CHAPTER 26: CH26:- DUNGEON BOSS IN HUMAN WORLD

At the Shadow Clan headquarters, whispers and urgent orders filled the darkened halls. The elders had decided to send a contingent of hunters back to the dungeon, not for glory, not for vengeance, but for one clear purpose: to map its twisting corridors and tunnels. The high-tier mana crystals rumored to lie within were worth a king’s ransom, coveted across nations, and the Shadow Clan had no intention of leaving them for anyone else. Billions of gold in raw magical energy awaited those bold enough to claim it.

The hunters entered the dungeon with cautious steps, weapons drawn and eyes scanning every shadow. At first, the air seemed calm, too calm, but as they advanced, the grim truth became undeniable. Bodies littered the floor, torn and bloodied, remnants of the last expedition. The stench of death was thick, curling into their noses and sticking to their throats.

"They... they didn’t even leave a trail," one hunter muttered, voice shaking, as he stepped over the corpse of a fellow clan member.

Undeterred, they pressed deeper, navigating the twisting passages to retrieve the fallen. But as they searched room after room, their unease hardened into dread. One body, in particular, was missing. Devin.

Even as panic began to prick at their confidence, the hunters noticed something else: the high-tier mana crystals, the treasure they had come for, were gone. Every ring, every shard that had glimmered like starlight in the darkness was vanished without a trace.

The realization hit them like a cold blade. Devin had taken it all.

When the hunters returned, the Shadow Clan minions relayed every detail to the elite—every corpse, every empty chest, and the impossible absence of Devin. Murmurs turned into shouts. Rage filled the council chambers. The elders’ eyes narrowed, teeth grinding.

"He took what belongs to us," one of the minions hissed, his voice trembling with fear and fury. "He survived... and he escaped."

The Shadow Clan’s elite wasted no time. Devin was now marked. Every resource, every soldier, every hunter at their disposal would be unleashed to hunt him down, retrieve the stolen items, and spill the blood that had evaded them.

The message was clear, chilling in its simplicity: Devin was now public enemy number one.

The human world hit him like a slap of light and sound.

Not unbearable in the sense of pain or danger—at least, not yet—but bright. So blindingly, offensively bright that Baelgor’s glowing eyes narrowed into thin slits, lids squinting as though he were an elderly man peering into a sunrise. Every streetlamp and reflection off glass made his vision flare painfully, and for a moment he wondered if mortals had been cursed by some cosmic trick just to torture their fragile senses.

Buildings rose above him, taller than the highest spires of his dungeon, gleaming towers of metal and stone that seemed impossibly fragile compared to the solid rock and ancient architecture he was used to. From his vantage, the humans below were ants. Tiny, fleeting, delicate things, scurrying in clusters along the streets, their movements chaotic and uncoordinated. He felt their weakness in his bones, every step, every breath, a flicker of fragile mortality. One glance at the wrong angle, and—oh yes—he could crush them like insects beneath a boot.

He flexed his claws, feeling the raw power coiling under his skin. He tried very hard not to.

"Self-control... must... restrain... my claw," he muttered, the words almost a mantra as he stepped carefully, heels scraping cobblestones, boots kicking up dust. His muscles twitched, straining to snap or crush, and yet he forced himself forward with deliberate caution.

The humans noticed him, of course. The hunters’ clothes he’d scavenged—a tunic wrinkled and stained with dirt, boots caked in mud, a belt hanging crookedly—only emphasized his strange presence. Heads turned. Whispers rippled through the crowd like water over stones.

"Hey... that guy... he must be a hunter," one said nervously, eyes darting.

"Yeah... look at his stance. He’s... confident," another replied, voice tinged with awe.

Baelgor’s grin stretched impossibly wide. Recognition. Respect. Validation. Humans were not the fools he had assumed. They had seen his authority, sensed his kingship, even through the guise of ragged clothing. Excellent. Perfect. He reveled in it, a beast among tiny creatures who bowed in acknowledgment without even realizing it.

For the first time, stepping into this world of light and fragile life, Baelgor felt... pleasure.

Baelgor strode down the crowded street, chin lifted, shoulders back, tail swinging with casual majesty, every step echoing like the drumbeat of a king entering his court. The sunlight glinted off the uneven pavement, casting a halo around his monstrous silhouette—yet no one dared step closer. Humans scattered slightly, whispers trailing after him, unsure whether to gape or run.

And then... disaster struck.

From a narrow alleyway, three goons leapt into his path. Young, reckless, ignorant humans, each brandishing a dagger that barely gleamed under the sunlight. They looked tough in their own minds, but to Baelgor, they were fragile, desperate little insects.

"Oi! Hand over your stuff, kid!" one barked, thrusting a D-tier knife as though its presence alone could command fear.

Baelgor froze mid-step, tilting his head as if inspecting a peculiar insect. A gift? he thought, bemused. How quaint.

"Oh... you... offer me this?" he murmured, reaching out with a claw the size of a forearm to tap the tiny blade. "How... cute."

He bent it gently, turning it over in his massive claw to admire its craftsmanship—and SNAP. The blade split cleanly in two, jagged edges glinting like lightning.

The goons froze, mouths agape. Their bravado crumbled instantly. This was not a trembling boy, not a frightened hunter—they were facing something else entirely. Something S-tier. Something boss-level.

"You... you... you’re not human! You’re S-tier! A... a boss! Oh gods..." one stammered, eyes wide as saucers.

They scrambled backward, dropping the other daggers as if molten lava had appeared beneath their feet. "Please, Boss! Spare us! We... we bow to you!"

Baelgor’s grin widened, stretching impossibly across his face. Their fear, their recognition, their instantaneous obedience—it was intoxicating. He spread his claws in a grand gesture, lowering his aura just enough that it didn’t crush their fragile mortal bodies beneath the sheer weight of his presence.

"Yes, yes... this is how mortals bless their king," he intoned, leaning closer to touch their foreheads. A faint, glowing mark pulsed onto each of them—the sigil of Baelgor. A subtle wave of his power rippled outward, making the humans shiver with awe and reverence.

"Now... go. Serve your king well," he declared, voice booming yet melodic, as if narrating a scene in a grand action epic. Imaginary wings flared behind his shoulders, a nonexistent cape fluttering in the breeze, every movement dripping theatrical perfection.

The goons bolted, whispering to one another about the "mysterious S-tier hunter" who could split knives with a single hand, hearts hammering in their chests.

Baelgor straightened his tunic, adjusted the crooked belt, and nodded to himself, tail flicking with pride. He continued down the street, each step radiating confidence and latent terror.

"Yes... this world... this world is... delightful," he muttered, nostrils flaring at the mingling scents of humans, street food, and magic lingering in the air.

And somewhere, deep in the back of his mind, a single thought crystallized, sharp as a blade: I must find the humans who practice The Ritual... and understand these fragile things better.

Little did he know, these first steps into the absurdly bright, delicate, and chaotic human world were only the beginning of his grand conquest—by pleasure, ramen, and casual, terrifying intimidation.