Backpack in tow, I march quickly through the village. Snow crunches beneath my boots as I pass several cabins.

  The farther I walk toward the edge of the village, the fewer buildings I see. Most are more spread out, not clumped together like they were near the center.

  In my right hand is a piece of paper with an address written on it.

  I still can’t believe I misplaced the paper that man at the guild gave me. I could’ve sworn I tucked it into my backpack.

  Folding the note, I stop in front of a somewhat run-down, black-painted building. The door is half-rotting, with icicles clinging to the gap beneath it.

  The rest of the cabin looks better kept. Its wooden walls seem to be made from thin plastered timber—stable, but fragile enough to be knocked down by a strong gust of wind.

  Raising an eyebrow, I frown.

  Huh. Is this really the entrance to the dungeon? I know this village is far from the nearest city and not exactly wealthy, but... it feels underwhelming. Isn’t it supposed to be here? You’d think the entrance to something this dangerous would be a little less lackluster.

  Placing my left hand against the building’s surface, I slowly slide it down. Even through the thick fabric, I can feel traces of asura freely emanating from the wooden walls. Without even needing to concentrate, I can make out several of the strands of asura weaves together.

  Narrowing my eyes, my frown deepens.

  This is getting weirder and weirder.

  Jerking my hand back, I slowly back away from the building.

  Sure, it's normal for buildings containing dungeons to have more asura leaking from them than usual after constant exposure, but… I shouldn’t be able to feel it. Not to this extent, and definitely not while wearing thick gloves.

  I glance back at the building's walls, letting my eyes wander across the surface.

  Is this really the place? Was the quest that man gave me even real—or just some kind of scam? Dungeons are always crawling with monsters, no matter what danger level we assign to them. At best, they’re walking time bombs. So why is the defense here so... nonexistent? It’s like no one even cares about this place.

  My thoughts drift briefly to the Aequitas Guild with a quiet hum.

  They might not be responsible for this village, but I would've expected them to maintain some kind of order if they’re spreading their influence this far.

  Before I can think about it further, movement to my right catches my attention.

  Hands halfway raised into a defensive posture, I swivel toward it. The tentacles follow, some sharpening their tips until they gleam like daggers.

  “Oh, there you are,” a masculine voice says as the cabin door creaks open, revealing the same man I saw back at the guild. “I thought for a second you weren’t coming.”

  As the door opens fully and he steps out, I allow my shoulders to relax slightly.

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  My fingers twitch, ready to draw the dagger stashed in my coat sleeve.

  I push back the jumble of tangled worries and emotions too knotted to sort out right now and offer the man a pleasant smile.

  “Greetings,” I say, bowing my head slightly and placing a hand over my chest. “I’m here about the job.”

  Lowering my hand, I glance up slowly. “Is it still open?”

  “Well, of course,” the man replies cheerfully. “And please, no need to be so formal. We’re all equals here.”

  I return his smile, remaining silent.

  Ahhh. So this one’s going to be a load of—

  I cut the thought off with a slow bite to my lower lip.

  I wonder what delightful surprises are waiting for me. Porters aren’t exactly well-regarded—even less so when you’re undead.

  That old, uneasy feeling resurfaces, which had been nagging me since I saw the note. I push it down and shake my head, refocusing on the man.

  Stepping closer, I tilt my head slightly toward the building.

  He seems to get the message and nods, gesturing for me to follow.

  “I’m very glad you decided to join us,” he says as he leads the way inside. “Especially on such short notice.”

  Stepping inside the building, I’m met with a strong surge of asura that nearly blinds my senses. The mental bond between me and the tentacles is a mess, most of them shooting out random pulses in quick succession that I can’t quite make out.

  Damn it. The amount of asura is even stronger in here. And here I thought the outside was in dire condition.

  Waving my hand in front of my face, I try to ward off some of the claustrophobic air. My eyes begin to search every nook and cranny carefully, looking for potential exits.

  As far as I can see within this darkness, there's mostly nothing—just the path leading deeper into the building.

  …I know this looks like most wooden sheds, but I don’t really like how enclosed this is. What if there’s danger or something?

  Chewing on the bottom of my lip, I narrow my eyes.

  …Maybe if I hit that weak, moldy spot on the wall over there with a shove, it could create a potential exit.

  “Before we get started, I should introduce you to the others who’ll be joining this quest,” the man says as he walks further into the cabin, not even looking back at me. “After all, it’s best to get everyone acquainted.”

  Curling my hands into fists, I quickly push the feeling down and continue following the man.

  Ignoring the asura that's still bombarding my senses, the inside of the cabin isn't much better. The wood is rotting, mold is gathering in various places, and what suspiciously smells like sulfur hangs in the air.

  Before I can debate further about the condition of the place, the man suddenly comes to a stop, forcing me to halt just in time to avoid bumping into him.

  “These are the people who’ll be accompanying you into the dungeon,” he says, gesturing toward a group already gathered ahead of us.

  As if on cue, they begin making their way over.

  "John," One of them calls out to the man, "Finally! Is it time to go?"

  The man only nods his head, making a waiting motion with his ahnds. "Now hold on a minute, let's get everyone acqueainted first."

  “This is Mark,” the man begins, pointing at a burly human man. “As the senior, he’ll be the leader of this party.”

  At the mention of his name, the man simply nods at me.

  “Janice and Jay,” the man continues, pointing at a pair of twins with pixie-cut, orange-tinted hair.

  Then he gestures toward a few others, most of whom either look bored—or in one case, are picking at their ear. “Abrah, Bran, Cole, and Dick. All of them, including Mark, are hunters.”

  As he drones on about the rest of everyone's name, I cast a brief glance over the group. Some shoot me nervous looks, scanning me as if I might lunge at them. Others, though wary, give me more indifferent glances.

  Unbothered by their reactions, I simply cross my arms and look away.

  While the man keeps talking about hunters, my eyes wander toward the back. Compared to the hunters, the people in this group have their heads lowered or eyes cast down—except for one.

  Standing in the far back right, with a confident smile on her face and practically radiating self-assurance, is none other than Mary. Her eyes are bright as she chats with one of the porters beside her.

  My mouth drops, stunned silence echoing through the bond.

  As Mary continues her conversation, she happens to glance up. The moment our eyes meet, her expression immediately falls.

  “Last but not least are the other porters,” the man says beside me, chuckling as if amused by his own joke. “These people will be working closely with you. Now then, the first—”

  “Mary?!” I shout.

  “Beatrice?!” she shouts back.

  “What are you doing here?!” we both yell at the same time, pointing at each other.