Three paths branched off before him, splitting the tunnels like open wounds. His breath came in ragged bursts, and his body screamed for rest—rest that would have to wait.

  His pace slowed as he neared the divergence, his instincts coiling tighter in his gut. He knew what that meant.

  It was going to get messier from here.

  The dungeon's layout, once straightforward, would soon become a tangled maze—filled with intersecting paths, dead ends, and loops designed to disorient.

  Ishar swallowed hard, feeling the rising tension. He had to choose.

  He scanned each tunnel. The leftmost path sloped slightly upward, leading to an area where the air felt lighter and more open. The rightmost tunnel was narrow and cramped, barely wide enough for two to walk side by side.

  The center-left passage, however, was shrouded in darkness. It yawned ahead like a jagged wound in the stone, its blackness swallowing even the faintest glimmers of light. The air emanating from it was thick—stagnant.

  Ishar lingered for a heartbeat, weighing his options in the silence. The left path offered an airy ascent—a promise of escape from the dungeon's suffocating grip—while the right was a stifling squeeze, its narrowness a potential trap in itself. But it was the center passage, cloaked in darkness, that called to him most. He could see in darkness, a rare advantage in a place designed to confuse and terrify. Yet he knew it was double-edged.

  The same darkness might conceal not only hidden paths, but also lurking monsters. With a deep, steadying breath, he embraced the gamble.

  Deep into the shadowed corridor, Ishar advanced with deliberate caution. Step by step, the oppressive silence wrapped around him—until a sudden, piercing whistle shattered the calm. An arrow, swift and unseen, hurtled through the gloom.

  The arrow struck him squarely in the shoulder, a fiery bolt of pain that forced him to gasp and stagger. His vision blurred for a heartbeat, his breath hitching as agony seared through his nerves. His arm jolted uselessly at his side, fingers numb, his grip on his blade weakening. A hot, pulsing ache radiated from the wound, every small movement sending sharp stabs through his muscles.

  Who had aimed with such deadly precision?

  His eyes darted around, scanning every shadow, every uneven rock, searching for the source of the attack. Even with his enhanced vision, he couldn't find the perpetrator. The darkness no longer felt like an ally—it was a veil, concealing the hunter who had already marked him as prey.

  Then, another sharp whistle cut through the air. Before he could react, a second arrow buried itself in his side, tearing through flesh and sinking deep. His breath hitched, and a cold dread slithered down his spine. A sickening warmth spread across his ribs. His balance faltered.

  Emerging from the darkness, beady red eyes glinted in the dim light. Goblins. More than one. The realization sent a chill through him—he was surrounded.

  A shrill screech echoed through the chamber as the goblins closed in, their short bows drawn and ready to fire. Ishar gritted his teeth, gripping his wound as his pulse pounded in his ears. He had no time to fight—not like this.

  With a sharp breath, he bolted. Ignoring the pain burning through his shoulder, he sprinted toward the chamber's exit, his only thought to escape before they overwhelmed him.

  A shrill goblin shriek rang out behind him, followed by the snap of bowstrings. The third arrow hissed past his ear, so close that he felt the air shift against his skin. He threw himself into a forward roll as another shaft buried itself into the stone where he had just been, splintering on impact.

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  A fourth arrow struck home, piercing into his side just below his ribs. A searing jolt of pain forced a sharp gasp from his throat, but he didn't slow. Gritting his teeth, he clamped a hand over the wound, feeling warmth seep through his fingers.

  More arrows whizzed through the dark, flashing like streaks of death. One grazed his thigh, tearing fabric and skin, but he twisted his body to keep his vitals protected. Another nicked his forearm, the sting brief but biting. His arms stayed close, shielding his throat and chest as he ducked low, weaving through the passage like a cornered beast.

  The goblins screeched in frustration, their howls blending into a frenzy of pursuit.

  Then— a sharp sound, different from before. Faster. Deadlier.

  He barely registered the whistle before instinct screamed at him to move. In a split second, he twisted his body. A streak of light cut through the darkness, too quick to fully evade.

  Pain exploded as the arrow grazed his ribs, carving a burning path through flesh.

  And then— a strangled goblin yelp.

  One of them had loosed an arrow too hastily, its aim clumsy in the chaos. The shaft buried itself into a goblin's shoulder, earning a furious snarl. The momentary confusion sent them into a disorganized scuffle, their formation breaking just long enough for Ishar to gain precious distance.

  He didn't dare look back. Fighting here meant death—there was no winning against their numbers. Only running ensured survival.

  ***

  The adventurers moved through the tunnel in formation, their boots pressing against the damp stone floor in unison. They arrived at the three-way chamber division, where the tunnels split like veins burrowing deeper into the dungeon's core. The leader halted first, raising a clenched fist—a silent command. The group came to an immediate stop, tension coiling in the air.

  A spear woman stepped forward, her eyes narrowing as she scanned the branching paths. Her grip tightened around her weapon, the polished metal glinting under the flickering torchlight. With a slow, measured breath, she lowered herself to one knee, running a gloved hand along the damp stone.

  [Skill: Detection C]

  The cold stone beneath her palm carried a story—one of recent struggle. The subtle imprints of hurried footsteps with purpose, unraveled in her mind.

  "Tracks," she murmured. "Fresh. One pair, moving fast… injured. Towards the middle chamber"

  The leader, a broad-shouldered man clad in reinforced leather, stepped forward, his expression sharpening. "How fresh?"

  "Minutes," the spear woman replied, rising to her feet.

  The leader gestured toward the archer, a lean man clad in dark leathers, his hood drawn low over sharp eyes. Without a word, the archer stepped forward, his movements swift and practiced.

  He approached the middle chamber—the one cloaked in darkness, where the air was thick with lingering tension. The flickering torchlight barely reached past the entrance, swallowed whole by the abyss beyond.

  Nocking an arrow, he narrowed his gaze and took a slow, measured breath.

  [Skill: Night Vision C]

  His pupils dilated, shifting to absorb the faintest traces of light. Shapes began to form in the blackness—jagged walls, uneven ground, and a trail of crimson droplets staining the cold stone.

  The archer's lips pressed into a thin line. "He's still moving," he murmured. "But not for long."

  The leader nodded, his grip tightening around the hilt of his blade. "Then let's make sure we get to him before anything else does."

  The archer exhaled slowly, his focus narrowing. With practiced ease, he raised his bow, fingers steady as he drew the string taut.

  [Skill: Mana Infusion C]

  A faint hum resonated as threads of mana coiled around the arrow, seeping into the shaft like veins pulsing with raw energy. The tip gleamed with a soft, eerie glow—subtle, but deadly.

  He didn't fire. Not yet.

  Instead, he traced the crimson droplets leading deeper into the passage, his sharp gaze hunting for any sign of movement. The stillness was deceptive.

  The leader stepped up beside him, voice low. "Do you see him?"

  The archer didn't answer immediately. He adjusted his stance, eyes shifting as he studied the layers of darkness. A disturbance—a flicker of movement beyond normal sight. A ragged breath that wasn't their own.

  The archer's fingers loosened, and the arrow shot forward.

  A streak of light carved through the darkness, swift and precise, leaving a faint trail of shimmering mana in its wake. The air hummed with tension as the projectile tore through the chamber, its glow momentarily illuminating the jagged stone walls.

  A beat passed.

  The archer clicked his tongue in frustration. "Tch. He got away."

  The leader exhaled through his nose, his expression unreadable. "Then we move. Now."

  But as he turned, his gaze drifted to the rightmost tunnel—the narrow, suffocating path barely wide enough for two to walk side by side. A thought struck him, sharp and sudden. His eyes gleamed with a dangerous glint.

  "I just had an idea," he murmured, more to himself than the others. His fingers brushed against the hilt of his sword as the corners of his lips curled ever so slightly.