The so-called “white moonlight” only exists perfectly in mory.
Get close to it, and you’ll only find countless disappointnts.
Lin Jun’s yearning for the sun was the sa.
The blazing sun hung high. The dirt on either side of the official road was bleached pale, and the heat shimred so intensely that the distant scenery warped and bent.
It was the last fury of midsumr. In half a month, northern winds would sweep away the sweltering air. But for now, every traveler endured the furnace-like heat.
Dylan rode a chestnut stallion along the road toward the city.
His first destination: Norwood, a city three days from Yafeng Town.
On his back was a strangely shaped pack, secured with three leather straps across his shoulders and waist. In truth, it wasn’t luggage at all—it was a mimicked Scout clinging to him.
The real baggage hung in saddlebags at the horse’s sides.
But now, the pack that should have been taut against him sagged limply.
Dylan held the reins with one hand, reaching back with the other.
The touch beneath his fingers lacked its usual springy texture—it felt more like dried goatskin.
“Boss, what’s wrong with it?”
His safety along this road depended on the little blob behind him.
“Uh…” Lin Jun glanced at the Scout’s status panel showing “Dehydrated” and sighed. “Looks like it… shriveled from the sun.”
Of course. Mushrooms dried out under sunlight. Too damn reasonable.
So the Sunstone wasn’t the sa as the actual sun after all. At least the Knight had never wilted under it.
Since arriving in this world, it was always mana this, mana that. Lin Jun had nearly believed mana was all that mattered.
Turns out, not so.
Under a tree’s shade, Dylan uncorked a waterskin and poured it slowly over the Scout’s cap.
The liquid seeped into its scaled hide, and the Scout visibly perked up, regaining vigor.
Dylan exhaled in relief—he’d feared it wouldn’t recover even with water.
Still…
He eyed the dwindling supply. They’d have to resupply soon.
The city was too far. They’d need to find a stream or a village.
——
Yafeng Town, newly rebuilt Adventurers’ Guild.
The gray-stone hall rose from the ruins, its three towers embracing one another.
Perhaps to restore adventurers’ trust, the hall was built twice as large as before.
Ten carved pillars depicting the ecology of the Athyst Dungeon’s floors held up the do, though rumor had it the first few would soon need re-carving due to recent dungeon changes.
The entire eastern wall had been transford into a three-tiered floating quest board. Under the workings of magic, tasks rotated within glass cases, their scarlet seals reflecting onto passing adventurers’ armor.
“Well, well, handso boy, long ti no see. Identity card here, please.” Helena, the red-haired receptionist, gave her professional smile.
The youth blinked, surprised she rembered him. His hand hesitated half a second.
But his companion noticed imdiately.
A girl beside him frowned, snatching the card midair and placing it on the desk herself.
The three young adventurers were Vera’s party, back after two months wandering outside.
They hadn’t entered the dungeon again, but neither had they been idle.
They’d tried caravan guarding instead.
Two brushes with death in the dungeon had shaken them—maybe escorting rchants would be safer, even if the pay was less.
But after one trip, all three were done with it.
The travel wasn’t the problem. Nor were the goblin raids.
The real problem was people.
Specifically, the caravan leader’s spoiled, fat son.
In his twenties, barely bronze rank. Useless, but lecherous.
He harassed the sisters constantly.
Of course Filin and Fiyin had no interest. They avoided him as best they could.
When pursuit failed, he resorted to drugging them.
But Fiyin caught him instantly—she’d studied antidotes ever since being dosed during the raiders’ attack.
The drug was so common she spotted it at once.
That changed everything. This wasn’t harassnt anymore.
The three beat him bloody—Filin hardest of all, kicking out two of his front teeth.
The ruckus drew the whole caravan. It nearly turned into an ard standoff with the leader himself.
But the son’s filthiness was so blatant that even most of the caravan wouldn’t side with him.
In the end, the matter fizzled.
Still, Vera’s party couldn’t stay.
As soon as they reached a city, the leader tossed their docked wages at them and drove them off like plague-bearers.
The job left such a sour taste that none of them wanted to try caravans again.
Compared to that, adventuring risks almost felt… preferable.
So they’d returned to Yafeng Town, ready to dive back into dungeon work.
But sothing was different now.
Leaving the guild, they found the familiar Rotten Willow Tavern boarded shut. Forced, they picked a random eatery on the street.
“Boss, what’s this?” Vera asked, peering into a bowl of glowing soup.
The owner scowled. “Didn’t you order the cheapest set? Mushroom stew.”
“Mushrooms!?”
At his words, Vera couldn’t help recalling the glowing fungi on the dungeon’s fifth floor.
“You can eat those…?”
He glanced at the sisters across the table—both still waiting for him to try it first.
Well, if it was served openly, it couldn’t be poisonous.
He scooped a spoonful and swallowed.
The taste—surprisingly plain.
Not delicious, not awful. Just a bit bland, probably from the cook skimping on salt.
Vera kept eating. When he looked up, the sisters still hadn’t touched theirs.
“It’s fine. Why aren’t you eating?”
They only stared at him.
He wiped his mouth… and found his hand glowing faintly.
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