Otto was seated behind his desk when Rethan entered. He didn't invite him in with a gesture or a word, because this wasn't a friendly chat or one of those moments where everyone pretended they were on the same side. This was where you drew lines,clearly, early,before anyone got the bright idea to step over them.
"The Halven mages are taking operational command inside the dungeon," Otto said without preamble, sliding a document across the desk so Rethan could see the names. "Dorian Halven. Lysand Halven. Caelan Halven."
Rethan glanced at the paper for only a second. Caelan's name didn't surprise him. If anything, it confirmed what he'd expected the moment he'd heard the family was sending young mages instead of seasoned veterans.
Otto looked up at him, his gaze hard and stripped of illusions.
"That last one," he added evenly, "is the head of the family's son. Which is why you can't let him die in there."
It wasn't a threat. It didn't need to be.
"If Caelan dies," Otto continued, planting both hands on the desk, "the consequences won't fall only on the Guild. They'll fall on everyone who was present. On me. On you. On the people who did exactly what they were told."
Rethan nodded slowly.
"I understand," he said, short and flat, without trying to argue. "I'll do what I have to."
Otto studied him, as if checking whether that answer was honest,or simply convenient.
"If there are no more orders," Rethan added after a beat, "I'll go. The sooner I position people, the lower the risk of chaos."
He was already turning toward the door when Otto spoke again.
"Rethan." Something in his voice sank heavier, less official. "I know it's a thankless role for you."
A brief pause.
"But I'm asking you,clean up the mess after the young mages. Don't let their ambition and lack of experience get more people killed than necessary."
Rethan stopped. He didn't turn back right away, only nodded once more, slower.
"I'll try," he said.
He left the room, and only when the door shut behind him did he snort under his breath as he walked down the Guild corridor.
"Fantastic," he muttered to himself. "Babysitter for arrogant noble assholes. Exactly what I was missing in my life."
He'd played this role before. Stand behind them, cover their blind spots, take the blame when something went wrong. Noble-born mages rushed ahead chasing glory, and someone like him stayed behind counting bodies, making sure the wrong names didn't end up on the wrong lists. If Caelan Halven died, the city would shake and families would demand blood.
If some nameless adventurer burned alive in the dungeon, it would be filed, archived, and forgotten by the next week.
He paused, drew a deep breath, then let it out slowly. Anger wouldn't change anything. In a few hours he'd be standing in a dungeon beside people whose only job was to survive,no matter who was giving orders.
By the time he stepped out onto the street, his face was calm and focused. Whatever boiled inside him stayed there. In Guild work, there wasn't room for emotions,especially not when one bad decision decided whether a handful of people came back… or only the echo of their names.
***
Rethan saw the dungeon before he even reached the designated meeting point. You couldn't mistake it for anything else,an ordinary landscape that had looked completely normal just weeks ago now split by a massive circular portal, like a ring of fire standing upright. It wasn't a wild blaze. It turned slowly, as if someone had taken the red heart of a smelter and stretched it into space, shaping it into a doorway to somewhere that had no business existing so close to the human world.
The closer he got, the more the air changed. It grew heavier, drier, noticeably warmer. The ground underfoot was cracked in places, as if it hadn't seen rain in weeks. The grass along the path had yellowed and crisped. Flowers that weren't made for this kind of heat had simply wilted and fallen, leaving behind brittle, dead stems.
The dungeon wasn't just there. It had already started rewriting the area around it.
Rethan had seen dungeons before,water-types that soaked the land into marsh, wind-types that stripped roofs and snapped trees like twigs. T
Rethan stopped for a moment, studying the portal from a distance. Experience had taught him it was worth looking at the dungeon before looking at the people. The dungeon was the real problem.
Only then did his gaze shift to the crowd gathered before the entrance.
More than fifty people, clearly divided into five groups, stood with small gaps between them. Each squad clustered around its own point,checking gear, tightening straps, trading quick remarks. Rethan saw the differences immediately: some were quiet and locked in, some talked too much with nerves buzzing under the words, and some forced confidence they didn't have, betrayed by restless hands and stiff shoulders.
He glanced up at the sun, still climbing, and pegged the time at around eight. The first entries always started around then,body rested, mind sharp,before fatigue and heat did their work.
As he walked toward them, the conversations died down almost on their own. Heads turned. People watched him approach, recognizing him by his build, his weapon, and that particular calm of someone who hadn't come here for the first time. When he got close enough, a few nodded at him,silent acknowledgment, or just a brief hello.
Rethan stopped where everyone could see him and waited until the silence was complete. He knew better than to start speaking while someone was still fixing a glove or finishing a sentence. That was how people missed orders that decided whether they lived.
"My name is Rethan," he said, not raising his voice,yet speaking clearly enough that the words carried. "From the Guild side, I'm commanding this operation to close the dungeon."
He paused, letting it sink in.
"Everyone standing here will follow my orders exactly as given. No improvising. No showing off. No trying to prove anything. This isn't a place for heroics,it's a job, and the goal is to get all of us out of here in one piece."
His eyes moved across the faces, lingering for a moment on the younger adventurers standing a little to the side of their squads.
"You're divided into five teams," he continued. "Nine adventurers and one mage per team. The mages will rotate, and each of them will take part in multiple runs."
He gestured toward the portal.
"Operational time per team is twenty minutes. You go in, clear the route, kill as many beasts as you can, and you come out,no matter how well it's going,because the next team goes in after that."
His finger traced an invisible line in the air.
"We rotate until we find the boss room. No exceptions and no extending your time, even if someone thinks they can 'push a little longer.'"
Finally, he looked at the ring of fire again, pulsing slowly as if it was listening.
"This is a fire-type dungeon. That means your biggest threat won't always be the monsters,it'll be the conditions. Watch each other. Track the time. The portal won't warn you when you've stopped breathing like a normal person."
He lowered his hand and gave a short nod.
Rethan let a beat of silence hang there. Someone always missed something, or misunderstood, and it was better to fix it now than collect consequences inside. He scanned the group and asked bluntly,no patience in the tone, but no aggression either.
"Questions?"
For a moment, nobody spoke. People exchanged looks, as if checking whether that was truly everything. Then one adventurer,a middle-aged man with a sun-browned face and a heavy sword at his belt,raised his hand.
"And the mages?" he asked loudly. "They're supposed to be in the teams, but I don't see them."
A few others murmured agreement. The question was fair. And Rethan felt irritation rise in his chest, because everyone in this world knew what time dungeon runs started,especially the first entry. Showing up late to a briefing like this was either a complete lack of discipline… or a deliberate show of superiority.
He swept the area around the portal for familiar silhouettes, and for one brief, treacherous moment he thought: Maybe they won't come. Maybe someone decided the risk is too high. Maybe I'll get to run this without babysitting arrogant kids.
He was just opening his mouth to answer when he spotted three figures in the distance, walking in with unhurried steps. They wore pale, unmistakably magical robes that stood out even from far away against the practical gear of everyone else.
Rethan exhaled softly. His expression soured as his hope vanished as fast as it had come.
He lifted a hand and pointed.
"There they are," he said, and the weariness in his voice carried something close to resignation.