When midnight arrived, the first day of exploration following the newest mutation of the Sein Dungeon officially came to an end.
Both the ancient city and Bedford City were brightly lit and buzzing with activity; the streets felt more like a lively festival than late night.
A rough count showed that the number of street vendors inside and outside the city had more than doubled. Everyone was eager to sell whatever they had discovered that day.
Almost everyone had found something new. And as everyone knew, the highest prices for dungeon loot were always on the first day of discovery—so adventurers rushed to display their "never-before-seen" finds as soon as possible.
Of course, not everything sold at these stalls was actually useful—or even qualified as a real "item." Many were just fashionable junk passing itself off as treasure.
One adventurer had hauled back several wooden frames from Farron Keep—the kind used to bind those who failed the Wolf's Blood trial—and was now proudly promoting them as "holy relics especially effective against werewolves!"
Honestly, if one only went by appearances, the pitch did sound oddly convincing.
Another adventurer sold tree branches, insisting that because they grew undisturbed in the poisonous swamps of Farron Keep, they must possess detoxifying properties.
Hard Ghru horns, slime venom, random monster drops from the forest, even oddly shaped stones—everything became merchandise. As long as they came with a mysterious backstory, there would always be a buyer.
With this level of dedication to looting and reselling junk, these adventurers could've been the ideal RPG protagonists—the type who raid every NPC's house for anything not nailed down.
Naturally, their customers were not fellow adventurers. Any experienced explorer could instantly tell treasure from trash.
Their main customers were wealthy nobles with too much money and too few brain cells.
Especially now that large merchant caravans were flowing into Bedford City—these merchants either bought the most practical goods or the flashiest novelties, repackaged them, and resold them to even richer nobles far away.
Adventurers profited, merchants profited—and in its own way, even the dungeon profited.
Even Wade hadn't expected adventurers to take such interest in "junk." It had been a long time since something caught him off guard.
The notice board in central Bedford updated non-stop. Even with twice the usual staff, the workers couldn't keep up with the information flood.
Everyone scrambled to exchange intel—from practical elite monster guides to absurd trivia like "which part of the swamp mud feels the softest to step on." The staff reviewing submissions often wondered, How could something this useless ever help anyone?
The influx of reports was so overwhelming that the ranking board had to be temporarily frozen. Updates would resume in a few days, once contribution levels stabilized enough to issue proper rewards.
The entire city vibrated with excitement—it truly felt like a brand-new in-game event had dropped.
Without anyone realizing it, the Dungeon had gathered a devoted fanbase.
Unexpected, yet strangely fitting.
.
..
...
"Meeting time!"
On the second floor of the Adventurers' Guild, Maru slapped the table, pulling everyone's attention to her.
Around thirty people had gathered in the lounge—all of them silver-ranked, the top adventurers of Bedford City.
They met in the lounge specifically because this was not an official gathering—just an informal exchange of intel… and a bit of socializing.
"Maru, your boss still isn't back? Without Leon here, it just feels weird," someone said.
"At least another half month," Maru grumbled with a pout, still salty that Leon had gone off alone without the team.
To shift the mood, Drew set a thin booklet on the table.
"We found something called a Hunting Manual. It records dungeon monsters. Anyone else get one of these?"
Half the room raised their hands.
"I got one too. What's interesting is that this thing says the Ghrus are actually allies of the Farron Undead Legion. Does that mean… they're the good guys?"
He flipped open his manual to show an entry:
[Hunting Manual: Monster Category]
[Name: Ghru]
[The Ghrus are descendants of the Abyss Watchers. Residing in Farron Keep, they chose to ally with the Farron Undead Legion—not only providing trials for those who seek to join, but also guarding the fortress and repelling the forces of the Abyss.]
Below the description was a vivid illustration of a Ghru wielding spear and shield.
"Good guys or not, I don't care. One of them scratched my face. I'm killing it a thousand times over if I have to!" a bandaged adventurer snapped.
"Why not just use a healing spell?" Maru asked.
"Because I want the scar to remind me!"
"…You really have too much free time."
A curvy female adventurer flipped through her own manual with a sly grin.
"This book's fun. I bet the Guildmaster will highlight it at the next official meeting. How about we make a game of it—whoever unlocks the most entries first wins?"
"With stakes?" Roger perked up immediately.
"Dinner with me."
"Pass." Roger deflated instantly.
"H-Hey! Even if you're rejecting me, don't make it sound so insulting!"
Her name was Antilly, a high-level beast tamer who partnered with vicious monsters. Her personality—and wardrobe—were both bold. When she leaned over to scold Roger, her outfit nearly betrayed her.
But Roger's stare contained zero lust.
"If you lend me one of your beasts for a night, then I might consider it."
Antilly inhaled sharply and eyed him with deep suspicion.
"Don't bother," Maru snickered. "The old man only has eyes for monsters."
"Speaking of monsters," Antilly said, clapping her hands, "my apprentice told me a bunch of non-hostile monsters appeared in the Gourmet Zone. I'm heading there tomorrow. Anyone want in?"
"Oh?" Roger sat up straight. "Count me in. I'm bringing my apprentice too."
The moment they talked monsters, the two bonded instantly—until minutes later, they burst outside to duel.
"The Blue Scaled White Dragon is the strongest drake species, you clueless woman!"
"Bullshit! The Red Flame Dragon is both stronger and cooler! No one knows drakes better than me!"
Drew didn't even blink.
"Ignore them. Let's continue."
Information-sharing resumed, mostly about Farron Keep—and mostly practical.
The swamp's poison was thicker, hidden monsters stronger, item locations shifted. Someone pulled out paper to sketch a map—
Only for everyone to realize none of the maps matched. Glares escalated.
"Mine's accurate! Yours is garbage!"
Topics jumped between monster anatomy, combat styles, behavioral traits, weapon drops, and special combat skills.
Compared to the bulletin board gossip, this meeting was ten times more valuable.
The conversation eventually converged on Farron Keep's hidden lore.
From current clues, they had pieced together that the Keep belonged to an order that fought the Abyss and likely carried a tragic history—but details were still murky.
So they moved on.
"I've got some secret intel—don't spread this around," someone whispered, leaning in.
"Speak."
"Demons have been spotted outside the city. Some nearby villagers were killed."
Drew's expression hardened.
"Where exactly?"
"Southwest, near Val City. The lords in both territories are panicking over it."
"Southwest…"
Maru froze. She scanned the gathered adventurers—but did not spot the one she was looking for.
Darrick.
They hadn't regrouped since the monster wave split their party apart. Even after leaving the dungeon, she hadn't seen him.
She recalled a casual conversation where Darrick mentioned he lived on a farm southwest of the city…
(***)
Southwest of Bedford City.
A small, unremarkable farm stood near the forest. It wasn't large, and the crops were sparse and poorly tended—a clear sign the owner had little interest in them.
Normally, a farm would keep a few dogs for protection.
But any real dog that entered this land would flee instantly—the air was saturated with wolf scent.
Inside the dim farmhouse, Darrick sat curled in a corner, hollow-eyed.
In the shadows, pairs of glowing eyes watched him—not with malice, but with concern.
"I did something cowardly…" Darrick murmured, stroking the fur of the wolf beside him. The beast whined softly.
If a torch were lit, the truth would be revealed—
The farmhouse was full of wolves.
Darrick managed a faint smile. His companions always knew when he needed warmth.
His thoughts drifted back to the moment just before he left the Dungeon:
An ancient, slumbering wolf.
A weathered gravestone with a fading inscription.
The Old Wolf of Farron.
Through a cavern, he had glimpsed the Farron Old Wolf—and had felt its silent invitation.
An invitation to become an Abyss Watcher.
To drink wolf's blood was to gain immense power—perhaps enough to stand beside the legendary Undead Legion of Farron.
But he had turned and run.
"Guess I really am a coward… I could've gained the strength to take revenge, but I was too afraid of becoming a monster."
Something warm brushed his cheek—a wolf was licking him.
Comforting him.
Darrick let out a soft laugh and wrapped his arms around the pack gathered around him.
"As long as I have you all," he whispered, "I'll be fine."