Masked

Three figures trudged through the thick snow, leaving deep footprints behind. The wind was cold enough to make your bones cry, but the three of them moved like it was nothing.

Two girls. One guy. All wearing dark winter jackets, thermal boots, and light armor underneath. Heroes. Members of the Iron Fist Guild—one of the stronger mid-tier guilds in the region. They had the official rights to this dungeon. Legal entry. No sneaking required.

The guy was up front, sword in hand, carving through a pack of snow wolves like it was morning cardio. One of the girls stood behind him, hurling fireballs, her aim sharp and practiced. Their coordination was tight. This wasn't their first raid.

But the third one wasn't moving.

She stood at the edge of a cliff, silent, eyes fixed far beyond the fight.

Her face was half-shadowed, lips set in a calm, unreadable line.

While her teammates fought, she didn't lift a finger.

Her vision ability was active—something unique. She could see far, far into the forest where something was happening.

She was watching a lone idiot fight a goddamn dungeon boss.

Her brows furrowed slightly as she watched Ian spam teleport around like a maniac. Her expression twitched when he used slabs and trees to outsmart a giant yeti. Her lips parted a bit when she saw him vanish into the sky with the beast, only to return with gravity on his side and crush it from the clouds like a meteor strike.

A small breath escaped her mouth.

"…What the hell…" she muttered.

Her hood slipped back from her head as she leaned forward slightly, pink hair swaying with the wind. She didn't fix it. She didn't even notice. Her eyes were glued to the scene far away.

"That's the same guy from last night," she murmured. "The one I ran into near the alley…"

Her fingers tightened around her sword hilt, just a little.

'He's not from our guild. So what the hell is he doing in this dungeon? Did he sneak in?'

She tilted her head a bit, analyzing the battlefield. He was fighting completely alone. No support. No weapon. No backup. Just slabs, teleportation, and raw willpower.

It was messy. Unrefined.

But effective.

She didn't say a word to her team. Just kept watching, completely absorbed.

"Rosalyn!"

The voice broke her out of it. The guy with the sword waved at her from below, annoyed. "Quit zoning out and help us already!"

She blinked, then turned around. Her hood was already off now, her hair whipping across her face in the wind.

"Coming."

She stepped forward, summoned her blade with a clean snap of energy, and joined the fight.

And when she fought, it was different.

It wasn't just skill. It was art. The way her sword moved—it was like water flowing through cracks in a wall. Smooth, calculated, beautiful. Even if someone was about to die, they'd pause just to watch her one last time.

That's how captivating she was.

That's when the snow started shaking. A low, guttural growl echoed from deeper within the frozen landscape.

The Snow Wolf King stepped out.

Larger than the rest. Ice shards embedded in its fur. Eyes glowing blue. It opened its mouth—and whoosh, a beam of frost exploded out, melting snow and freezing air mid-flight.

All three heroes moved together. Rosalyn zipped across the battlefield, her pink hair slicing the air behind her. The other girl cast buffs, elemental blades, support fire. The guy with the sword went in for direct hits. Every move, every dodge—perfect sync.

After a long, intense battle, it was Rosalyn who dealt the final blow—her sword slicing clean through the Wolf King's neck like it was butter.

It dropped with a thud, snow rising around its corpse like a final breath.

They began the extraction. The fire girl bent over one wolf corpse and began drawing out the magic crystal. It took time. A lot of it. Almost five minutes for one corpse.

Rosalyn stood to the side again, staring back toward the forest.

That guy—he did it in seconds.

They worked through most of the fallen, leaving only the Wolf King. Rosalyn told the other two to handle that one, and she returned to the cliff.

She stared again.

The guy with the sword wiped his forehead and called out, "Hey Rosalyn. What were you looking at earlier?"

"Possibly… something moving in the forest."

He frowned. "We literally came from there. Nothing but trees and wolves. And we've only cleared two zones."

Before Rosalyn could respond—

Boom.

A loud bang echoed across the frozen jungle. The trees in the distance shook like something had slammed into the very roots of the world.

The three of them turned, eyes narrowing.

"Let's go," Rosalyn said. She was already moving.

They ran. Fast. No more chatter.

And then, they saw them—yeti-like monsters, the smaller ones, scampering out of the forest. Not charging. Not attacking.

Running.

Like they were scared of something.

"Must be a boss," the fire girl muttered, panting.

"Or something worse," the guy added.

They pushed through the trees and stepped into the clearing.

And there—half-buried in snow, body limp—was someone wearing a full-face black mask. Unconscious and covered in blood.

"…That's not one of ours," the sword guy muttered.

Rosalyn's heart beat just a little faster.

She already knew who it was.

They stood in silence, staring at the giant corpse buried halfway into the snow, its body torn, pierced, and half-burnt. Slabs of broken concrete and broken trees were scattered around it like battlefield debris. Even the surrounding snow was tinted with blood.

One of the girls looked down at the broken trees, at the scattered rods and slabs, and then at the masked figure lying motionless nearby. "Did he really… take it down alone?"

The boy stepped closer and narrowed his eyes. "If he did, that's not just wild. It's illegal." He paused. "We should report him. Might be a dungeon trespasser."

Rosalyn didn't say anything. She crouched beside the figure, her pink hair falling forward as she inspected him. The mask was still on, hiding the entire face. Not even a hint of skin showed.

She narrowed her eyes. Then, raising one hand, she activated her scan skill.

A soft light covered his body.

The scan didn't show much. Vital signs were weak. Multiple fractured ribs, shoulder bruises, some internal bleeding. But his face… nothing. The mask blocked everything else. Not even a name popped up.

"He's injured. Needs treatment," Rosalyn said.

The boy scoffed. "You're kidding, right? What if he is trespassing? We waste our potions and he turns out to be a criminal?"

"He's hurt," she repeated.

"Then let's take off his mask. Maybe we'll get something."

He stepped forward and grabbed the sides of the mask, trying to yank it off. It didn't even twitch. Not even a little.

"The hell…?" He pulled again. Still nothing.

Rosalyn stood up and dusted her hands. "Stop. It's not coming off."

"We should just call it in."

"I said stop."

The boy clenched his jaw but backed off, annoyed.

"He needs treatment."

The boy got up and shrugged his shoulders with a scoff. "I am not wasting my precious potions."

Rosalyn didn't wait. She pulled two healing potions from her pouch, twisted the cap off one, and poured it carefully along the sides of Ian's neck and collarbone. Then she used the second one — tilted it toward the lower part of the mask where the jaw opened slightly — letting a few drops slide in.

"You're the one wasting potions!" he snapped. "Why are we using guild supplies on some random guy who might be a goddamn criminal?!"

"I used the ones given to me. So I used mine, not the guild's," she said, calm and cold. "And I don't need them anyway."

The boy looked pissed but didn't argue more. The other girl stayed quiet, just watching the scene unfold, arms folded.

Rosalyn stayed near Ian, her hand still hovering near his chest, watching the potion's effect take hold as his breathing steadied. She didn't know why, but something about him… pulled her in.

The same guy from yesterday. The one she ran into in the alleyway.

'Who are you?' she thought, staring at the motionless masked figure.