"I can still heal people," Miriam began, her voice steady,
"but there’s an equivalent exchange."
She paused, then continued, her gaze distant.
"After the double dungeon incident, everything spiraled. So hunters quit entirely. What we saw that day... it was a nightmare. But a few of us managed to separate illusion from reality. The illusion was that we almost died. The reality? We were tested. That’s how I saw it."
Timothy rembered that day vividly or at least, the parts before he blacked out.
He’d passed out early, completely unaware of what had happened afterward.
"What exactly did happen...?" he asked, leaning forward, his tone sharper.
"...After I passed out"
Miriam looked at him for a mont, lips parting like she was about to speak, but she held back and simply resud her story.
"We were rescued. Sohow. It felt like a miracle. So of us were unconscious for three days, others for over a week."
She glanced at Timothy.
He’d been one of the latter.
"The Association gave us a care package. Support, treatnt... then the symptoms started. The twins were first. They vanished from the hospital, found later lying unconscious outside. It happened again and again until they eventually beca aware of their abilities. The Association believed it was a kind of forced awakening, triggered by a near-death experience. Soon, others followed, developing strange new powers they hadn’t shown before."
She exhaled.
"That led to a rank re-evaluation. They concluded the dungeon had caused a mass reawakening. But here’s the twist not everyone awakened powerful abilities. We were still ranked B, officially... but for so of us, it was false."
She gave a bitter smile.
"I was one of those B ranks. My mana capacity t the requirent, but my healing? It was more a curse than a gift. I could heal serious injuries, yes, but every ti I did, I felt the pain myself. Phantom injuries. Sotis I passed out. Sotis I lost focus mid-heal. They eventually figured out the truth: my ability wasn’t just healing. It was Sacrifice. To heal soone... I lose a part of myself."
Timothy stared, his mind racing.
"I was sent to therapy after that. They let refuse raids on one condition: if I was ever called, I had to answer. They promised it wouldn’t be dangerous. But I didn’t trust that."
She pulled out her phone and handed it to him.
"So I looked into it."
On the screen were dozens of news articles, spanning two years, all tied to a single, recurring event, a failed raid.
Timothy scanned them, frowning.
Sa raid, different teams.
D-ranks failed.
C-ranks too.
Even B-rank squads had gone in and co out empty-handed or not at all.
But the weirdest part?
The gate never broke.
There were no signs, no symptoms, and no imminent threat, but it also never closed.
Analysts couldn’t explain it.
Why not just leave it alone if it’s not breaking? Timothy wondered.
Then he found sothing strange: one article ntioned a survivor, a woman who later died of old age.
That didn’t sit right with him.
Civilians and hunters over 70 weren’t supposed to enter dungeons at all unless they passed rigorous fitness tests.
There was no way a frail old woman got approved for a raid.
And her statent? It ntioned a "palace full of treasures" that was missed... and then the rest descended into rambling clear signs of trauma.
The article felt doctored.
Sanitized.
More reports followed about more failures.
Even attention-seeking pastors got involved, spewing fake prophecies.
But the underlying the was consistent: rumors of untold riches hidden in the dungeon.
Timothy frowned.
Rich dungeons weren’t rare.
But why this one?
Then he stumbled on sothing different.
Foreign interest.
Countries outside Nigeria trying to get involved.
The pressure was clearly mounting.
"So... they don’t want to clear it, but they don’t want to hand it over either," Timothy muttered.
"They must be under serious heat."
He looked at Miriam.
"But how are you so sure this is the dungeon we’re being summoned for?"
Miriam just asked,
"What’s today?"
"Tuesday?"
"No, the date."
"April 1st."
And that’s when it clicked.
All the articles about the failed raids and the patterns took place within the first week of the month.
No more than thirty B-rank hunters ever participated at once.
And all of it happened in Rivers State.
Timothy stared, stunned.
"How have I never heard about this?"
Miriam caught his expression and nodded.
"Because they covered it up well. But this ti’s different. Five more states are sending B-rank teams too."
Timothy gave her a sharp look.
"I got the intel from a blogger friend," she explained.
"She’s obsessed with hunter scoops, they pay well. She dug into airline logs. Turns out, specific numbers of B-rank hunters from different guilds are all boarding the sa flights... all headed to Port Harcourt. Coincidence?"
Timothy didn’t answer.
He was already connecting the dots.
By now, Timothy was thoroughly impressed by Miriam’s information-gathering skills.
He stared at her, unsure of what to say.
An unpredictable dungeon with a track record of failure and death? It was nothing short of a nightmare.
"I want you to protect ," Miriam said suddenly, breaking the silence.
Timothy raised a brow.
"I suddenly feel used."
His eyes flicked back to the articles she’d shown him.
They painted a grim picture.
"How long have you known about all this?" he asked, his tone quiet but sharp.
Miriam didn’t respond imdiately.
"A while, huh?" he said, answering for her.
"And how long have you known about ?"
She hesitated before replying,
"I only kept track of hunters the Association might find valuable..."
He cut her off.
"That’s why you were so concerned about your friends? I’m not offended about being the second option. I just don’t want to be an option." He paused.
"Tell , what would you have done if I wasn’t ranked B?"
Miriam’s eyes didn’t waver.
"The only reason I beca a hunter was to earn my family’s approval. I can’t give that up not yet. There’s sothing I have to accomplish... no matter the cost."
Timothy observed her quietly.
He was starting to get a read on the kind of person she was and, strangely, he found it compelling.
What struck him most wasn’t her conviction.
It was the fact that despite the toll it took on her, she still ca to heal his mother.
She didn’t owe them anything, and yet she ca.
That, to him, ant sothing deeper.
On so unspoken level, he felt indebted.
At the very least, he owed her the protection she’d asked for.
He was newly ranked B, and this gate was exclusively for B-ranks.
But compared to the goblin-thed dungeon he’d survived, sothing about this didn’t feel as dangerous.
Then again, the danger wasn’t always obvious.
Still... she was lying.
Not about everything, but about that one line
"I’m doing this for family validation?." Timothy didn’t buy it.
There was more to her.
A lot more.
And for the first ti in a long while, he decided not to push soone like that away.
Sowhere deep down, his instincts registered her as worth it.
But beyond Miriam, he sensed a growing conspiracy.
Governnt hands were moving behind the curtain again.
He had never trusted them and preferred to dance around their web, not step into it.
But now it felt like there was no line to walk only a scorching ring of iron.
One way or another, it burned.
Still, that didn’t an he trusted the Kingpin Association either.
It was unofficial, unregulated but useful, for now.
They were all riding a storm, and even if he wasn’t the target, he was caught in the wind.
There was no more running.
Only forward.
"So," Timothy said calmly,
"Are you ready?"
He glanced at her.
"Just stick close. But if your conscience starts acting up, go ahead and hire a few more to join us. You’ve still got ti."
Miriam stared at him for a mont, then smiled.
"I’ll stick with you."
Timothy matched her smile.
"Why?"
Her gaze locked with his, and she answered softly,
"Because you won’t die... You’ve got too much to lose if you do."
"Aren’t you a bit too overconfident?" Timothy said, a teasing lilt in his voice.
"And aren’t you a bit too trusting?" Miriam shot back.
"I’m not," he replied coolly.
"Likewise," she said, matching his tone.
They locked eyes for a mont, a silent exchange passing between them before Timothy turned away with a soft sigh.
He made his way to the kitchen.
The clatter of utensils soon echoed from behind the counter.
After a short pause, Miriam’s voice called out,
"Tim?"
"Don’t call that," Timothy responded without looking back.
There was a brief silence before she asked,
"Would you save them... if you had the chance?"
"You an your friends?" Timothy said, glancing at her.
"...Mir?"
"Don’t call that," she said with a small frown.
Timothy chuckled faintly as he finished up his sandwich.
"I’m no hero. I return favors. I do things that benefit . And honestly? I see no gain in chasing after people who once left to die."
He took a bite of the sandwich and leaned against the counter.
"Let soone else play the saint."
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