CHAPTER 82: CH 82: DEALING WITH THE BOSS- PART 1

The dungeon felt like it was pulsing with heat and danger at every step.

Fenrir slashed through the latest wave of fire-type monsters, his breath ragged and his limbs aching.

His endurance was being pushed to its limits. He wiped the sweat from his brow, the air shimmering with heat around him.

"These things just don’t stop."

He muttered, glancing at the molten cracks running beneath his feet.

The constant battles were draining. Even with his buffs and enhanced stats, this was starting to wear him down.

He reached into his pouch and pulled out another potion, uncorking it and downing the bitter liquid in one go.

But instead of the familiar surge of recovery washing through him, he only felt a dull warmth in his limbs—no burst of vitality, no noticeable relief.

"...What?"

His system pinged right after.

[Alert: Potion Saturation Detected. Recovery potion effectiveness has dropped to 50% for the next 24 hours.]

Fenrir clicked his tongue and stared at the empty vial in his hand.

"Of course. I’ve been chugging these things like water."

He knew about potion saturation in theory—using too many recovery items too quickly dulled their effects—but this was the first time he’d ever hit the threshold.

It only reinforced how brutal this dungeon was. The monster population had clearly ballooned from neglect, and Fenrir was paying the price.

He sat down against a cool patch of stone, letting his body slump as he sighed.

His muscles throbbed, his stamina bar was low, and he had no intention of burning through more supplies for half the effect. He needed rest, even if it was just for a few hours.

"Looks like I’m camping here tonight."

He muttered, closing his eyes briefly.

Fenrir leaned against a jagged outcrop of cooled obsidian and let his eyes drift shut.

The swirling heat of the S-class dungeon was stifling, but for the first time in hours, his body wasn’t moving, and that alone brought relief.

Around him, the glow of his barrier stones pulsed faintly, warding off any low-level stragglers.

He tossed a few meat chunks toward the small pile where the hamster trio was curled up, already snoring.

Nedrax had sprawled across a flat boulder, tail lazily flicking as his nostrils puffed small clouds of smoke with each breath.

They were tired too. That is why, Fenrir sent them back to his personal dungeon.

"Rest while you can. I’ll call you when I need you again."

Fenrir said softly, adjusting the barrier one last time.

Unlike his companions, he couldn’t afford to completely let down his guard. The outside world was too volatile now—especially with the tower quest announcement.

If someone tracked his signal, or if guild members patrolled the area for rare materials, they might try to find him.

In this situation, ignorance wasn’t just risky—it was suicidal. So he stayed in the dungeon.

After a few hours, when the heat began to feel less like a suffocating weight and more like background noise, Fenrir stood and stretched.

He felt the sharp twinges of his worn muscles and resisted the urge to take another potion.

"Let’s go."

He said finally getting up.\Refreshed, but still cautious of his potion limits, Fenrir made his way toward the area the system had marked—the valley rumored to house the Mystica Herba.

The terrain twisted the deeper he went: walls of scorched earth folded in on themselves, and glowing veins of magma pulsed beneath his feet.

Finally, he reached the edge of a shallow valley—and stopped.

Four hunters were already there.

They crouched near patches of strange herbs, picking them carefully while chatting among themselves.

One of them laughed as he bagged a leaf.

"This thing’s going to sell for a fortune. Can’t believe someone found a precious thing just lying around."

Fenrir narrowed his eyes.

He recognized the herb immediately—Fake Mystic, harmless and useless unless you were making decorative elixirs. But its presence meant something far more important.

Where the fake grew, the true herb wasn’t far behind.

He was about to step forward, maybe warn them off or ignore them altogether, when a sudden shift in the air made his instincts flare.

The pressure around the valley plummeted. The earth beneath his feet trembled faintly.

His entire body tensed.

"...What the hell is this?"

One of the hunters asked, standing up and scanning the area.

Fenrir’s eyes darted toward the source of the pressure, his hand already moving toward his gun. Whatever was coming, it wasn’t weak—and it definitely wasn’t friendly.

Fenrir’s eyes narrowed as the oppressive pressure grew stronger.

From the hazy, smoke-filled sky, a massive shape descended with an eerie grace—wings wide enough to cast a shadow over the entire valley.

A piercing screech echoed through the dungeon, sharp enough to rattle bones.

The massive bird landed silently, claws digging into the scorched earth, talons sparking against the stone.

Its feathers shimmered with molten gold and red, flickering like fire itself. Its eyes glowed with intelligence and malice.

The careless hunters were still oblivious.

Fenrir cursed under his breath.

The boss had arrived.

The giant bird glanced at the humans with mild annoyance. Instead of attacking, it flapped its wings once and sent a shockwave through the valley.

The hunters screamed as they were thrown aside like rag dolls, tumbling into rocks and debris.

They groaned and coughed, dazed, but alive. Fenrir exhaled, a little impressed that the boss had restrained itself.

The bird then turned away from them and loomed protectively over the field of herbs. Its massive form settled like a guardian, wings half-spread, watching everything from its perch.

The hunters, now nursing bruises, began to scramble to their feet.

"W-What was that?"

One muttered.

"Is that the boss monster of this dungeon? Since when do they show up out of nowhere?"

Another gritted his teeth.

"We’re all A-class. If we use our best weapons, we can probably take it out!"

Fenrir’s lips curled downward. Idiots.

The group drew their weapons and approached the monster cautiously.

But the moment they stepped too close, the giant bird lashed out with one wing.

A gust of wind and burning mana swept through the area, sending all four flying again, harder this time.

They slammed against the rocky walls, weapons clattering to the ground.

The monster didn’t even chase them. It simply returned to guarding the herbs like a dragon atop its hoard.

"Damn it!" one of the hunters yelled, coughing.

"What do we do now?! We can’t even get close!"

"I’m not leaving without that herb! It’s worth a fortune!"

Fenrir, who had been silently watching, finally stepped forward. His patience was running thin, and their idiocy was beginning to grate on him.

He walked down into the valley slowly, letting his presence be known. The hunters looked up in surprise.

"Hey, who the hell—?"

Fenrir didn’t answer. His eyes were locked onto the boss monster, and his expression was unreadable.

The bird’s glowing gaze turned toward him.

Finally, Fenrir muttered.

"Tch. Guess I’ll handle this myself."

The hunters stared in disbelief as Fenrir advanced without fear. His presence was calm but overwhelming, the air around him crackling with suppressed mana.

The boss monster didn’t attack immediately—it studied him, recognizing something different.

Fenrir rolled his shoulders and whispered.

"I’ll deal with you next."