Before the roots could ambush and anchor the tanks, Shane muttered under his breath.

  “[Fireball].”

  He visualized a ground-level heatwave rather than an actual ball of fire this time.

  The mana ignited in a precise ribbon across the grass. It swept over the churning trails of dirt where the Dryads were snaking their tendrils toward the tanks. But Shane’s skill got there first.

  A sheet of thin red heat, barely a foot tall, erupted along the turf, flash-baking the shallow tunnels.

  It wasn’t hot enough to cause heavy damage, but the sudden temperature spike caused the monsters’ slick, wet roots to hiss and recoil underground. The creatures aborted their sneak attack and ripped their steaming limbs out of the dirt, revealing themselves at last.

  [Shambling Dryad]

  Rank: D

  Bloated timber that learned to hunger for blood. Their bark is perpetually sodden, creating an illusion that they are immune to fire.

  Furious, the Dryads continued to charge since the heat was too weak to burn them. But they stiffened, losing their flexibility, causing their wooden roots to slow down.

  Thanks to the wall of fire, the tanks were able to ready their positions.

  But the Dryads started thrashing their giant branches around wildly to ward off attackers. The whip-like boughs swept the area in short, violent arcs.

  The tanks caught the massive limbs on their shields, deflecting the crushing blows downward to jam the wood into the mud.

  The melee fighters immediately darted into the kill zone, ducking under the lesser horizontal swipe and sliding through the slurry of earth and water, their boots sucking at the ground to get inside the Dryad’s guard.

  Their target was a gnarled burl on the main trunk, way below where the shoulder branch connected. Its heart was hiding buried within that dense, swirling lump of wood.

  One of the swordsmen lunged, hammering the swollen knot, chips of wet bark flying with every strike. But the monster’s regeneration was faster, with thick, amber sap oozing rapidly from the cracks, filling the gouges the sword had made. It hardened instantly, turning the damage into a smooth shield over the wound and slowing the blade down.

  The swordsman’s thrust was true, but it would easily lose all its momentum punching through the resin.

  The melee fighter’s arms drew back. Even through the thrashing branches, Shane tracked the trajectory of a reinforced [Strike] skill.

  His eyes narrowed as he felt an instinctive cringe, like watching a car crash in slow motion.

  The swordsman wouldn’t be able to make the kill.

  Before he even finished analyzing the failure, his fingers were already snapping, casting two rapid [Fireballs] the size of bullets. Two condensed beads of fire whizzed through the air and struck the Dryad’s shoulder exactly where the blade was about to land.

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  The sticky resin instantly vaporized, and the sudden flash-drying caused the moisture inside the wood to expand, blasting the bark outward just moments before the sword connected. The melee hunter’s blade sunk right into the fresh split, effortlessly piercing the exposed red core.

  The Dryad shuddered, its massive whipping limbs going limp.

  Surprised that the monster fell in one hit, the melee hunter glanced back, trying to see why his blow was suddenly so effective. Shane didn’t meet the hunter’s eyes, simply shifting his aim to the next target. It became a pattern.

  Every time a Dryad crumbled with Shane’s help, a small notification pinged in the corner of his vision, updating his kill achievement.

  The party maintained this cycle for several minutes.

  The rhythm was fast, clean, and required very few mid-fight adjustments from the team lead. Accustomed to a certain struggle, she smiled with satisfaction, while Whitley’s eyes darted around nervously.

  ...This was why Shane’s conflict with the ranged DPS had intensified.

  Shane, who’d never worked with this team before, was syncing up with them too well.

  After all, he’d spent years fighting as part of a unit. His experience was on a whole other level.

  Hell, he’d led squads of greenhorns into real combat and brought them all back. Compared to that, a simple support role like this was a piece of cake.

  On top of that, the dungeon itself was a perfect match for him. A forest full of wooden monsters was basically asking to be set on fire. The leader had been thrilled, saying how lucky they were to find a freelance fire-mage.

  With the battle going so smoothly, the other team members started murmuring among themselves.

  “Damn, we’re going through twice our usual speed.”

  “He’s a good support, I’ll give him that.”

  “But does HQ know we’re running with an outsider? If the Guildmaster finds out we couldn’t handle a C-rank alone, our performance review is cooked.”

  “We had no choice, our other mage bailed, remember? Better make sure the combat logs show we did the heavy lifting.”

  They were from the famous Wynn Guild, and even if Shane had just made their job easier, they weren’t too thrilled about being upstaged by some random freelance hunter. Especially the other ranged guys.

  Shane observed the wear and tear of their gear. It definitely wasn’t top-tier. The lead Tank’s shields bore the Wynn crest, but the insignia was so dented and chipped it was barely recognizable.

  Though Shane had meticulously optimized his build by fine-tuning his skill set, for the party to be so easily outclassed meant they were likely a B-team running on the guild’s hand-me-downs.

  “Bet Team 1 is diving an A-rank gate right now with our star S-rank. Getting spoon-fed the best loot.”

  “Who knows? If we clear this in under an hour, Management might finally read our requisition form for new bows.”

  The hunters nearby snorted with laughter at the jab.

  A quick status check showed two other ranged DPS in the party had B-rank ranged skills. One of them, though, had all his other skills at C-rank or below. Not much different from Shane, really.

  And that hunter was none other than Whitley Barlowe, the guy that continued to get an earful from the team lead.

  Whitley, being on the older side, was clearly pissed off by the young leader’s constant criticism. His anger seemed to be dialed up to eleven especially, because he’d originally written Shane off as a nobody.

  “Perfect!” the leader shouted, clapping as they finished off the last monster.The others cheered with her, but Whitley just stood there. “Hunter Barlowe, that’s how you provide ranged support.”

  Whitley remained rigid at the back line, his bow gripped so tight his knuckles were white.

  “Yeah, got it,” he muttered.

  To be honest, Whitley hadn’t been this sloppy at the start of the raid.

  His mistakes began to pile up as soon as Shane stepped in as ranged support.

  He’d also been taking little jabs at Shane from the second he joined the party.

  ‘This dungeon is a cakewalk for fire-class casters. Guess this is what they call beginner’s luck!’

  ‘The leader’s always had a soft spot for casters since she’s one, too. But you know, if you wanna make a living as a hunter, you’ll need more than just one [Fireball].’

  The guy had a real talent for backhanded compliments.

  His plan was so obvious it was almost sad, trying to get a rise out of Shane so he could play the victim.

  But from the beginning Shane had given him zero reaction, more out of fear that his [Behavior Lock] would interfere.

  During the short downtime after the fight, Whitley unslung his bow and started checking the strings and wiping down the limbs with a rag. This was the first time he didn’t try to aggravate Shane with a snide remark.

  Whitley refused to look up, his jaw set tight, just focusing on an imaginary speck of dirt on his unused weapon. He looked more tired than angry.

  Perhaps he finally conceded defeat and decided to leave Shane alone.

  But when Shane walked past him to get water from one of the party members, Whitley mumbled under his breath.

  “Must be nice.”