The Hunter Association’s training facility buzzes with nervous energy. Leon arrives at dawn, to find dozens of newly awakened hunters clustered around assignnt boards. Their fresh classification badges gleams in the morning light—bronze for C-Rank, copper for D-Rank, iron for E-Rank.
His ash-gray F-Rank badge feels like a target on his chest.
"F-Ranks to Station Seven," barks a scarred official. Her voice bears the authority of soone who has survived real dungeons. "Move."
Leon joins the shortest line. Only five other F-Ranks have shown up for qualification. The rest either can’t afford the registration fee or have already given up.
A pale girl with nervous hands stands behind him. Her badge reads "F-Rank Healer." She looks maybe sixteen, too young for this kind of pressure.
"First ti?" she whispers.
Leon nods. "You?"
"Fourth." Her laugh holds no humor. "They keep assigning to teams that abandon . I’m Elise."
"Leon." He studies her face. Dark circles under her green eyes suggests too many sleepless nights. "Fourth ti? That’s rough."
"F-Rank healers are too slow for most hunters. They want instant fixes, not gradual recovery." Elise shrugged. "What’s your class?"
"Necromancer."
She steps back instinctively. Leon is used to that reaction by now.
When the assignnt official reaches their group, she looks them over like a butcher examining spoiled at.
"Standard F-Rank qualifications. Survive two hours in a basic dungeon. Prove you won’t die imdiately and embarrass the Association." She hands Leon a worn tablet. "Sign the liability waiver."
The terms are brutal. Death, dismbernt, or permanent disability remains the hunter’s responsibility. The Association provides basic ergency extraction but no guarantees.
Leon signs without reading the details.
"Team assignnts," the official continues. "Graves, Traven, Korren, Blake, and Vasquez. Dungeon designation: Collapsed Mine 7-B. Estimated threat level: Minimal."
Leon studies his teammates. Besides Elise, there is Brock, a muscular guy with "F-Rank Warrior" stamped on his badge—Maris, a thin woman marked as "F-Rank Rogue," and Trenton, whose "F-Rank Mage" classification looks freshly printed.
None of them looks happy about their assignnts.
"Equipnt distribution in Bay Three. Transportation leaves in twenty minutes. Don’t be late."
Leon follows the group to the equipnt bay. F-Ranks’ gear consists mostly of damaged hand--downs: cracked leather armor, dulled weapons, and basic dical supplies.
Leon selects a small crossbow and a quiver of iron bolts. The weapon feels solid despite its age. He’d practiced archery as a child when his father still believed Leon might beco a ranger.
"That’s it?" Brock sneers. "No sword? No shield?"
"I prefer range."
"Good luck hitting anything with that piece of junk."
Leon ignores him. Brock radiates the kind of aggressive stupidity that get people killed in dungeons—the type who charges monsters without thinking.
Elise gathers dical supplies, including bandages, healing salves, and pain suppressants. Her movents shows practiced efficiency.
"How many dungeons have you completed?" Leon asks quietly.
"None." Her voice stays level. "They always leave behind when things get dangerous."
The transport is an armored cart pulled by manna-enhanced horses. Twenty minutes of uncomfortable silence brings them to Collapsed Mine 7-B—a jagged hole surrounded by rusted warning signs.
"Dungeon breach occurred six months ago," explains their escort. "Minor monsters only. Goblins, rats, maybe a weak sli if you’re unlucky." He checks his pocket watch. "Extraction is at fourteen hundred hours. Don’t be late."
The cart disappears in a cloud of dust, leaving five F-Ranks staring at a dark hole.
Brock takes charge imdiately. "Simple plan. We stick together, clear the entrance, and wait for pickup. No heroes, no unnecessary risks."
Leon notices aningful glances between Brock, Maris, and Trenton. They have planned sothing.
The mine entrance descends through broken timber supports and rusted tracks. Ergency lighting strips provides dim illumination every twenty feet. The air slls of stagnant water and decay.
"Stay alert," Brock mutters. "Goblins like ambush tactics."
They move in a single file through narrow tunnels. Leon keeps his crossbow ready while monitoring the shadows. His hidden zombie remains silent in his shadow, waiting.
Scratching sounds echoes from side passages. Small things are moving just out of sight.
"There." Maris points down a branched tunnel. "Movent."
Three goblins erges from the darkness. They are green-skinned humanoids with crude weapons and hungry expressions. They chatter in their primitive language, sizing us.
"Formation," Brock orders,. "Maris, flank left. Trenton, support. Healer stays back."
Leon raises his crossbow as the goblins charge. His first shot takes the lead creature through the eye. It drops without a sound.
Brock’s sword catches the second goblin across the chest. The blade bites deep, sending the creature stumbling backwards.
The third goblin reaches Trenton, who panicks and fall. His spell misfires, scorching the tunnel wall instead of his target.
Leon’s second bolt punches through the goblin’s skull before it could finish Trenton.
"Nice shooting," Brock says grudgingly.
They continue deeper. The tunnels branches repeatedly, creating a maze of possible routes. Leon notices Brock consistently choosing paths that leads away from the main shaft.
Two hours into the qualifications, they reach a major junction. Three passages leads in different directions.
"We should split up," Brock announces. "Cover more ground."
Leon’s instincts screams danger. "Bad idea. We’re stronger together."
"Who puts you in charge, necromancer?" Brock’s voice drips with contempt. "This is tactical thinking. Sothing your type can’t understand."
"My type?"
"Death magic users. Everyone knows you’re cowards who hide behind minions."
Maris and Trenton nodded in agreent. Their body language suggests this conversation has been rehearsed.
"I’m staying with Elise," Leon said flatly.
"Fine. You two take the left passage. We’ll handle the real work."
Before Leon can object, Brock leads Maris and Trenton down the center tunnel. Their footsteps fades quickly.
Leon and Elise stands alone at the junction.
"They planned this," Elise says quietly. "Probably from the beginning."
"Yeah." Leon checks his remaining bolts. Half gone already. "Abandon the dead weights and claim they got separated."
A low rumble shak es the tunnels. Dust rains from cracked ceiling beams.
"That doesn’t sound like goblins," Elise whispers.
The rumbling grows louder. Sothing significant is moving through the mine shafts—much bigger than the qualifications briefing had ntioned.
Leon pulls Elise behind a support beam as heavy footsteps approaches their position. Whatever is coming is heading straight for their junction.
And they are utterly alone.
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