The canvas straps of the backpack dug into Han Jihan’s shoulders, tearing at the skin.The ninety-pound load of mana potions, a folding tent, leftover magic cores from low-class monsters, and emergency rations felt like a slab of hot lead pressing down on his spine. Jihan gritted his teeth, forcing the thin combat boots on his feet to keep slogging through the pools of green sludge in Sector B of the A-Class Dungeon, "Crying Cave."Five people walked casually ahead of him. They were the elite team from the White Tiger Guild. Their armor gleamed, reflecting the dungeon's crystal light. Their weapons clinked softly, and the scent of expensive perfume mixed with the cavern's musty odor."Hey, Porter! Stop lagging, damn it! You think this is a fucking picnic?"That harsh voice belonged to Bagas, the team leader with a sharp face and an ebony magic staff in his hand. He glanced back, staring at Jihan with a look of pure disgust, as if he were looking at a cockroach stuck to his shoe.Jihan

A single drop of blood, flung from Jihan's mouth, stopped mid-air. The thick red droplet hung there, no more than a hand's breadth from the tip of his nose, frozen like a glass marble floating without gravity.The pain that had just torn through Jihan's chest, the sensation of his broken ribs piercing his lung, suddenly vanished. It was replaced by an empty numbness. The sound of the Shadow Weaver's jaw grinding as it prepared to chew his head disappeared without a trace. The chill of the cave floor seeping into his pores evaporated.Everything faded to a dull gray.Jihan couldn't move his neck, let alone lift his hand. He was pinned to the stone floor with the monster's giant leg still impaling his right chest. But his brain was still working. His eyes could still dart around wildly, taking in the surreal scene before him."A hallucination? Is my brain already dying from oxygen deprivation?" Jihan thought.In the middle of the deafening silence, the neon blue light flickered in front

An hour had passed since the Shadow Weaver's death.Outside the entrance of the A-Class Dungeon Crying Cave, the chaos had transformed into a media circus. Dozens of news vans from national TV stations blocked the highway. The red and blue flashing lights of Hunter Association patrol cars swept across the wet asphalt. Camera drones flew about with the annoying hum of a swarm of iron flies, all fighting for the best angle.In the middle of a siege of microphones and blinding camera flashes, Bagas stood with his head down. His sharp face was deliberately smeared with dust and soot, his golden armor left scuffed. The man was putting on an Oscar-worthy performance."We… we tried our best," Bagas's voice trembled. He dabbed the corner of his eye, wiping away a fake tear that never fell. His other hand was wrapped around the shoulder of Siska, the Healer, who was currently wrapped in an emergency blanket, shivering in fear. She was partly traumatized, and partly terrified her career was ove

The tip of the black stiletto stopped just an inch from Jihan's nose.Jihan was still sprawled on his side on the marble floor. His cheek was pressed against the pool of his own black blood. He couldn't move his neck, only his eyes could roll upward, tracing a pair of long legs clad in black trousers, up to a dark gray blazer that was ironed without a single crease.The woman crouched down slowly. The cold scent of musk and peppermint perfume instantly chased away the foul, sulfurous smell of Jihan's blood.The woman's face was expressionless. Her skin was pale, her jaw was firm, and her straight black hair was tied back in a neat ponytail. There was no panic or disgust in her eyes as she looked at Jihan, who was covered in thick blood like a walking corpse. Her sharp eyes, behind thin-framed glasses, studied him as if he were an insect trapped on a dissection table."I am the Assistant Head of the Central Hunter Association's Audit Department, Luna," the woman said. Her voice was as

Ten minutes before the steel swing that cracked a skull.The numbness that had imprisoned Jihan's body began to fade, replaced by the sensation of a thousand invisible needles stabbing every one of his muscle tissues. The pins and needles were agonizing, spreading from his groin to the tips of his toes.Jihan lay on the bed. A nurse had moved him from the floor a few hours ago, injecting him with a sedative that, unfortunately, had no effect because his metabolism had already been wrecked by the Death Bank. He wasn't asleep. He was just closing his eyes, focusing all his remaining energy just to move his little finger.Scrape.Jihan's ears caught a very soft scraping sound from the corridor outside his room.The sound was almost drowned out by the raging storm outside the window. However, the street instincts he had honed over years as a porter reacted automatically. Jihan knew exactly what the soles of a hurried nurse's shoes sounded like, and that sound didn't belong to a nurse. Tho