First Day, First Team

Denwen sat on the worn-out wooden bench, frustration settling deep in his bones. Every team he approached had turned him down, either for being too low-ranked or not fitting their needs. Mages were in high demand for their ranged attacks, enslavement masters were valued for their scouting abilities, and tanks were essential to lead the charge against dangerous creatures. But a lone brawler? No one seemed interested.

He sighed, scrolling through the mission board on his wrist device. Solo missions paid less, and those that did have decent rewards were practically suicide for someone at his current strength. He considered heading back to school—maybe he was rushing things. Just as doubt began creeping in, a broad-chested man with a rough, weathered look approached. He had the classic hunter's appearance: an untamed beard, worn-out but sturdy armor, and a confident grin that made it seem like he owned the place.

"Hey man, heard you were looking for a team to join," the man said, his deep voice carrying a casual friendliness.

Denwen looked up, raising a brow. "I guess you heard right. Let me guess, you're recruiting?"

"Yup. My team just needs one more guy to meet the hunter ratio for a dungeon mission," the man answered, extending a hand. "Name's Garric Ironveil, but just call me Garric."

Denwen shook his hand firmly, deciding to go with his chosen alias. "Ren Voss. I'm a brawler."

Garric's grin widened. "A brawler, huh? Nice. The team's gonna love you. Come on, I'll introduce you to them."

Denwen followed as Garric led the way through the bustling guild hall, explaining the mission as they walked. "The job is a simple mining mission in a dungeon. We're heading to a mana crystal deposit, but the place is crawling with lesser beasts and low-level disasters. Nothing we can't handle. Hell, I could probably deal with those Ironhide Boars myself, but guild rules say we need a full team." He chuckled. "Rules are rules, y'know?"

Denwen listened carefully, nodding along. A mining mission. Not glamorous, but it was something. Soon, they reached a long table where five people sat, engaged in casual conversation. As they noticed Garric approach, they turned their attention toward Denwen with curious but friendly expressions.

Garric clapped his hands together. "Alright, folks, this here is Ren. He's looking to join us."

A slender man with dark, messy hair that covered one eye leaned back in his chair, studying Denwen with a sharp gaze. "Ren, huh? I'm Roran. Archer, scout, and the best damn set of eyes you'll ever have on your team." His voice was calm, confident, and carried the weight of experience.

Next, a young woman with long silver hair and a mage's robe offered a warm smile. She wore a single conical hat, slightly tilted to one side. "I'm Elara. The healer. You get hurt? I patch you up. Simple as that." Her voice was gentle, reassuring, but there was a quiet strength in her words. "Don't worry, we take care of our own."

A shirtless, towering man with a body sculpted from raw muscle smirked, crossing his arms. His presence alone was overwhelming, exuding raw strength. "Korrin. Brawler. You fight with your fists, kid? Good. We'll see if you're any good at it." His grin was teasing but not unkind.

Beside him, a lean warrior with quick, restless movements stretched his arms lazily. His short, dark red hair made him stand out. "Renji. Speed specialist. I get in and out before anyone knows what hit 'em." He gave a casual salute. "Nice to have another pair of hands."

Finally, a man with short silver hair and piercing green eyes gave a polite nod, his sword resting in its sheath beside him. He had a composed aura, like someone who measured every action. "Kaelin. Swordsman. If it bleeds, I can cut it." His voice was smooth and steady, carrying no arrogance—just certainty.

Garric wrapped an arm around Denwen's shoulders, grinning. "And I'm the tank. The one who makes sure we don't all die."

Denwen took a step back, looking at them all. He noticed something. "Wait… from the looks of it, you guys are already balanced. Why would you need another brawler?"

Garric chuckled, rubbing his beard. "Ah, well, see… we don't need another brawler."

Denwen narrowed his eyes. "Then why am I here?"

Garric clapped him on the back, laughing. "We need a porter. Someone to carry our supplies while we're inside the dungeon."

Denwen's face twitched. "You mean, a pack mule?"

"Hey, don't take it the wrong way," Garric said, raising his hands. "It's just that spatial rings don't work in all dungeons. Some places restrict them, so we need to carry our stuff the old-fashioned way. That's where you come in."

Denwen crossed his arms, skeptical. "I don't know… This doesn't exactly sound like a great deal for me."

Garric grinned again. "Don't worry about the reward. The system distributes everything fairly. You'll get paid for the work you do."

Elara leaned forward, giving him a warm, reassuring smile. "Ren, relax. We're like family here. You'd be the youngest among us, so we'll take care of you."

Her words were surprisingly genuine, enough to make him hesitate. The group seemed solid—strong, experienced, and actually welcoming. Maybe this wasn't such a bad idea.

"…Alright," he said, exhaling. "Is there a contract I need to sign?"

Elara shook her head. "No need for that. We trust each other."

Denwen looked at the team again, studying their expressions. There was something about their casual confidence and camaraderie that made him feel… at ease.

—-

The hover bus hummed softly as it slowed to a stop in front of the Rank 2 dungeon gate. The massive rift shimmered with an eerie blue aura, its surface rippling like water disturbed by an unseen force. Like all Rank 2 gates, its glow mirrored the essence accumulated by Rank 2 warriors and mages within their cores.

Gates were more than just portals; they were tears in space, connecting the known world to hidden subspaces—pocket dimensions existing somewhere between one reality and another. Despite centuries of study, no scholar had truly unraveled the mystery behind them. Some theorized they were natural phenomena, unstable fractures in reality that formed due to essence buildup. Others believed they were artificial constructs, remnants of an ancient civilization that once controlled them.

Regardless of their origins, dungeons were the foundation of modern civilization. Their depths contained mana-rich crystals, rare ores, and essence cores vital for cultivation, weapon enhancement, and artifact crafting. The disasters lurking within—creatures formed from raw essence—were both a constant threat and an invaluable resource. Their essence cores could be refined for personal strength or sold for massive profits, while rare skill books, occasionally dropped from them, allowed warriors and mages to unlock abilities they might never achieve through training alone.

As the bus doors slid open, Denwen stepped out, shifting his grip on the large backpack strapped to his shoulders. It was filled with extra supplies—rations, tools, emergency gear, and mining equipment. Even though he wasn't here as a proper hunter, his role as a porter was essential.

The rest of the team exited behind him, adjusting their gear. Seven figures, each carrying themselves with the quiet confidence of seasoned hunters.

Ahead, the dungeon entrance was encased by a fortified barricade, reinforced with essence-infused alloys to prevent potential breaches. Several uniformed officers stood at various checkpoints, their gazes sharp as they monitored the influx of hunters.

"Alright, let's move," Garric said, leading the team forward. His heavy armor clinked with each step, his broad frame radiating authority.

As they approached the checkpoint, Denwen's gaze drifted to the dungeon gate. Up close, the swirling blue aura pulsed in a slow, steady rhythm. It wasn't just for show—it was a clear indicator of the dungeon's strength, just as warriors of Rank 2 radiated blue essence from their cores. The same principle applied to all gates, their colors aligning with the respective ranks of warriors and mages.

"What's wrong, kid? First time seeing a Rank 2 gate up close?" Renji smirked as he walked past him.

Denwen exhaled. "It's just different when you're actually about to step inside one."

Kaelin, the swordsman, chuckled. "Better get used to it. If you stick around long enough, you'll see plenty of these—and a whole lot worse."

They reached the registration checkpoint, where a stern-faced officer in a gray uniform sat behind a reinforced desk. A small monocle device glowed red as he scanned each hunter, verifying their rank, identity, and contribution record.

Garric went first, handing over his hunter license. "Garric Ironveil. Team leader of Iron Fang."

The officer gave a curt nod. "Team size?"

"Seven members."

"Mission type?"

"Mining and subjugation."

The officer tapped a few buttons on his device before scanning the rest of the team. When Denwen stepped forward, the officer's gaze lingered slightly.

"Rank 1… And your role?"

Denwen hesitated before responding. "Porter."

The officer made a sound that was somewhere between a scoff and a grunt before logging him in. "Alright, you're all set. Dungeon time limit is 12 hours. You must return before the deadline or risk being marked as missing. Any violations of guild protocol inside will be met with immediate penalties."

A small timer device was handed to Garric. The moment it touched his palm, the countdown began—12:00:00.

With their clearance granted, Garric turned back to the group, a grin spreading across his face. "Alright team, time to get to work."

Denwen took a deep breath and stepped forward toward the unknown.