Henry's first Hunt
Author: Henry storm
last update2025-06-01 02:30:57

Henry held up his new Hunter ID to the guard at the dungeon facility’s checkpoint. The man, clad in dark combat gear, barely glanced at him before scanning the card with a handheld device. A small beep confirmed Henry’s status.

“First-timer?” the guard asked, his voice flat, almost bored.

Henry gave a tight nod. The guard’s eyes flicked to the basic sword strapped to Henry’s waist—a standard-issue F1 blade, nothing special. Something like pity flashed in the man’s gaze before he waved Henry through. “Don’t die in there, kid.”

Henry didn’t respond, his jaw set as he stepped past the checkpoint. The air shifted, heavy with an electric hum that made his skin prickle. The lobby was a hive of activity—Hunters adjusting armor, checking weapons, or whispering strategies in tight-knit groups. Along the walls, portals glowed with an eerie light, each marked with a difficulty rating. Even the weakest ones pulsed with danger.

Henry’s destination was an F-rank portal, the lowest of the low, but the pressure in his chest told him it was no less deadly. Dungeons didn’t care about rank. Once you stepped inside, the rules of the outside world vanished. No safety nets, no rescues. If you fell, you were gone—no one would come looking for your body.

He rolled his shoulders, exhaling slowly. The Core’s quest echoed in his mind: [Defeat a Dungeon Boss. Solo.] Hesitation wasn’t an option. He had to move forward.

As he approached the portal, a voice cut through the noise. “Hey, newbie!”

Henry turned. A group of four Hunters stood nearby, their expressions a mix of amusement and curiosity. The leader, a broad-shouldered man with a scar slicing over one eye, sized him up. His armor was sturdy, far better than the patched-up gear of the F-rankers around them.

“You alone?” the scarred man asked.

Henry paused, meeting the man’s gaze. “Yeah.”

A younger Hunter with a shaved head snorted. “Soloing a dungeon at F1? That’s the dumbest thing I’ve seen all week.”

A woman with twin daggers strapped to her belt tilted her head, her eyes sharp. “Maybe he’s got a death wish.”

“I can handle it,” Henry said, his voice steady.

The scarred man chuckled, low and rough. “You’ve got guts, kid. But dungeons don’t play nice. We need a fifth. Join us.”

Every ounce of logic screamed to say yes. A team meant backup, better odds of survival. But the Core’s quest was clear—solo. He couldn’t risk failing, not when he didn’t know what “consequences” the system might bring.

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

The shaved-headed Hunter scoffed. “What, you got a bet going or something?”

“Something like that,” Henry said, keeping his tone even.

The woman raised an eyebrow. “You sure? Dungeons aren’t predictable, even for F-ranks.”

“I appreciate it,” Henry said, “but I have to do this alone.”

The group exchanged glances. The scarred man shrugged. “You’re an idiot,” he said bluntly. “Don’t expect us to drag your corpse out when you get torn apart.”

They turned away, their murmurs fading into the crowd. Henry ignored the whispers of “dead man walking” from nearby Hunters. He had to focus.

A sharp buzz cut through the air as a loudspeaker crackled. “All Hunters, prepare for entry. Portals open in five minutes.”

The room’s tension spiked. Hunters moved with purpose, checking blades, tightening armor. Henry’s hand rested on his sword’s hilt, its weight grounding him. He approached the F-rank portal, its faint glow pulling at something deep in his chest.

An older facility worker, probably a retired Hunter, glanced at him from behind a clipboard. “You sure about this, kid?”

Henry nodded.

The man sighed, shaking his head. “First-timers who go in alone don’t come back. Especially not with that gear.”

Henry glanced at his sword—cheap, unremarkable, but it would have to do. “I’ll manage.”

The worker studied him, then shrugged. “Your funeral.”

Henry took a deep breath, stepping toward the portal. The world shifted.

One moment, he was in the bright facility. The next, darkness swallowed him whole.

Damp air pressed against his skin, thick with the smell of wet stone and something sharp, like old blood. Faint greenish-blue light flickered from moss clinging to the walls, illuminating jagged rock formations. The dungeon was alive, its silence heavy with menace.

Henry’s grip tightened on his sword. The Core hummed in his chest, a faint pulse urging him forward.

Something moved in the shadows.

A soft shuffle, then another. A chittering sound echoed, like teeth clicking together.

He wasn’t alone.

His eyes scanned the dimness, catching movement between the rocks. Five shapes lurked at the edge of the light—low to the ground, their bodies covered in jagged, insect-like shells. Long, thin limbs ended in hooked claws that scraped the stone.

Lesser Crawlers. Weak alone, deadly in a pack.

One lunged without warning.

Henry barely had time to react, stepping back as a claw slashed toward him. It grazed his ribs, the sting sharp and immediate. He gritted his teeth, cursing under his breath. They were fast—faster than he’d expected.

He swung his sword, aiming for the creature’s soft underbelly, but it skittered back, dodging with unnatural speed. Before he could recover, another pounced, its claws gleaming in the dim light.

Henry twisted, raising his arm to block. Bad move. A claw tore into his shoulder, pain searing through him like fire. His grip on the sword faltered, the weapon suddenly feeling heavier in his hand.

This wasn’t like the training vids he’d watched, where Hunters moved with precision and monsters fell cleanly. This was chaos—raw, brutal, and unforgiving. Hesitation would get him killed.

He tightened his grip, ignoring the pain. The Core pulsed, and a flicker of clarity cut through the panic.

[Analyze: Lesser Crawlers. Weak point—underbelly. Aim for quick, precise strikes.]

Henry’s breath steadied. The system was guiding him. He ducked as another Crawler lunged, its claws whistling past his head. This time, he moved faster, slashing upward. The blade caught the creature’s soft underside, splitting it open. It screeched, collapsing in a writhing heap.

One down.

The others didn’t wait. They attacked as a pack, claws flashing. Henry dodged and swung, his movements clumsy but fueled by desperation. Another claw grazed his arm, drawing blood, but he landed a second hit, felling another Crawler.

His chest heaved, pain throbbing in his shoulder and ribs. Three left. He could do this.

The Core hummed, and a new message flashed.

[Skill Unlocked: Basic Combat Instinct. Reaction speed increased by 5%.]

A rush of energy surged through him, his senses sharpening. The Crawlers’ movements seemed a fraction slower, their patterns clearer. He ducked a claw, stabbed, and another creature fell.

Two to go.

Henry’s heart pounded, but for the first time, he felt it—control. The Core was changing him, making him more than he was. He could survive this.

But the dungeon wasn’t done with him yet.

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