Tonight, Fenric could finally re‑enter a dungeon.
He spent the school day distracted. Teachers droned, pages turned, and none of it stuck. His mind had already stepped through midnight and into the Mountain Village Old Corpse nightmare.
At last, the final afternoon bell rang.
Jingle—
Desks scraped. Backpacks zipped. Students stampeded for freedom. Fenric slid his books into the desk compartment, locked up, and rose to leave.
But as he stepped out, a stir rippled through the doorway.
"It’s Isla!"
"Why’s she here?"
"She’s coming to our class?"
Isla Wynn—the acknowledged school flower hadn’t gone home. Instead, she walked straight into Fenric’s classroom.
Anywhere she appeared, heads turned. Hormone‑heavy high school boys practically vibrated around her. Today was no different—except this time she didn’t glance, she approached.
Under a field of laser‑focused stares, Isla stopped in front of Fenric, held out a card, and asked softly:
"Fenric, tomorrow’s my birthday. I’d like to invite you to my party. Can you come?"
"..."
"..."
Silence detonated.
The entire room froze. You could almost hear the splintering of a thousand fragile adolescent hearts.
For three full years, Isla had coolly rejected every confession—rich boys, athlete types, even the sports‑car stunt by campus legend Tazhan.
Untouchable. Icy. Unreachable.
And now she’d come in person to invite a boy?!
Dozens of boys stared at Fenric, stricken. What does he have that I don’t?!
If looks could kill, Fenric would’ve been ventilated.
He accepted the invitation with an easy smile. "If I’m free tomorrow, I’ll be there."
"Hiss!!"
Gasps. If you’re free? Half the class wanted to stuff him head‑first into a locker. If it had been them, they’d have RSVP’d while diving through a windshield.
But the truth was, Fenric had meant to decline. He already had Lin Mei; his head and heart were pledged. And a girl like Isla Wynn came wrapped in attention—and trouble. Low‑profile growth and needless drama didn’t mix.
He only softened his response because a flat refusal in public would embarrass her. Whatever else he was, Fenric wasn’t socially tone‑deaf.
Isla didn’t press. "My address and number are on the card. If you can make it, please come. If you can’t, text me." She gave him one last searching look—still testing that nagging suspicion he might be Shura—then turned and left.
Fenric slipped the invitation into his pocket and headed out amid the silent implosion of his classmates’ worldviews.
At home, Father Eric was already on shift. Fenric cooked, ate, cleaned up—and sat down to write a suicide note.
Cold? Maybe. Practical? Absolutely.
The Old Corpse in Mountain Village was lethal. Even knowing the plot, even armed and hardened, he couldn’t claim 100% survival odds. If he didn’t come back, Father Eric needed to access the bank funds and live without breaking his body in shift work.
He wrote passwords. Instructions. A few lines he might never otherwise say aloud.
When he finished, he folded the note, sealed it, and hid it where his father would eventually find it.
Confidence was one thing; contingency planning was another.
He stretched, slowed his breathing, and rested. Facing Renée Chu (Ghost) demanded peak condition.
12:00 a.m. The alarm chimed.
Fenric opened his eyes, pressed the Samsara tattoo on his wrist, and allowed himself to dissolve.
He re‑formed in the Samsara Space.
"System, send me to the Samsara Tower."
One blink later, he stood before the Tower’s entrance. The Top‑100 Master List shimmered to one side; he brushed past it and stepped in.
He’d already cleared the First Stage—which is locked now. So he went straight to the Second Stage.
A service spirit appeared. "Greetings, Samsara Player Shura. How may I assist you?"
"I’m here for a dungeon run."
"Please select your target world."
A holographic menu bloomed:
Kung Fu Jungle(Simple)
Mountain Village Old Corpse(Nightmare)
Fenric didn’t hesitate. He tapped Mountain Village Old Corpse.
Light snapped. He materialized in the usual white preparation chamber—empty, walls displaying a countdown.
56:00 until the instance starts.
He sat cross‑legged and closed his eyes.
Ten minutes later, another figure dropped in. Then a third. A fifth. A tenth.
By the half‑hour mark, more than a dozen had gathered. That was a lot of volunteers for a nightmare‑grade run.
Fenric opened his eyes and let a faint smile curl.
Here for me? Interesting.