Shane stood on The High Line, an elevated park built on historic freight tracks above the streets.

  A yellow cab thirty feet below him honked and passed by.

  Directly ahead on the walking path, blocked off by police tape that looked sun-bleached and weathered, was a green dungeon portal.

  For a week, he worked on perfecting his skills while clearing several minor dungeons.

  Skipping the daily quests had been a huge help, allowing him to focus on his own training.

  And he’d managed to pick up three skill points through a few simple achievements he could grind out in the early game. None of them were used yet.

  He was saving them on purpose, just in case something unexpected happened.

  To be honest, the minor dungeons were such a breeze to clear that he didn’t really even get any chance to try out the skill he’d gotten from his sword.

  New! [Weapon: Broken Oath]

  ?New! [Bloodcraft (C-)]

  Not that he would complain.

  The moment he used his new skill meant things had turned especially nasty.

  Oh, and Shane’s plan of avoiding people as much as possible had... failed right from the start.

  There were always a few guilds or parties in static dungeons that needed regular clearing. If he wanted any chance at even grazing a single monster, he had no choice but to team up with other hunters.

  Today, he was entering a C-rank dungeon. Surprisingly, nobody was nearby. Perhaps using his [Insomnia] quirk to his advantage and coming early in the morning had helped.

  As he crossed the unnatural spiral, he felt a lurch as up and down seemed reversed, like when your stomach dropped when an elevator stopped too fast.

  His shoes met the solidity of the ground, and Shane caught his balance.

  He sucked in a sharp breath when the air hit him as if he’d plunged into cold water. His pupils dilated to adjust to the dim light, and in order to focus, he squinted to read the System message.

  [C-rank Dungeon: Canvas Garden]

  A nameless artist sought to capture a perfect Sunday for a city that no longer exists, sealing it within a dome of glass and oil paint. Layers of discarded sketches hunger for a final subject to complete the composition.

  Shane looked up at the sky and only found a high curved ceiling painted blue with dots of crude, white clouds. There was no sun. The only light source was the streetlamps twisted like vines. And wooden benches had fused into the ground as if the earth had swallowed them.

  It was a warped version of a city park. Perhaps Central Park.

  He unconsciously scratched at his throat as the uncomfortable sensation of suffocating in a humid environment engulfed him.

  But, unfortunately, he wasn’t alone.

  The giant W insignia of the Wynn Guild members welcomed Shane as he spotted a party. For a second, the flat lighting made it hard for him to judge how far away they were.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  When he saw a flash of brown hair, his heart stopped, but it turned out to be a woman.

  Okay, so they weren’t the hunters he’d met in the event dungeon. Thankfully.

  The Wynn Guild was the second best in the country, so obviously, he was going to bump into their guild members from time to time. Shane tried to shake off the feeling that this was a bad omen.

  The raid leader was pretty compassionate. Seeing he was by himself, she asked first if he wanted to join her party.

  Since he couldn’t very well kick other people out of the dungeon, he accepted the offer.

  She seemed like the type who used carrots instead of sticks to lead.

  That didn’t mean she never got pissed off, though.

  When they found a suitable stopping point near the woods after a few battles, she called out to an older hunter.

  “Hunter Barlowe, can you come over here for a second?”

  The trees were a greyish blue, as if they were bruised, and looked slick like wet concrete. Shane was sure monsters were hiding in there, but he followed the Wynn Guild’s lead.

  This was the only area with wooden park benches, and his F-rank legs needed rest, unlike these brutish C-rank hunters who could go on much longer than him.

  Whitley Barlowe, the hunter she called over, didn’t look happy.

  To be fair, nobody was.

  The old man was supposed to be covering the melee fighters with his bow, and he was doing a terrible job of it.

  Probably because he’s actually a swordsman class, thought Shane.

  He had no idea why the guy was even holding a ranged weapon.

  It was the third time the idiot had made the same mistake, almost hitting the tanks instead of the monsters with his fucking arrow.

  The man had the audacity to refuse to meet the leader’s eyes as he shuffled over. It seemed less like he felt guilty and more like he just hated being told what to do.

  He was a guy well into his forties, with a permanent frown carved into his face. The bow slung across his back was better made than he looked fit to use, as if it should belong in the hands of someone younger and stronger.

  Whitley was such a liability that even the leader, who seemed to have the patience of a kindergarten teacher, was visibly struggling with him.

  The thing was, Shane might have been part of the reason why.

  “Hunter Ashwell, can you take Hunter Barlowe’s position?”

  Seeing that words wouldn’t reach Whitley, the leader slotted Shane into the old man’s place. Whitley was told to just stay out of the fight and watch.

  The public humiliation made Whitley’s ears turn bright red, as he stiffly retreated to the rear of the formation.

  So much for a rest.

  Shane was definitely being put on the spot.

  The more the party leader expected him to cook, the more Whitley and a few other hunters wanted him to fail. Shane could feel the back of his head tingle from all the glares.

  It wasn’t like he didn’t understand. They were the talented ones that made into the second best guild in the nation. He was just a nameless freelancer.

  But thanks to Whitley’s incompetence, the party leader had been using Shane to prove she has a very “good eye” for a hunter, and trying to curb old man Whitley’s stubbornness through him.

  Which was starting to get annoying.

  But Shane wasn’t going to butcher his performance over some petty social pressure.

  By partying up with the Wynn Guild, Shane was able to farm as many D-rank monsters as they could find while using minimal mana. Taking his cut, so to speak.

  If he landed that last hit or exploited a monster’s weakness, it counted toward the [Kill x numbers of achievement]. Being in the ranged dealer position definitely worked in his favor.

  They’d stare daggers at him if he acted incompetent, anyway.

  The only way to shut idiots up was to show he was in another league, but he wasn’t going to compromise his time and effort to grind for the quest of stopping the First Cataclysm.

  Shane was pretending to be a fire-class caster, so he was treated as a ranged damage dealer. He naturally fell into formation with the others, getting ready to back up the melee fighters.

  The party spread out, their boots sinking into the grass as they slowly approached the treeline.

  The terrain shifted as they pushed deeper into the woods, and the wide paths dissolved into a cluster of timber.

  The Shambling Dryads were perfect mimics, their bark indistinguishable from the grey elms surrounding them. They were probably watching the party, standing motionless, waiting for them to walk into the center of their formation.

  The pale trunks stood like grave markers, hiding the wooden monsters within their midst. The branches were stiff, refusing to sway despite the wind. Naturally, the forest itself was against them.

  This was a dungeon, after all.

  The entire grove was holding its breath, waiting for them to take one more step.

  The Wynn Guild tanks in the front slowed down, raising their shields.

  The Shambling Dryads followed a certain pattern. Hiding between trees, they were silent until ready to attack, and their only warning was a subtle, churning sound from beneath the soil as their wet-concrete roots drove up from the damp earth.

  It was usually muffled by the clanking of the tanks’ armor, but Shane caught it instantly, because his [Insomnia] quirk forced his senses into a painful overdrive. Normally, this meant every noise felt like a needle in his ear and bright lights triggered migraines, but at least it had its use in battles.

  As the lead tank took a heavy step forward, Shane saw the dirt shift slightly to the left of the party.