Darkness lingered.
Not the suffocating sewer darkness.
But something quieter.
Colder.
Arman felt consciousness return slowly.
The first thing he noticed—
The smell.
Sharp.
Medicinal.
Herbs.
Alcohol.
Something bitter.
His eyes opened.
Wooden ceiling.
Cracked.
Dim candlelight flickering along the walls.
He turned his head.
Altair was awake too.
Lying on a narrow bed opposite him.
Both of them were wrapped in bandages.
Arman flexed his fingers.
No poison burning sensation.
No dizziness.
Just soreness.
"Where…" he muttered.
"Clinic," Altair said quietly.
The room felt wrong.
Too quiet.
The candles cast long, distorted shadows along the walls.
Curtains hung loosely between beds.
Wind brushed faintly against wooden shutters.
For a moment—
It almost felt haunted.
Arman sat up slowly.
His boots were placed neatly beside the bed.
Clothes cleaned.
Weapons arranged.
Whoever treated them—
Was meticulous.
Then—
The door creaked open.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
A tall silhouette stood in the doorway.
Long hair.
Loose.
Falling over pale shoulders.
Candlelight flickered behind her.
Her face hidden in shadow.
Arman froze.
Altair's eyes sharpened instantly.
The figure stepped forward.
Hair swayed gently.
And for one split second—
In the low light—
She looked like something that crawled out of a ghost story.
Arman and Altair reacted simultaneously.
"—What the hell is that?!"
They both shouted.
THUD.
Two quick, precise strikes landed on their heads.
"Stop screaming."
The figure stepped fully into candlelight.
She wasn't a ghost.
She wasn't undead.
She was a woman.
Young.
Calm.
Wearing a white healer's coat slightly stained with herbs and dried tincture.
Long dark hair.
Sharp, annoyed eyes.
"You're in a clinic," she said flatly. "Not a haunted house."
Arman rubbed the top of his head.
"…You looked like one."
Altair remained silent, but he didn't deny it.
She crossed her arms.
"I just spent half the night removing neurotoxic venom from your bloodstream."
Her voice was steady.
"But by all means, scream."
Arman blinked.
"You treated us?"
"Yes."
She sighed lightly.
"You're welcome."
Arman straightened slightly.
"Thank you."
Altair gave a short nod.
"I appreciate the intervention."
The woman studied them both carefully.
Then—
Arman noticed it.
Above her head.
Faint.
But visible.
Name.
Level.
Clear.
Eleos Anaidea — Level 5.
Arman's breath paused.
Altair saw it too.
Their eyes met.
That look again.
The same look from the tavern.
Eleos tilted her head slightly.
"…What?"
Arman swallowed.
"Your name."
She blinked.
"…Yes?"
"And your level."
Silence.
Her expression didn't change.
But her eyes sharpened.
"…You can see it?"
Arman and Altair exchanged a glance.
Altair spoke first.
"Yes."
The room grew still.
The candle flame flickered once.
Eleos stared at them for several long seconds.
Then she exhaled slowly.
"…So I'm not the only one."
That confirmed it.
Arman's heart beat faster.
He leaned forward slightly.
"Are you… from another world?"
Eleos looked at the door.
Then back at them.
Then quietly—
"Yes."
The air shifted.
Three.
There were three of them now.
Eleos walked over and pulled a chair beside Arman's bed.
"I was a medical intern," she said calmly. "Emergency ward."
Arman blinked.
Altair's expression didn't change—but he understood.
"Overwork?" Arman asked.
She gave a dry smile.
"Sleep deprivation. Seventy-two hour shift."
Altair let out the faintest breath.
"We're similar."
Eleos glanced between them.
"Let me guess. Tech industry?"
Arman raised a hand slightly.
"Programmer."
Altair added,
"Film editor."
Eleos leaned back in her chair.
"…Of course."
The absurdity of it almost made Arman laugh.
Three overworked professionals.
Reborn.
In a fantasy world.
Eleos folded her hands calmly.
"I arrived five years ago," she said. "Leveling slowly. Studying healing magic. Building this clinic."
Level 5.
Five years.
Eleos watched them both carefully.
"Rat King," she said calmly.
Arman looked up.
"You know?"
"Yes."
She stood and adjusted the sleeve of her white coat.
"Mutated sewer swarms don't happen naturally."
Altair's gaze darkened slightly.
"Then it's controlled."
Eleos nodded.
"And if it's controlled, then something is evolving under Rostam."
The room felt colder at those words.
She looked at both of them.
"You two are going back down there, aren't you?"
Arman didn't hesitate.
"Yes."
Altair simply nodded.
Eleos studied them for several long seconds.
Then—
"…Good."
Arman blinked.
"You're not stopping us?"
Eleos gave him a flat look.
"I'm a healer, not your supervisor."
She walked toward the small cabinet near the wall and retrieved several glass vials filled with faintly glowing liquid.
"If a Rat King truly emerged, leaving it alone will only make the swarm stronger."
Her voice was calm, but firm.
"It can spread disease. It can undermine foundations. It can collapse sewer routes beneath entire districts."
Arman exchanged a glance with Altair.
This wasn't just a monster.
It was a structural threat to the city.
Eleos turned back to them.
"I'll help."
Both men looked at her.
Altair spoke first.
"You don't specialize in combat."
"No," she admitted. "But I specialize in keeping idiots alive."
Arman coughed lightly.
"…Fair."
She crossed her arms.
"However, you are not going back tonight."
Arman frowned slightly.
"We're recovered."
"Physically," Eleos corrected. "You were minutes from organ failure."
Altair didn't argue.
She continued,
"Rest. Properly. I will prepare antidotes and anti-toxin enhancements overnight."
She pointed toward their beds.
"Tomorrow morning. We go to the Guild together. We formalize the threat."
Arman leaned back slightly.
"Upgrade the quest rank."
"Yes."
Altair gave a small nod.
"Wise."
Eleos's gaze softened slightly.
"And if there truly is a Rat King…"
She paused.
"…Then it won't be a swarm you fight."
The candlelight flickered again.
For a moment, the room felt less like a haunted clinic—
And more like the beginning of something larger.
Three outsiders.
One city.
And something breeding in the dark below it.
That night, Arman lay back on the narrow clinic bed.
Not alone anymore.
Not just two.
Three.
He focused inward.
"Status."
≡ Status ≡
Arman — Human — Level 2
Occupation: Mage
──────────────
HP: 115 / 115
Mana: 64 / 64
Stamina: 110 / 110
Mana Control: 17%
──────────────
Skills
Mana Perception Lv. 1
Spells
Minor Fire Sphere (Improvised)
Mana Push
Flame Bolt
Mage's Hand
──────────────
Across the room, Altair quietly checked his own.
≡ Status ≡
Altair Everett — Human — Level 10
Occupation: Assassin
──────────────
HP: 162 / 162
Mana: 84 / 84
Stamina: 148 / 148
Mana Control: 28%
──────────────
Skills
Shadow Cloak
Enhanced Perception
Agility Boost
Weapon Form (Shadow)
──────────────
Near the doorway, Eleos glanced inward briefly.
Then she murmured softly—
"Status."
≡ Status ≡
Eleos Anaidea — Human — Level 5
Occupation: Gravebound Cleric
──────────────
HP: 132 / 132
Mana: 172 / 172
Stamina: 86 / 90
Mana Control: 39%
Divinity Affinity: Death
Spiritual Resonance: High
──────────────
Abilities
• Cure Wounds – Channel restorative life force
• Inflict Wounds – Condensed necrotic discharge
• Bestow Curse – Targeted vitality suppression
• Wither and Bloom – Dual-phase decay & regeneration field
Eleos closed her status window.
"Rest," she said quietly.
Tomorrow—
They would descend again.
But this time—
Not as scouts.
As a coordinated unit.
And somewhere beneath Rostam—
Something larger than a swarm shifted in the dark.
Waiting.