The dream shattered.
Duncan jolted awake and shot upright. Before the sleepiness could fade, he forced his bleary eyes open and scanned the area. Strangely enough, the night that had worried him before now gave him a rare sense of safety.
"What's wrong, Duncan?" Bell asked, still on watch. Seeing Duncan's abnormal reaction, he moved closer.
"What time is it? How long was I out?" Duncan asked at once, urgency leaking into his voice.
"Huh? About two… three hours. There's maybe an hour until sunrise," Bell estimated, surprised but quick to answer.
"We leave now," Duncan said, standing up without hesitation. "We'll circle around them from the side and head toward Uncle Chaldo's direction. Also—dump everything we can. Move through the canopy. Stay off the ground as much as possible."
"W-What?! Now? And we're not taking our packs?" Bell blurted, startled by the sudden order.
"No," Duncan said, already tearing open the bag. "Eat what we can. Keep only compact essentials like jerky. Everything else—camping gear included—gets tossed. I'll handle materials."
The shop system was predatory—high buy prices, low sell prices—but as a way to not get killed by your loot, it was perfect. At least they wouldn't be dragged down by harvested drops.
A lot of adventurers died with full packs. Or worse—survived, but lost months of work in a single panicked throw. If Duncan could actually withdraw the shop's valis into the real world, he could live comfortably just acting as a merchant in the Dungeon. As for being underpaid? If you're dead, you don't get to complain about price gouging.
Bell's face stiffened, then visibly drained of color.
He didn't know where Duncan's intel came from, but he trusted him. Seeing Duncan's frantic efficiency, Bell clenched his teeth, started eating a rough breakfast, and sorted the remaining items with shaking hands.
Once a decision was made, the body moved faster than the mind ever did while hesitating. The act of choosing burned time; after that, people erupted into motion like they'd been waiting for permission.
They finished packing, dumping, and eating in under ten minutes.
The sky grew darker—not deeper night, but the final thick gloom before dawn. Their window was closing.
Bears were crepuscular; Duncan didn't know whether monster ecology followed the same rules, but the fact that nothing had prowled in during the night made it likely.
And then—
White mist drifted across the clearing again.
Under that pale fog, formed from the gray-white powder, the ruins surfaced right in front of their eyes, slowly taking shape as if reality itself was being "loaded in."
"T-This is…?" Bell stared, jaw slack.
"Don't look," Duncan snapped, not even turning. "This means the barrier's about to fail. I'll explain later—when we're back. Once the underground seal collapses, it won't stop monsters from entering. Monsters are extremely sensitive to mana—if they realize what's happening, we're dead."
He checked the compass, then patted Bell's shoulder.
"Do we bring torches?" Bell asked, still reeling from the "miracle" but sensing Duncan's haste and not daring to push.
"No. A torch right now is a target," Duncan said, shaking his head. "Focus. Move. Prep stamina potions and don't stop. I thought they stopped chasing because they were injured. Now it looks more like they've been gathering nearby—surrounding us—waiting for us to bleed supplies dry."
The monster intelligence was higher than he'd assumed—whether that was because they were group-type monsters or because they were simply strong, he didn't know. But this wasn't the time to analyze.
Once Bell signaled he was ready, Duncan moved first—running into the night.
Without firelight, the darkness felt like a crouched beast ready to bite.
But dawn was coming, and that made things worse. If they didn't leave now, the morning would turn the forest into a killing field.
Murphy's Law didn't disappoint.
They'd been gone barely ten minutes when a thunderous roar rolled through the distance—expected, and yet still like a punch to the gut. The bears had sensed movement and were broadcasting their presence.
Then the truly crushing part arrived.
The first roar was like an alarm clock.
Roars answered it from multiple directions—front, back, left, right—at least six or seven that they could hear. And for every one that roared, there could be another that stayed silent and moved to ambush.
Even with mental preparation, facing the real thing was different. Planning for the worst and living the worst were not the same—especially when the price was your life.
"Left-front!" Duncan barked instantly. "Bell, you're rear guard. When I make contact, you run forward immediately—don't look back."
His voice cut through Bell's rising panic.
"In this darkness, my magic can actually work at full value. Remember: even if you can't escape, don't tank their attacks. Dodge. Use footwork. You cannot survive a clean hit from them."
From the sound positions, that direction should mean at most two bears could clamp them at once—one of the only "good" outcomes available. Whether it would actually only be two… was another matter.
"I understand!" Bell answered, gripping his dagger tighter, lips dry.
The distance collapsed quickly—everyone was sprinting.
Ahead, the forest began to break.
Trees toppled in sequence with massive impacts, as if something armored was driving straight through the woods.
Then the bear emerged.
A giant silhouette—its paw alone as large as an adult's upper body—swung without warning at Duncan.
They split exactly as planned the instant it entered their sightline.
Bell didn't hesitate—he ran, straight forward, no backward glance.
Duncan pivoted and drove in, spear turning like a white flash.
It was like a scooter turning against a heavy armored tank: their full-speed sprint might be similar, but in a tight redirection the bear couldn't compete with Duncan's agility.
Before the "carrier" could fully reorient, Duncan's spear point was already at its neck.
The bear sensed danger behind it and, without even turning, whipped its massive paw backward in a brutal slap.
Steel met something that felt like steel.
The spear point scraped across the paw with harsh resistance—this weapon could cleave thick timber, but even Duncan's full-force strike couldn't sever the limb.
And even if the entire spearhead sank in, compared to that paw's sheer mass, it was barely more than skin-deep.
That was the reality of Lv.2.
Not world-shaking, not mythic—still within the "wuxia" end of the spectrum. Fast. Strong. Superhuman by Earth standards.
But not yet the realm where gestures rewrite landscapes.
That gulf—between low-level and high-level adventurers—was an abyss.
And right now, Duncan was fighting something that sat on the far side of it.
....
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