NOVEL NEXT Chapter 90 - We Diving
Fin approached the woman in leather armor with measured steps, weaving through the chaotic press of bodies that surrounded the dungeon entrance.
"I heard you're looking for a porter with spatial capabilities," Fin called out, raising his voice to cut through the cacophony of shouted negotiations and clashing equipment.
The woman, Triana, he gathered from overhearing her earlier commands, turned to size him up with a calculating gaze. Her leather armor was worn but immaculately maintained, scarred by combat. Her hair, braided with beads, framed a face that was neither beautiful nor plain but utterly competent. When she looked at him, Fin felt the weight of real experience behind those eyes.
"No offense intended, kid, but you look like fresh meat that'll be dead before we clear the first objective," she said bluntly, her voice carrying the matter-of-fact tone of someone stating an obvious truth. "This isn't a training exercise or some nobleman's hunting expedition. People die in there, and I don't fancy explaining to your family why we brought home pieces."
"You might be surprised by what I can handle," Fin replied, allowing a hint of steel to creep into his voice. "And I do have the spatial storage skill you're advertising for. That has to count for something."
A younger man nearby, methodically sharpening a wicked-looking blade, spoke up without bothering to look away from his work. "Just let him in, Triana. We've been standing around here for two hours." He tested the edge with his thumb, drawing a thin line of blood that he seemed to regard with satisfaction. "If he dies, he dies."
Fin shot him a dry look. "Your enthusiasm for my potential survival is genuinely heartwarming. Really warms my heart."
The man finally looked up from his blade, revealing features that somehow managed to be both youthful and prematurely aged, as if hard living had tried to carve lines into a face still too young to properly hold them. His black hair was streaked with premature white, and his eyes held the kind of casual indifference to mortality that came from seeing too much death. "That's just how it works out here, man. The strong survive, the weak feed the dirt, and everyone else learns from watching." He sheathed the knife on his back with fluid motion and stood, stretching like a cat. "Overestimate your capabilities, underestimate the danger, that's your business and your funeral. We don't need you swinging a sword anyway. Just carry our loot and try not to trip over your own feet."
He extended a callused hand with the casual confidence of someone completely comfortable in his own skin. "Name's Daryl. Professional pessimist."
"Fin," he replied, grasping the offered hand and noting the firm, dry grip.
"Nice to meet you, Fin the Porter." The title carried just enough mockery to sting without being openly insulting. "Hope you know what you're signing up for. This particular dungeon throws you into completely random scenarios with no warning and no pattern. Could be anything from defending a village against monster hordes to navigating a collapsing magical maze. No one's managed to figure out how many stages it has, but the current record for consecutive clears is six before the challenge ramped up enough to kill even veteran delvers."
He gestured toward the rippling entrance with casual familiarity. "It's Tier Four, which means it'll cheerfully murder anyone who doesn't know their business and isn't properly prepared. Still feeling confident about your chances?"
"Absolutely," Fin said without hesitation. "I can handle myself better than you might think."
Daryl's smirk took on an edge of genuine respect. "Well, I'll be damned. Either you're genuinely capable or you're about to provide us with some spectacular entertainment. Either way, welcome aboard, Fin the Porter."
Triana shook her head with the long-suffering expression of someone who had given up trying to impose sanity on an inherently insane profession. "Fine," she muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear. "But when he gets himself killed in the first five minutes, I don't want to hear any complaints about having to carry around loot."
She rejoined her group with purposeful strides, and Fin followed, taking the opportunity to study the other members of what was apparently now his temporary company. The puppy scampered behind him, somehow managing to dodge the boots and equipment of passing cultivators with an agility that seemed almost supernatural.
Triana stopped in the center of their small circle and began formal introductions with the efficiency of someone who had done this countless times before. "Since we're apparently committed to this particular brand of madness, let me introduce our merry band of professional treasure hunters and occasional survivors."
She gestured toward a man who could only be described as a human fortress. "This mountain of muscle is Vance Milroy." Vance stood at least six-foot-eight and was built like he'd been carved from granite by someone with a deep appreciation for intimidating architecture. His armor strained against muscles that looked capable of punching through solid stone, and when he nodded acknowledgment, it was with the measured movement of someone who had learned to control immense physical power. His eyes held the steady calm of someone who had stood between his teammates and death so many times it had become routine.
"And this walking scarecrow is his brother, Onrio Milroy." Where Vance was solid mass, Onrio was all sharp angles and nervous energy. He matched his brother's impressive height but looked like a strong wind could snap him in half. His fingers constantly twitched, and when he moved, it was with the jerky precision of someone whose reflexes were enhanced beyond normal human limits. Both brothers radiated the steady power of High Tier Three cultivators, their mana signatures complementing each other like two halves of a perfectly balanced equation.
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"This is Harbour Bethany," Triana continued, indicating a woman who seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Her long black dreads moved with a life of their own, and her eyes were so dark they appeared to be windows into some deep, still pool where dangerous things waited in the depths. Her High Tier Three aura was perfectly controlled. When she looked at Fin, he felt evaluated and catalogued by a predator.
"Daryl you've met, a man with delusions of competence and a mouth that's going to get him killed someday." Daryl offered a theatrical bow that somehow managed to be both mocking and genuinely graceful. "And I'm Triana, your fearless leader, not babysitter." Her Mid Tier Four power signature should have been rock-solid, but Fin's enhanced senses caught something subtle, a hairline crack in her core's foundation.
The group acknowledged Fin with the kind of curt nods that conveyed professional acceptance without warmth, he was a tool for the job, nothing more or less. Fin found he didn't mind the distance; he wasn't here to make friends.
Triana crossed her arms and shifted into what was clearly her business mode. "Now that we have our porter and can finally get this show moving, let me lay out the ground rules. Any loot that's personally rewarded by the dungeon system is yours to keep, no questions asked. Everything else gets split evenly among the team." Her gaze fixed on Fin with laser focus. "As the porter, you get five percent of the general take since we're not expecting you to contribute to combat. That acceptable?"
"Perfectly reasonable," Fin nodded. "As long as the personalized rewards clause applies to everyone equally."
"Of course it does. We're not thieves." Triana's gaze flicked down to the puppy that was currently investigating the boots of various team members with obvious fascination. "You'll need to leave your Ghostwolf outside, though. It's only Tier Three, and more importantly, it's clearly still a juvenile. Won't survive a multi-stage dungeon, and we have no idea how long we'll be trapped in there once we start."
"Ghostwolf?" Fin blinked, glancing down at the creature that had been following him with such dedication. "Are you sure that's what it is?"
"Obviously," Triana replied. "Honestly, how did you manage to bond one without knowing what it was?"
The word 'bonded' hit Fin. When had that happened? He quickly pulled up his System Interface, scanning through information that should have been familiar:
Name: Fin Aodh
Race: Aos Sí
Age: 13
Imprint: Taranis (Prime)
Core Quality: Perfect – Mid Tier Two
Skills:
Lightning Armament* (Unique) Level 27
Plasma Compression Core* (Unique) Level 15
Dimensional Pocket Realm (Legendary) Level 20
Convergent Inevitability** (Sovereign) n/a
Electromagnetic Synchronization* (Unique) Level 24
Theoretical Physics Application* (Unique+) Level 21
Ambient Cloak (Unique) Level 24
Quantum Leap (Unique) Level 20
Plasma Bow (Unique) Level 15
Innate:
Concepts:
Unmaking (Legendary)
Passive Convergence (Legendary)
Bond:
Ghostwolf (Unnamed) Tier Three
There it was, clear as daylight in his system information. Somehow, without his conscious awareness, he had formed a bond with the small creature.
"I suppose I never paid proper attention to the system notifications," Fin admitted, feeling somewhat foolish. "It all happened rather quickly."
Triana's expression suggested she was rapidly losing faith in his competence. "I really hope you're more observant inside the dungeon, or this is going to be a very short and very messy expedition."
Fin knelt beside the Ghostwolf, looking into eyes that seemed far too intelligent for such a young creature.
"Listen, buddy," he said quietly, scratching behind one soft ear. "You need to stay out here where it's safe while we explore this dungeon. When I get back, we'll figure out a proper name for you. How does that sound?"
The Ghostwolf yipped once. It circled him, brushing against his legs in what felt like a gesture of affection, then vanished.
"Well," Fin said, standing and dusting off his knees, "that was remarkably easy."
Daryl clapped his hands together with the enthusiasm of someone eager to begin courting death. "Right then, let's go see what kind of creative ways this dungeon wants to kill us today."
The group gathered in a tight formation around the dungeon's entrance.
As one, they reached out to touch the rippling barrier. The moment Fin's fingers made contact, the world lurched sideways with nauseating force, reality folding in on itself like origami made of space and time. The sensation of being pulled through a straw lasted exactly long enough to be completely unbearable, and then…
Welcome to War Choices
Clear Condition: Conquer increasingly difficult scenarios
Rewards: Calculated based on number of objectives achieved
[Scenario 1 Initiated]
Environment: Subterranean cave system
Mandatory Objective: Slay the Cave Warden
Optional Objective: Locate and rescue all trapped survivors before structural collapse
The team materialized in what could only be described as the belly of the earth itself. The cavern stretched away into darkness so complete it seemed solid, broken only by Onrio's immediately conjured orbs of white light that danced around them like captive stars. The air was thick and oppressive, heavy with the scent of wet stone and ancient moss.
Water dripped steadily from stalactites that hung like stone teeth from the invisible ceiling, each drop echoing in the vast space. The cave stretched into impenetrable darkness in multiple directions, its silence broken only by the distant sound of shifting rock and something that might have been breathing.
"Alright, people," Triana's voice cut through the oppressive atmosphere with military precision. "We discussed strategy yesterday, and nothing's changed. We head straight for the mandatory objective to clear this stage as quickly as possible. No detours, no heroics, no unnecessary risks." Her tone carried the weight of hard-learned experience. "The optional objectives might sound appealing, but the rewards are never worth the additional danger in the first scenario. We learned that lesson the expensive way."
Without further discussion, the group broke into a practiced sprint, their boots echoing off stone walls as they moved deeper into the earth's embrace. Vance took point with the natural authority of someone born to lead charges, while Fin found himself assigned to rear guard, a position that, he realized, would give him an excellent view of whatever might be following them into the darkness.
As they ran deeper into the unknown, Fin couldn't shake the feeling that this dungeon was going to be considerably more complicated than anyone expected.