The ground vibrated under their steps.
Moving cautiously in tight formation, the six adventurers of the Mist Blades group advanced toward Room 4 of the dungeon. They had survived two ambushes, dodged a suspended saw trap, and lost their healer—swallowed by a hungry tile that snapped shut with a sharp clack.
But gold glimmered within reach. And pride, even more so.
"Stop," Ryn, the scout, murmured. He crouched, brushing his fingers across the floor. "Spatial illusion. Look closely at the pillars: the third one is duplicated twice."
The grey-eyed mage smiled. "I can dispel it. But it'll wake up everything listening to us."
There was no choice. With a smooth gesture, she channeled her shadow magic and melted the illusion like frost on glass. The real room revealed itself: larger, with glyphs etched into the walls, and more rabbit statues — armed again.
"Move fast. If we stall, they'll reform," barked the leader, a warrior wielding a runic axe. They charged, forming a defensive triangle.
The statues came to life. Three red-eyed rabbits drew their daggers and leapt from atop the columns.
The battle was a precise dance. The adventurers coordinated their attacks: Ryn laid traps, the mage cast flame decoys, and the rogue-alchemist duo triggered an explosion of compressed mana in a fiery gust.
But the real trap was just beginning.
At the back of the room, a faintly glowing altar shimmered. The alchemist, too curious for his own good, placed his hand on a runic symbol.
A metallic screech echoed through the chamber.
From above, a hatch opened. A massive rabbit — corrupted, misshapen, with arms too long and a stone mask — dropped heavily. It wielded a hammer carved from a chunk of dungeon wall.
"Mini-boss!" Ryn shouted. Too late.
The impact was immediate: the leader crashed into a wall, his armor cracked. The mage summoned a sphere of darkness to cover their retreat, but the rabbit swung blindly, its instincts sharp.
That's when the rogue had a wild idea.
"Mix the mist catalyst with your flames!"
The mage hesitated… then complied. A flash of black fire burst from their combined efforts. They hurled it at the boss's eyes.
A complete illusion clouded its mind. The mini-boss attacked itself, seeing six phantom enemies. Eventually, it drove its own hammer into its chest and collapsed with a grotesque groan.
Silence.
The group—wounded, exhausted, but alive—dragged themselves out of the dungeon.
In the central chamber, Kerow Lin observed everything, seated on his floating stone throne.
The TPDM hummed softly in front of him, listing the statistics:
"Difficulty matched. Survival rate: 66%. Creativity detected. Unique synergy: fire + mist catalyst.Gain: +24 Mastery Points.Grade: B+"
He tilted his head, thoughtful.
"Interesting... They combined their magic spontaneously. I should design a secondary dungeon centered around forced magical cooperation."
With a flick of his finger, he copied a fragment of their strategy into his personal archive.
Then, suddenly, a signal.
A golden mana pigeon flew through the dungeon wall, heading straight toward him.
Lin extended his hand.
A simple message, burning in the air:
"I'd like to see for myself what the bottom of the rankings is worth.I'll be waiting in the Astral Circle of Minareth."— C.A.
Kerow narrowed his eyes. The name rang a bell.
Calder Ashengray.World Top 6.Apostle of God.
A faint smile tugged at his lips. No arrogance. No excitement.Just... a slight chill down his spine.
"He wants to see... Very well. So do I."