A pyrrhic victory.
Ivan lay unconscious, dark violet markings of mana erosion spreading across his face, his breaths faint as gossar.
Nova sat slumped, twig-like arms propping himself on the ground, coughing weakly from ti to ti.
Only Gal, the team’s shield, remained vigorous.
But being the last fighter standing, he dared not linger.
He poured potions down his comrades’ throats, swept up the loot, then hauled both of them—one on each side—off toward Night Owl’s position.
Only when the adventurers had gone did Lin Jun erge, prying from beneath a fragnt of charred armor a fist-sized shard of the Fla Demon’s molten heart.
Roughly a tenth of the whole. The rest, the half-dragon had claid.
Strictly speaking, this was the Demon’s true body, and its only valuable piece.
The towering form—ten ters of magma and bone—had been nothing but a vessel.
Standing among scattered plates of hardened lava, Lin Jun could not help but feel moved.
The foe he had once imagined as his final boss… slain not by his own hand, but snuffed out in an instant.
And not even by stronger foes—three adventurers weaker in level.
One flaw in its armor, and the mighty Demon fell.
Lin Jun, who had tracked every mont, would not forget this lesson.
That crack in its chest plate—likely earned while it had been outside its lair.
So. In this world, danger was not asured only by levels.
The safest course: never expose his true body.
Yet here he was, forced to reveal himself, if only briefly, for the sake of moving house.
The passage to the 10th floor was strange.
The lower half resembled the Deep Zone’s usual tunnels. But the upper half—rough stone steps, crudely carved.
Who, Lin Jun wondered, had built this Dungeon?
From Inanna’s chatter he’d gleaned much lore. The noble girl had never entered herself, but she’d heard enough tales to fill an evening.
Even so, the Dungeon’s origins were not among them.
But she had known about the 10th floor.
The Athyst Dungeon’s 10th layer: The Forest of a Thousand Stones.
Endless stone pillars dividing the level into upper and lower realms.
Above perched winged wind-serpents known as Hakas.
Below—the hunting grounds of werewolves.
Werewolves were not monsters, but a true demonic race. Once, they had been among the mightiest.
Three centuries ago, the Demon King fell to the Hero’s blade. In the aftermath, the demons turned on each other, fighting over the throne.
Only then did humanity, uniting with other races, manage to claw out survival.
The Vampires erged victorious, founding the Hidden Empire.
The defeated factions scattered to the barren Far West.
And the Vampires, sworn enemies of the Werewolves, hunted them rcilessly.
So wolf clans fled into Dungeons across the world, vanishing into the dark.
Outside of Dungeons, they survived only on a few western isles.
But extinction did not an weakness. On the contrary—the Vampires’ hatred proved their strength.
Even without training, a werewolf reached Level 30 upon maturity. Their cap, like vampires, was Level 90—a true apex race.
Lin Jun had once asked Inanna: Wouldn’t humanity and vampires fear the wolves growing in Dungeons until they burst forth, unstoppable?
She had shaken her cap. The Dungeons had “rules.” Even here on the 10th floor, wolves could rise no higher than Level 50.
Crossing floors was impossible. Not once in history had a werewolf appeared above its native layer.
The cause, she hadn’t known. Only that it was common knowledge—not just in Athyst, but in all Dungeons.
The Silverthorn party did not rest upon reaching the 10th.
Two mbers lay injured, but they pressed on toward the 9th-floor safehouse.
A wolf pack hunt was not sothing they dared et head-on, not in this state.
Lin Jun, shadowing their path, t no danger—the adventurers had cleared the way.
Yet he witnessed sothing curious.
Through holes in a hidden side tunnel, he saw a hunt.
A Level 40 wind-serpent swooping upon a “rabbit monster.”
Yet this rabbit, called Rendfang Beast on his panel, stood the size of a bear, with knife-long fangs, springing ten ters at a bound.
Fearless, it leapt again and again, jaws snapping at the serpent.
But the serpent was quicker, evading and countering with crackling shocks that left the beast charred in patches.
At last, the Rendfang faltered, slowed by wounds.
Lin Jun expected the serpent to feast there and then. Instead, it conjured a gust, dragging the enormous carcass away.
He licked his lips. Both creatures—fine skills to harvest.
But not yet. Not today.
His sightseeing ended soon after.
A howl split the air ahead.
Wolves. The adventurers had encountered werewolves.
Erging from the side path, Lin Jun saw them—half-dragon and elf pressed by a pack.
Yet the battle was nearly done. Not in defeat—though battered, the adventurers were forcing steady retreat.
Even Inanna was fighting.
Her vision limited, she hurled Water Serpent spells blindly, her elental spirit auto-aiming at foes.
Crude, but useful. As their only ranged support, she’d held her weight.
Bit by bit, the group backed to the stairwell leading upward.
At the last stretch, the half-dragon unleashed a skill, blasting wolves back—then the survivors dashed into the stair passage.
The pack circled the entrance, snarling. But none set paw upon the threshold.
Good.
Lin Jun exhaled. No need to face the moral dilemma of rescuing—or abandoning—his ex-employee.
Better to wait for the wolves to disperse, then pass through himself.
So this was a “rule.”
Still, he wondered. If he captured a wolf and dragged it to the 9th… what would happen?
Would it die instantly? Surely so, else this loophole would long since have been exploited.
But before he could muse further—
The wolves quieted.
Snouts twitching, one by one, they turned.
Toward his hiding place.
…
Ah.
So the rumors about wolf noses were true…
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