[Chapter 241. An Unexpected End]

Searanox was about an hour into the dungeon; the tunnel had split twice by now. One of the paths led into something that could be classified as barracks. There were beds and tables, as well as racks with mining tools. They didn't look special, but they were not made from ordinary iron or steel. The metal had a dark, almost black sheen that reflected the faint phosphorescent light from the walls, and the handles were wrapped in cured leather that showed no signs of decay despite the dungeon's dampness. The air in the barracks was thick with the smell of old sweat, metal, and something rotten—something vaguely sweet, like food long forgotten.

He turned the entire room on its head in hopes of finding anything hidden. He tore through flimsy wooden bed frames and splintering tables. Even after he had demolished the space and was certain he had turned every nook and cranny inside out, he found nothing. No hidden passages, no secret compartments, no treasure chests or small boxes. Just dust, debris, and the lingering echo of lives long past.

The other split was a short tunnel that ended in a caved-in passage a few hundred meters down. The collapse was complete—a tangled mess of rock, support beams, and what looked like chunks of mining equipment fused together by some unimaginable force. He could feel a draft of colder air seeping through the gaps, suggesting the passage continued beyond the blockage, but there was no way through without significant excavation. Along the entire route, he had only seen the armadillo-like beasts and nothing else. He knew from other dungeons that these instances were built in sections, where the beasts changed depending on the zone.

With only one type of beast for an hour, and considering they did not pose much of a hurdle, he was uncertain how big this dungeon really was. It felt too linear, too predictable, and the lack of variety put him on edge. Dungeons were meant to test adaptability, to force combatants to adjust strategies for different threats. This one felt... incomplete. Or perhaps he was still in the introductory section, and the real challenges lay deeper in the earth's bowels.

Furthermore, after every encounter, he found the same arrows and traces of combat. Always the same light brown, slightly yellow shafts with metallic, three-bladed heads. Always the same precise cuts through metal and stone, the same black scorch marks that smelled faintly burnt.

`It's as if someone was here already and had fought...`

The realization hit him with the force of a physical blow. The precision cuts, the scorched stone, the discarded arrows—all evidence pointed to another combatant. Someone had preceded him into this dark abyss, leaving behind a trail of battle that spoke of weapons far beyond what this dungeon's level should support. The arrows weren't just hunting tools; they were instruments of violence, designed for maximum lethality with their barbed, three-bladed heads.

The moment that thought took hold, he knew what had given him the bad feeling. It wasn't just the anomalous damage patterns or the lingering scent of burnt stone. It was the unnatural cleanliness of the evidence, the lack of chaos that should accompany such powerful weaponry. Each cut was precise; each scorch mark contained. This wasn't the work of a desperate survivor; it was the passage of someone or something, moving through this dungeon with purpose.

`I'm not alone in here. Someone is deeper inside this dungeon.`

The certainty settled in his gut like a stone. His analytical mind raced through possibilities—another Awakened, perhaps, or an entire team of them.

He halted his advance and began pacing. The confined space amplified the sound of his armored boots against the stone, each footstep echoing in the silence. His magitech-enhanced coat shifted with his movements, the advanced materials barely whispering against each other. The phosphorescent moss on the walls cast shadows that danced at the edges of his vision, making the darkness seem alive.

`If I'm not alone, then is it right for me to stay? They entered first, after all... But would they notice if I hung back and—`

The ethical dilemma gnawed at him. Yet, the evidence suggested this other party was far ahead, possibly already facing the dungeon's greater challenges. The risk of encountering them, especially given the weaponry they wielded, was substantial. A System window appeared in his vision, the translucent blue materializing without warning.

`Fuck me. I have to get out of here as soon as possible. If they leave and see that the gate is still active, they'll know someone is still inside.`

The metallic tang of panic hit his tongue as his heart hammered against his ribs. Every instinct screamed at him to move, to flee before whoever had cleared this dungeon emerged from the depths.

He summoned one of his travel drones and mounted it as soon as the thought formed. The familiar hum of the drone's magitech engine whined to life beneath him, its metallic frame cold against his armor-clad thighs. The stabilizers kicked in, the slight vibration running up his spine as it lifted from the ground. He crouched low, hands gripping the handles, knuckles white beneath his gauntlets.

`I could apologize if they see me, and tell them I didn't know someone was already inside.`

The excuse felt hollow even in his own mind. Who would believe such a convenient oversight? The precision cuts, the scorched stone, the advanced arrows... these weren't the weapons of some random group of adventurers. This was someone with resources, power, and potentially connections.

On the way to the dungeon entrance, he ran through all kinds of scenarios. Most entailed a violent confrontation in front of the portal with a group of people strong enough to deal with a level thirty dungeon. His mind simulated encounter after encounter, each ending with his drones shredded and his magitech armor breached. The drone accelerated through the winding tunnels, the phosphorescent walls blurring into streaks of sickly green and blue. The air rushed past his face.

`But who could clear such a dungeon? I know I could maybe clear it, depending on the boss and my willingness to get fucked up in the process. If there is a group that can face such a dungeon and clear it, they would make for very valuable assets.`

The thought flickered through his mind like a dying ember. He considered the possibility—an alliance, a partnership, perhaps even recruitment. The rewards of aligning with such power were undeniable, but the risks... The risk of being eliminated as competition, of being seen as an obstacle or a threat, far outweighed any potential gain.

`Not now. Not when I'm unprepared, unaware of their numbers, their capabilities, or their motivations.`

He thought this as he passed through the shimmering blue vortex, reappearing in the grassy fields beneath the dark, cloudy sky. The scent of wet earth and rain-soaked vegetation filled his nostrils, a stark contrast to the acrid, metallic air he had grown accustomed to.

Rain rushed down on his body as he lay on the wet ground. His drone had flown through the portal and instantly collided, but his momentum had carried him forward. He had impacted against something solid, sending him tumbling into the wet grass. The cold seeped through his magitech-enhanced suit, his armor groaning as he rolled across the muddy terrain. Water streamed down his face, dripping from his chin as he struggled to push himself up, his mind protesting the abrupt crash.

"Anax. Who is that? Where did he come from?"

A voice cut through the sound of the rain as Searanox shook his head, slightly dizzy after exiting the portal and hitting the soft, wet earth. The voice was female—sharp and demanding, with an edge of authority that suggested she was used to being obeyed. He blinked rain from his eyes, his vision focusing on the silhouette standing before him: a tall figure in armor, her face obscured by the downpour.

He had been spotted. His worst-case scenario had just become reality.