The fifth floor of the Sanhell Dungeon was an 'Oasis.'
In any standard dungeon, an Oasis was a designated safe zone. It was supposed to be a sanctuary where adventurers could rest, trade mana stones, repair their gear, and bask in a warm, artificial light. But right now... this Oasis was completely dead. Aside from the six of them, the sprawling cavern was empty and hollow.
"One hour break. Check your gear and monitor your mana levels," Mosin ordered, his eyes sweeping over the squad.
The party scattered to their respective corners. Sarah collapsed against a boulder, intentionally distancing herself from the loud, booming laughter of the vanguards. Her hands hadn't stopped shaking.
...I’m a burden.
The thought echoed endlessly in her mind. The S-Class Support, someone who had always taken pride in her rank, was being eaten alive by fear. The wet, rotting stench of the High Lone Wolf's breath on her neck still haunted her. If Mythy hadn't fired that spell on the fourth floor, her throat would have been ripped out. She had stood there like a paralyzed target, completely incapable of protecting herself despite her S-Class mana pool.
The crushing weight of her own uselessness made it hard to breathe. Suddenly, a gloved hand rested gently on her shoulder.
"It's fine," Mosin said, his voice relaxed. "It's just a C-Rank dungeon. It makes sense that you haven't really had to do anything yet. Just save your mana for when we actually need it."
Sarah looked up at the leader's faint smile. She nodded slowly. "I'm... I'm fine."
She gave the verbal confirmation, but her hands gripped her magical staff so tightly her knuckles turned white. Creak...The sound of the straining wood was barely audible under the heavy silence.
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Once he was sure the team was resting, Mosin quietly slipped away, walking deep into the artificial forest of the Oasis. The moment he was out of sight, the cold, collected mask of the leader shattered.
BOOM—!!!
A concentrated wave of pure telekinetic rage erupted from him, violently crushing a massive tree into splinters.
"Damn it! Arrogant bastards! Fuck!" Mosin cursed, gripping his head as veins bulged on his forehead. "I am the leader! You are supposed to listen to me! That brat... all of them!"
His patience had snapped. Being completely bypassed, watching his team treat a collapsing dungeon like a playground while blatantly disrespecting his authority—it was tearing his ego to shreds.
As he stood there, panting heavily...
"Kill them..."
A raspy, freezing whisper slithered out from the dark shadows behind him.
"Scream at them... Be strict... Break them... If you don't dare, you'll just be a pathetic idiot standing by while they play their little games..."
Mosin flinched. His psychic energy instantly flared outward like razor-sharp blades. "Who the hell is that?! Show yourself! Stay out of my head!"
There was no answer. Only a mocking, hollow laugh that echoed in his skull before slowly fading back into the darkness. Trembling with a toxic mix of rage and confusion, Mosin unleashed another massive psychic shockwave into the forest ground, desperately trying to purge the madness.
...
An hour later, at the rally point.
Uncle and Michael were still laughing, trading terrible jokes like old veterans. Meijin strolled back, casually spinning a dagger. Sarah followed, her face still a shade too pale, and Mythy trailed behind, his hands stuffed in his pockets with that same, insufferable look of absolute boredom.
Mosin walked back into the group. His face was perfectly calm, cold, and flawless. Not a single person noticed the dark, murky storm raging behind his eyes.
"Alright, let's go," Meijin said, sheathing his dagger with a sharp snick. "Let's clear this trash dungeon and get out of here. What a waste of time."
None of them knew it yet... but the cracks in their leader's mind had already been split wide open by whatever was truly running this dungeon.
