The rest had done wonders. By the time they set off again, Lirael looked like herself once more. Her eyes were sharp, her movements steady, and she carried her bow as if eager to test it against the next beast the dungeon threw at them. Ethan checked her condition with a single glance and gave a curt nod. That was all it took—the hunt resumed.

Ethan walked at the front, long blade at his side. Nyxfang padded close beside him, massive frame tense and ready, while Seloria, the smaller wolf, shadowed their rear. The ten silver-armored soldiers moved in a disciplined line, shields and blades glinting faintly as they followed. Lirael and Sylvie stayed in the center, protected on all sides, though it wasn't long before they were tested again.

The first enemies to appear were tusked boars the size of horses. They came crashing through the underbrush in a thundering charge, tusks gleaming.

"Form up," Ethan ordered.

At once the soldiers locked their shields together, bracing as the ground shook. The boars slammed into the wall of silver, squeals splitting the air. Arrows whistled past Ethan's shoulder—Lirael's shots—each one burying deep into exposed throats and eyes. One beast toppled mid-charge, skidding across the dirt.

Nyxfang leapt over the soldiers, crashing into another boar with crushing force. His jaws closed around its neck, snapping bone like twigs. Seloria darted in low, hamstringing a third with quick, savage precision. Ethan surged forward, blade flashing, cutting down the last with a clean strike.

The clash was short, decisive. Sylvie stepped up, staff glowing faintly, and washed a healing light over a soldier whose shield arm had taken the brunt of a tusk. The summon straightened, whole again, and returned to formation without a word.

"Boars won't last long against us," Lirael remarked, lowering her bow.

Ethan only grunted, already moving on.

The dungeon pressed them with new threats as the hours rolled by. A swarm of razor-feathered ravens descended screeching from the canopy, wings sharp enough to slice flesh. Lirael's arrows filled the air in quick succession, skewering bird after bird. Ethan cleaved three in a single swing, feathers scattering like sparks. Nyxfang snatched one mid-flight, shaking it until feathers littered the ground. Seloria pounced on another that slipped through, crushing it with ease.

Later came a massive ox-creature plated with bone, its slow steps shaking the ground. The soldiers braced again, spears leveled, while Ethan charged at its flank. His blade tore into exposed flesh, drawing a guttural bellow. Nyxfang slammed into its side, driving it down, while Seloria tore at its throat. The beast thrashed, then collapsed under the combined weight of steel and fang.

From its chest, Ethan pried loose a shard glowing faintly with earthy mana. He turned it over once in his hand, then stowed it. "Useful."

The spoils of their hunt piled up—cores pulsing with weak mana, feathers sharp enough to cut leather, hides tougher than steel. Their packs grew heavy, but their spirits lightened with each victory. Even Sylvie, usually careful to conserve her mana, smiled as she purified stream water for their skins, her glow reflecting off the ripples.

The greatest prize came when the soldiers unearthed a chest half-buried under a collapsed stone archway. Time had eaten away at its wood and corroded its bands, but it still held.

Ethan tested the ground, then tapped the chest with his blade. No traps stirred. Nyxfang sniffed at it once before stepping back, calm. Safe.

The lock fell apart at a touch. Inside, nestled in worn cloth, lay a pouch of gold coins, a few gemstones, and a dagger with faint blue runes etched into its blade.

Lirael leaned in, eyes bright. "That's not ordinary."

Ethan weighed the weapon, listening to the faint hum of mana running through it. Then, without hesitation, he handed it to her. "Yours. Quicker hands than mine."

She hesitated only briefly before taking it, turning the blade in the firelight. "I'll put it to use."

With that, the party pressed on, confidence growing. The hunts became almost effortless: soldiers held the line, Ethan's blade cut through anything that breached, Nyxfang and Seloria tore apart stragglers, Lirael's arrows struck true from afar, and Sylvie kept them whole.

By the time the dungeon's false light began to dim, their packs bulged with spoils. Lirael boasted about her clean double-shot through a raven's wings, and Sylvie laughed when Seloria stole a strip of dried meat she had meant for Nyxfang. Even Ethan allowed a faint smirk when Nyxfang dropped the stolen treat at his feet, as if offering tribute.

They made camp at a ridge sloping into a basin glowing with clusters of blue fungi. A silver stream wound through it, glittering in the dim. Ethan scanned the land, then finally nodded.

"Here."

The soldiers spread into a perimeter, silent sentinels. Sylvie tended the fire, Lirael polished her new dagger, and the wolves prowled quietly at the edge of camp. For the first time in days, the air was calm. No rushing, no looming threat—only the steady satisfaction of a clean day's hunt.

Sylvie leaned back, eyes on the glowing fungi. "If every day in here was like this," she said with a smile, "I'd never want to leave."

Ethan gave her a sidelong glance, the faintest curve tugging at his lips. "Careful what you wish for."

But his voice held ease, and for that night, the dungeon felt less like a cage and more like their own hunting ground.

The artificial sun's light barely filtered through the dungeon's canopy, but the group was already moving. Packs restocked, weapons checked, and summons at their sides, they plunged back into the hunt with the ease of those who had found their rhythm.

Ethan led the way, long blade sweeping in controlled arcs as the first creatures of the day appeared: a pair of horned boars that had been disturbed by the commotion of their march. Nyxfang bounded forward, massive paws slamming the dirt, while Seloria darted to flank the beasts. Lirael's arrows flew in rapid succession, piercing eyes and throats with precision, while Sylvie's quiet hum of mana ensured no minor injuries slowed the soldiers or wolves.

Floor by floor, the pattern repeated. The monsters became larger, sometimes stranger in form, but the team moved like a single, disciplined unit. Ethan and Lirael felt themselves growing, not just in strength, but in speed and awareness. After each floor, as they gathered spoils and assessed the threats ahead, they quietly allocated points to their attributes, their bodies and reflexes subtly sharpening with every step deeper.

By the second floor, the dungeon had begun to show signs of age and decay: crumbling stone corridors, pools of stagnant water, and the faint scent of earth and minerals. Yet treasures were abundant. From slain beasts, they collected glowing cores, tough hides, fangs, and claws, each carefully sorted by Lirael as she moved between skirmishes. The soldiers worked efficiently, carrying heavier loads back to the growing pile of loot, while Nyxfang and Seloria scouted ahead, noses to the ground, alert to any hidden threat.

Ethan's long blade found rhythm in the fight, carving through lumbering beasts with fluid precision. Lirael's bow never faltered, her arrows consistently striking vital points. Sylvie's support kept the pace relentless; even minor scratches were healed instantly, keeping morale and stamina high.

Floor after floor, the dungeon's denizens grew more formidable. Razor-winged ravens with feathers like knives, massive moss-covered trolls, and armored lizards with jagged tails tested the team's coordination. Each time, their synchronized movements minimized risk. The soldiers formed a moving wall of steel, Nyxfang and Seloria tore through the flanks, Ethan cut through the front, Lirael struck from above, and Sylvie ensured they never slowed.

With every cleared floor, the treasure pile grew heavier. Precious stones, rare cores, sharpened fangs, scales that reflected light like mirrors, and materials that would be valuable for forging or crafting were carefully collected. Lirael occasionally paused to inspect new items, marveling at their rarity, while Ethan weighed shards and assessed their potential usefulness for weapons or enhancements.

By the fourth floor, the rhythm of their hunts had become almost meditative. The team moved in perfect sync, responding to threats instinctively. The faint hum of mana and the occasional growl from Nyxfang or Seloria were the only sounds outside the clash of steel and the twang of arrows. After clearing the floor, Ethan and Lirael again quietly allocated points to their attributes, feeling the subtle surge of power ripple through them, sharpening reflexes, strengthening muscles, and heightening senses.

The fifth floor brought more dangerous foes: horned beasts with plated hides, swarming insect-like creatures that could pierce armor, and massive, slow-moving trolls that required every ounce of strength from Ethan and his summons. Still, the group pressed on, undeterred. Every kill yielded more treasure—rare ores embedded in monster hides, glowing cores, and enchanted feathers. Even Sylvie occasionally pocketed a tiny gem or crystal she deemed useful for mana amplification.

Finally, after hours of relentless hunting, they reached the sixth floor. Here, the dungeon opened into a massive hall, its walls lined with broken pillars and scattered remnants of previous adventurers' failed attempts. The floor was littered with monsters large and small, but the pattern remained the same: strike fast, coordinate, gather spoils. By the time the hall was cleared, the team had amassed a staggering amount of treasures and monster materials, each item carefully labeled in their minds or tucked safely into their growing packs.

Ethan wiped a thin layer of sweat from his brow, glancing at Lirael. "Still sharp," he said, noting how her arrows never missed even after hours of fighting.

She only smiled, a faint gleam in her eyes. "We're just getting started."

The two wolves, Nyxfang and Seloria, prowled the perimeter, silent and vigilant as ever. Their presence alone discouraged stragglers and gave the team a constant advantage in battles that could have otherwise been drawn out. The silver-armored soldiers stood ready, their shields raised, silent guardians of the spoils and the party's safety.

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