The eighth floor of the Dungeon.
Inside the dim passage, a team of adventurers advanced cautiously, carrying out the latest survey mission issued by the Guild.
Bang!
A muffled crash rang out. Lambert’s shield braced firmly against the monster’s claw. Almost at the same instant, an arrow and a blazing fireball whistled past him, slamming into the monster’s head.
The monster let out a pained howl, locked onto the archer at the rear, and lunged.
“Dream on!” Lambert seized the opening—his longsword flicked upward, severing the grotesque head.
He had just exhaled a sigh of relief.
“Get out of the way!” the mage behind him suddenly warned.
Without hesitation, Lambert rolled to the side. The very next moment, a sticky, semi-transparent slime dropped from the ceiling, splattering heavily onto the floor with a wet “slap.” A following fireball detonated it into fragments.
Lambert climbed back up, disgustedly wiping off a few droplets of slime from his armor.“Damn slimes, can’t ever guard against them! One slip and the cost of repairing armor equals the reward for the job.”
One teammate crouched to handle the monster corpse while replying:
“Be content. At least they only show up on the eighth floor now.”
After a short rest, the team continued deeper, eventually stopping before a chamber carved with dim runes.
The mage immediately lay down by the edge of a magic circle in the center, pulling out tools to examine every line carefully.
Meanwhile, Lambert and two others instinctively guarded the doorway, alert to their surroundings.
Watching the mage’s focused back, Lambert couldn’t help but grumble:
“What’s the point of this mission anyway? Mapping new teleportation routes… Since the ‘Collapse Incident,’ the eighth floor’s circles change every few days. Isn’t all this measuring just wasted effort?”
“Maybe they’re trying to find a pattern,” another teammate answered. “Without stable routes, no one can get down to the ninth and tenth floors. They can’t just give up on two whole floors, right?”
“Hmph. The Guild’s attention is already elsewhere,” Lambert scoffed. “It’s turning more and more like the City Lord’s office, managing the commoners’ trivial affairs. Our adventurer work is becoming secondary.”
At that moment, the mage raised his head.
“It’s a flame trap circle. Already triggered by someone.”
“Then let’s move on!”
Clearing out a few stray monsters and checking several more messy magic circles, they finally found one that looked stable.
The team quickly marked the spot on their leather map and stepped onto the array one by one.
Yet, just as the circle lit up, right before activation, the mage suddenly cried out:
“No! The array’s changed! It wasn’t like this a moment ago! Get off!”
Lambert reacted instantly, trying to roll off—but too late. A blinding light swallowed everything.
When it faded, Lambert found himself alone, standing in an unfamiliar empty stone chamber.
He looked down—beneath his feet was bare rock, no magic circle.
“A one-way random separation teleport… troublesome…” His expression darkened as he gripped his sword tightly.
Without the mage skilled in circles, the road ahead could only be wagered on sword and luck.
…
…
…
Lin Jun, casually testing the “Starlight Button” function within his Core interface, suddenly noticed a battered figure appear at the eighth-floor stairway.
The eighth floor was connected only by teleportation circles. Lin Jun’s Mycelium Carpet couldn’t extend inside; only the stairways had coverage. He had no idea what this man had gone through.
The unlucky gold-ranked adventurer was heavily wounded—burns, corrosion, and several obvious monster bite marks. He collapsed on the ground, looking close to death.
No teammates in sight. Did the others die inside?
In the past, Lin Jun would’ve ignored him. If he died, the corpse would be decomposed; if rescued, it didn’t matter.
But thinking of the war-related intel he had recently acquired…
…
…
…
The jolting sensation dragged Lambert from the darkness. Groggily, he realized someone was carrying him forward.
A teammate? But none of his comrades had the strength to carry a fully armored man like him.
He forced open heavy eyelids—before him was a face carved like fine sculpture, and a pair of clear emerald-green eyes like a forest.
So he was dead then. The God of Light had sent an angel to take him.
“Veyra, stop a moment, he’s awake.”
The owner of those green eyes spoke upon sensing movement on his back.
At the voice, Veyra halted, gently setting Lambert down to lean against a giant mushroom.
Lambert now realized they were in the relatively safe fifth floor.
“My teammates…” he asked reflexively.
Veyra crouched.
“We only found you at the eighth-floor stairway. How do you feel? We did some emergency treatment.”
“I… can’t move.” Lambert tried to shift his body, but found he could only just turn his head.
“Sirian says your spine may be injured.” Veyra tilted her head toward the elf. “His natural healing magic works well on flesh wounds, but bone injuries… not so much.”
“I see.”
Lambert didn’t panic. A spinal injury was troublesome, but with money and time a priest could fix it. Compared to losing his life, it wasn’t serious.
“Thank you,” he said sincerely.
“No need yet,” Veyra replied strangely. “It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“See for yourself.”
She lifted his limp hand before his eyes.
On his calloused palm, aside from old scars, several faint whitish, semi-transparent tendrils were embedded in the flesh, half-hidden and half-revealed.
“Do you recall this happening?”
Lambert’s face tightened. He desperately combed his fading memories before fainting. In the blur of pain and darkness, there had been… a chubby little white thing that approached him…
“Could it have been… a Puji?” he croaked uncertainly.
At his words, Veyra and the others exchanged a knowing glance.
“See!” Phylline piped up. “I told you he’s gone moldy!”
“…”
“In any case, let’s bring him back to the surface!”
Yet, once they reached the second floor, something miraculous happened: Lambert’s spinal injury seemed to heal on its own. He stood up steadily and walked the rest of the way unaided…