' from Blackstone Dungeon." Greer accepted the second record.

"White Porcelain-rank adventurers have it the worst." Bram pointed at the record, speaking rapidly.

"After waking up, most of them can barely sit upright. Dizziness, weak limbs, and they have to lie down for a day or two."

"Black Iron-rank adventurers fare better. Headaches and fatigue, but they recover very quickly. Those who have only just advanced react more strongly. For someone like Rayne, who has already settled firmly into his rank, the symptoms are much lighter." At this point, Bram's frown deepened.

"The sample size is still too small, so I don't dare draw a conclusion yet. But based on what we have so far, the stronger and more stable the soul, the smaller the loss after being returned." Greer looked silently at the record in his hands. Only after a long while did he ask in a low voice,"What about Bronze-rank adventurers?" Bram rolled his eyes at him.

"Please. How many Bronze-rank adventurers are there in Blackstone Town right now? Let alone one who just so happens to die in that dungeon and is willing to let me examine them three times a day."

"There is one sample." Greer set the parchment back on the table and lifted his teacup for a sip.

"Though these old bones of mine have been retired for far too long, using me as a Bronze-rank sample shouldn't be too unreasonable." Bram froze. He looked at Greer, who was far too clean and even leisurely, and his expression changed little by little.

"Guildmaster, don't tell me you…"

"Mm." Greer calmly set down his teacup.

"I died." He paused.

"Then came back. And now I feel better than ever." Bram's eyes lit up instantly.

"Guildmaster, let me examine you!" Almost on instinct, he lunged forward, both hands already reaching for Greer's wrist.

"Stop." Greer's brows drew together, and he shifted aside with the help of his cane.

"I don't have time to be your research subject right now." Bram froze where he stood, visible disappointment spreading across his face. That expression did not look like an old priest who had been refused. It looked more like a child whose treasured toy had just been snatched away from his hands. Just then, Camilla, who had been quietly recording the conversation, lifted her head.

"Guildmaster." She set down her quill, picked up the stack of reports already filled with writing, and tapped it lightly against the tabletop to straighten the pages.

"I've recorded everything just now." The atmosphere in the cabin sank slightly. Camilla looked at Greer. Her voice remained steady, and her gaze did not waver.

"There are only two days left before the formal anomaly report on Blackstone Dungeon has to be submitted." Her gaze swept over the parchment on the table, then moved to Rayne and the others still sitting inside the cabin while their wounds were treated.

"Death and return, Soul Damage, changes in soul strength, a talking boss, tokens and abnormal drops…" Camilla listed them one by one.

"Guildmaster, this is no longer information the Blackstone Town branch can suppress." She paused.

"In two days, no matter how much we have managed to investigate, this report must be submitted to headquarters."

"Don't worry. I remember." Greer sighed, bent down to lift the fallen chair from the floor, and sat back in his original place. That absurd lightness from earlier seemed to disperse little by little along with the steam rising from the tea. He folded his hands together and rested them before his chin. The expression on his face once again returned to the seriousness that belonged to a Guildmaster.

"Based on the information we've pieced together so far, Blackstone Dungeon is becoming more and more important." He closed his eyes slightly and thought in silence for a while. No one in the cabin spoke. Rayne and the others sat in their chairs, letting the priests treat their injuries. Bram held those few rolls of parchment, still looking as though he wished he could drag Greer away for an examination on the spot. Camilla held her quill and quietly waited for the next words.

"And I have a feeling." Greer opened his eyes. His gaze fell to the cane-sword by the table, the one that had been returned together with him.

"This dungeon is different from any dungeon I have ever seen." His voice was very low, as if he were speaking to the others, and also as if he were speaking to himself.

"Could this be… a turning point?" After a brief silence, the old man could not help giving a snort.

"Or perhaps it's merely a carefully laid trap." He reached out and stroked the hilt of the cane-sword.

"Still, those brainless dungeons that only know how to kill have never been this clever." The atmosphere inside the cabin did not lighten much because of that.

"In any case, before the report is sent, I do not intend to impose any further restrictions on Blackstone Dungeon." Greer's gaze finally landed on Rayne.

"But before that, you all need to recover from your injuries first. We've already learned part of that twin-sword boss's pattern."

"The next time we run into it, we won't be completely without a chance." Rayne slowly nodded.

"Yes, Guildmaster." Greer leaned back against his chair and waved a hand tiredly.

"That's enough for today. All of you, go rest." No one objected. This time, even Tyren only answered in a low voice and did not add another word. ◆ ◆ ◆ At the same time, in a tavern at the other end of Blackstone Town, the noise was even harsher than the commotion outside the camp. Tankards clashed, dice rolled, and the adventurers' laughter and curses mixed with the heavy smell of alcohol, filling the entire tavern to the brim.

But at a round table set closest to the wall, five adventurers had deliberately lowered their voices. Their cloaks hid their badges, but they could not hide the wear on their scabbards, the repair marks along the edges of their armor, or that steady air left behind only after years spent fighting through dungeons and the wild.

"Well?" The swordsman Blake tapped the tabletop, excitement shining openly in his eyes.

"Did you find out? Can Blackstone Dungeon really bring people back from the dead?"

"You doubting my ability to get things done?" The rogue Sanna glanced at him lazily, her fingertips playing with the rim of her cup.

"Someone on Greyhound's side did die and come back. Same for other low-rank adventurers. There is a price. Headaches, weakness, and if it's more serious, they have to lie down for a day or two. But at least so far, I haven't heard of anyone who truly failed to come back." Blake's eyes lit up.

"Then isn't that basically no price at all?"

"Compared with actually dying inside a dungeon, you could indeed say that." The mage Jessup, seated diagonally across from him, pushed up his thin-framed spectacles, his tone calm. The shield warrior Darm, who had been silent until now, lifted his eyes toward the man seated at the head of the table.

"Cyrus." He took a drink, his voice hoarse.

"You didn't call us here just to listen to rumors, did you?"

"Of course not." Cyrus, seated between them, raised his eyes. Two short blades lay crossed on the table before him.

"What I want is Blackstone Dungeon's core." For a brief moment, the table fell silent. Blake narrowed his eyes.

"Going straight for the core? That's quite the appetite."

"People with small appetites don't sit at this table," Cyrus said flatly.

"You've all heard about Rafe Dungeon, haven't you?" Jessup raised an eyebrow.

"The dungeon with an abnormal number of traps?"

"Yes. It was dealt with by a Gold-rank party a while ago. The news was suppressed, but I happen to know one of their logistics staff." Cyrus confirmed that no one nearby had approached before continuing.

"According to what I heard, after they destroyed the core, they found three Skill Books." Blake's mouth flew open, and he almost shouted out loud. In the next second, Darm clamped a hand over his mouth. That palm nearly covered half of Blake's face.

"Mmph! Mmmph!" Sanna sighed.

"Darm, let the idiot go. If you actually crush him to death, we'll have to waste time finding a new teammate." Only then did Darm release his hand. Blake clenched his teeth and cursed in a lowered voice.

"Do you people know what those are? Skill Books! Three of them!"

"So you plan to let the whole tavern know?" Cyrus looked at him coldly.

"Shout again, and you won't get a cut of the spoils." Blake's expression stiffened. In the end, he did not argue. Jessup lightly tapped the side of his cup with one finger, looking thoughtful.

"Rafe is Rafe, and Blackstone is Blackstone. You have no proof the two are the same."

"I don't need to prove they're the same," Cyrus said.

"I only know one thing. If a Gold-rank party went out of its way to bury the news, then it wasn't something small." He looked at the others and could not help laughing softly.

"And Blackstone is even more abnormal than Rafe."

"The Guild is tight-lipped." Sanna curled her lips.

"Too tight-lipped. So tight it feels like they're afraid people will find out there really is something good inside." Darm frowned.

"The route is unknown. The rules are unknown." His gaze fell on Cyrus's face.

"And what lies beyond the door is unknown too."

"That's why we have to do it now." Cyrus's gaze darkened.

"In a few days, the report on Blackstone Dungeon will be sent up. By then, the people coming here won't just be from the Blackstone Town Guild branch. The Royal Capital, nobles, the Church, large adventurer parties… any of them might reach in." He extended a finger and tapped the tabletop lightly.

"Once those people arrive, it won't be our turn anymore." Silence lingered around the table for a while. Sanna drained the wine in her cup and set it down heavily.

"The big shots haven't scented this prize yet." She wiped her mouth and grinned.

"Once the big shots smell it and come running, we won't even get a sip of broth."

"What's the plan?" Jessup asked.

"We don't waste time trying side passage after side passage," Cyrus said.

"The information I found says there's a gate boss deep in the canyon."

"That monster has at least Bronze-level strength. Ordinary Black Iron-rank parties have no way past it."

"That's it?" Blake laughed.

"Greyhound failing to get through doesn't mean we can't." Darm glanced at him and did not argue. The statement was arrogant, but it was not without confidence.

"That is exactly the point." Cyrus spread his hands.

"The place where Greyhound got stuck has not gone beyond what we can handle." Jessup's finger stopped tapping against the cup.

"You mean… before the news gets out, we make a direct push?"

"Exactly." Cyrus leaned forward slightly.

"We go in tomorrow, push straight to the depths of the canyon, and break through that gate boss." Darm pondered for a moment.

"The Guild won't let us touch the core."

"That's why we only have one chance."

"We go all out." Cyrus's gaze swept over every one of them.

"If we fail, the worst that happens is death. If we succeed, we destroy the core." He paused, revealing a cold smile.

"When that happens, everything inside will be ours." After a brief silence, Blake was the first to bare his teeth in a grin.

"I like this plan." Sanna lightly swirled her cup, the wine inside reflecting the dim yellow lamplight.

"At least it's a lot more interesting than slowly mapping the place." Outside the tavern, night gradually sank over the town. The streets of Blackstone Town were stretched into long shadows by the dim yellow lights. In the distance, some people were still talking about the miserable state of Greyhound's party when they returned, while others argued over whether coming back from the dead was truly a miracle.

But in the most inconspicuous corner of this noisy tavern, five Bronze-rank adventurers had already decided to step into that dungeon tomorrow. They had not come to scout the route. They had come to punch straight through it.