Captain Veylor had prepared himself to see monsters.
He had prepared himself to order a defensive formation.
He had not expected to see survivors walk out of the mutated F rank dungeon.
Blood streaked their faces, clothes were torn.
Several had crude bandages made from ripped fabric.
So limped. So leaned on each other.
But they were standing.
They were breathing, that alone was a miracle.
Arthur took two steps out of the portal.
The mont his foot touched solid ground, his legs shook.
Not the dramatic kind. But the quiet kind where muscles simply refused to obey.
His dagger slipped from his fingers and hit the ground with a dull clink.
He barely noticed.
The adrenaline that had kept him upright inside the dungeon began to fade.
Fast. Too fast.
As his vision swam.
The noise around him blurred.
For a mont, the only thing he could hear was his own breathing.
Slow, ragged and heavy.
"So... I’m outside once again ," he muttered hoarsely.
The sky looked different. It was wide and calm.
Inside the dungeon, everything had pressed inward.
Walls, darkness, and tainted mana.
Now there was space.
And the open air felt unreal.
His knees buckled.
Before he could hit the ground, as soone grabbed his arm.
"Easy."
Arthur turned his head slightly.
An explorer in dark armor was holding him steady.
Behind him, two healers were already moving forward with cloth mats and dical packs.
Captain Veylor snapped out of his daze.
"Healers forward."
"Get them off the ground."
"Water first. Then give potions in small doses."
"Check mana stability before full healing."
Orders ca out clean and fast.
Explorers moved in practiced rhythm. So supported the survivors under the arms. So guided them toward the mats. While so gently took weapons away and set them aside.
The area in front of the gate turned into controlled chaos.
A young girl collapsed the mont a healer touched her shoulder.
Not from pain, but from relief.
She began to cry without sound, tears streaking through dried blood.
Another survivor laughed weakly.
"I thought... I thought we were done..."
Soone else sat down and stared at his hands as if they belonged to another person.
Arthur was soon guided to an open mat where he sat, as he slowly lay back.
The cloth felt rough but he did not care.
A healer knelt beside him.
"Don’t drink too fast," she said, pressing a small vial into his hand.
Arthur nodded and as he took a careful sip as warmth spread through his chest.
Another healer placed two fingers lightly against his neck, eyes glowing faintly.
"Mana flow is... rough, but stable." She said as she frowned slightly.
"No major internal tears. Bruising. With signs of severe exhaustion."
She glanced at Arthur. "You should be unconscious."
As Arthur gave a weak snort as he replied in low voice.
"Yeah. I know that."
She paused, but then quickly moved on to the next person.
Captain Veylor walked slowly along the line of recovering survivors.
He had seen battlefields, he had seen survivors but this felt different.
Yes, they were injured.
Yes, they were exhausted.
But...
Where were the missing limbs? Where were the shattered torsos? Where were the mana instability that usually ca with dungeon mutations?
Most of them had cuts, so bruises, so broken bones.
But nothing that matched what a mutated dungeon should have produced in fresh awakeners.
"This doesn’t add up," he murmured. As his eyes scanned the group.
There had to be an anchor. Soone who held the line and tilted the balance.
He looked for the biggest body, the loudest voice. The obvious leader.
Yet, he did not find any of those.
Most of the survivors looked equally broken.
So he stopped searching. For now. As they eventually would be evaluated later.
Right now, they were alive. That alone deserved attention.
One of the squad leaders approached him.
"Captain, count is thirty two survivors."
Veylor’s brows rose. "That many?"
"Yes sir. We estimate around seventy were sent in."
Veylor exhaled slowly.
Thirty two. In a mutated dungeon. That was not luck. neither was it a coincidence.
That was a statistical impossible
But again, later.
He turned toward the healers. "Work faster but don’t rush." "I don’t want mana collapse cases."
He instructed once more to his division scout.
"Send update to stronghold."
"Dungeon stabilized. Survivors confird. Large number of awakenings likely."
Arthur lay on his mat, staring at the sky.
His body felt heavy, but his mind was clear. Clear enough to think.
So this is how awakeners are treated. As he watched healers move carefully between mats. He watched explorers offer water. He watched the commander give orders with concern.
Inside the dungeon, nobody had cared if they lived or died.
Out here, they were assets, resources. and the Grimwatch’s future power.
This was not kindness, it was practicality. And Arthur understood that.
Strength decides value. This was a clear and simple truth.
In his first life, effort did not always equal reward.
But here, it could. If you survived. If you grew. If you beca strong.
Arthur closed his eyes briefly. He was here to be comfortable, or to feel safe. He was here to climb. Fast. And higher than everyone else.
Arthur opened his eyes as he heard footsteps approach. Captain Veylor stood a few ters away, looking over the group.
He did not single Arthur out. He did not point at any specific person. He simply raised his voice. Not shouting. But loud enough to carry.
"Listen up."
So of the survivors turned their heads.
So struggled to sit.
So simply listened where they lay.
"You were thrown into sothing you were not prepared for."
His words weren’t sugarcoated or soft.
"You saw what dungeons are like."
"You saw what monsters are like."
"You saw how easy it is to die."
There was silence as his words continued.
"That does not change."
"This world does not beco kinder because you awakened."
He paused. "But you are no longer helpless."
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