With a disgusted hiss, Bree jumped down, her boots slamming against the dirt.

She swung her hand viciously, smacking the back of her puppet's head.

The man collapsed instantly to his knees, forehead pressing into the earth. His voice trembled, desperate and fearful. "I—I'm sorry, my queen!"

But the words only stoked the fire in her chest.

"Shut up," she spat, her voice sharp, venom dripping from every syllable. "Disgusting."

Her fists clenched tight at her sides, her nails digging into her palms again. Her teeth ground together as she glared down at the puppet, veins dancing along her temples.

"I want him…" she whispered, voice heavy with obsession. "Only him…"

A manic smile stretched across her face. Her hands shot up, clutching at her own cheeks as though to contain the madness brimming inside her.

She chuckled, low at first, then higher, more frenzied.

The remaining puppets shuffled back toward her, forming a wall of hollow devotion, but she paid them no mind.

Her gaze slid back to the survivors—those trembling, bleeding players who had somehow evaded immediate slaughter. Her lips curled with disdain.

"Disgusting weaklings," she hissed.

Then, without another glance at the carnage, she turned to her puppets.

"Let's go," she ordered. Her tone shifted, dripping with hunger. "Let's go after that player."

Her heart pounded at the mere thought. He was the only one.

The only man who could truly satisfy her cravings, who could make her feel alive.

Her cheeks flushed faintly, reddening with a twisted heat. She let out another chuckle, softer this time, almost tender, as her tongue brushed across her lips.

"I won't rest on the back of any other man…" she whispered, her eyes glowing with mad obsession. "…except you."

And as her puppets fell in line, their blank eyes fixed forward, Bree's laughter lingered in the night, low and chilling, echoing across the blood-soaked ground.

*

Meanwhile…

Riley walked slowly, his steps measured, echoing faintly against the stone walls of the dungeon.

His boots crunched softly against the uneven floor, carrying him deeper into the suffocating darkness.

Before, the tunnel had been utterly black—thick shadows pressing in on every side, swallowing everything whole—but as he continued forward, the path grew brighter.

Faint at first, almost unnoticeable, until it became clearer the further he went.

The glowing mosses on the walls and crystals slowly grew more abundant the deeper he went, until their combined light painted the cavern in a cold, eerie glow.

It was almost beautiful, in a twisted way—this dungeon, filled with death and danger, still had a strange kind of allure.

From the time he had killed that beast until now, Riley hadn't encountered another player. Not a single one. No footsteps trailing him, no voices echoing from further ahead. Nothing.

But there were signs—signs that they had been here, that others had walked this path before him.

Bloodstains smeared the floor and walls, some still wet, others already dark and crusted.

Bodies of NPCs lay slumped against the rocks, their lifeless eyes staring into nothing, their mouths frozen in silent screams. Limbs torn apart. Chests ripped open.

Riley narrowed his eyes as he passed them one after another.

They weren't players. They were NPCs. Helpless villagers dragged into this nightmare, slaughtered by the beasts that prowled these halls before players even reached them.

He didn't slow down. He didn't stop. But each corpse was like a silent reminder—every step he took was on a path paved with the lives of the weak.

And then—

A chill suddenly ran down his spine.

Riley froze, his body tightening, his hand instinctively brushing against the dagger strapped to his side. His eyes flicked behind him.

The faint glow of the moss stretched back into the distance. The tunnel was silent, empty, unmoving.

"There's nothing there…" he muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes.

He wasn't mistaken though. That chill—his instincts weren't something to be ignored. He had felt too many eyes on his back in his past life to ever mistake it.

The faint light didn't reveal much, but for him, it was more than enough. His vision cut through the darkness like it was nothing.

That was the gift of his new class. A passive ability woven into him now. He could see in the darkest nights as though it were dusk.

Every crack in the stone wall, every shimmer of moss, every faint ripple of air—his eyes missed nothing.

Even so, he turned his gaze forward again. Whatever was behind him wasn't worth lingering on.

His mind, however, wandered.

Bree.

Her face suddenly appeared in his thoughts. Her sly smile. Her false sweetness. Her eyes that hid poison behind them.

Riley's jaw tightened.

"Bree… I should stay away from her." he muttered.

He knew what she was. He knew what her terrifying talent could do.

In his past life, he hadn't been so lucky. He hadn't been so aware.

Back then, he was naïve. Weak. Too trusting. Too desperate for allies.

He had formed a team, clinging to the idea that survival was easier in numbers.

They had laughed together, fought side by side, even shared food and stories. He thought they were friends.

But he was wrong.

It was all an act.

They betrayed him.

He still remembered the look in their eyes when they finally revealed the truth.

They didn't care about him. He was nothing but a tool. A disposable piece. A "spare point."

That's what they called him.

A backup.

When they needed an extra boost, when they were cornered, when they needed someone to sacrifice—they had planned from the very beginning to throw him away.

He barely survived that betrayal. Barely escaped with his life.

And then, stumbling, wounded, lost, he encountered her.

Bree.

He could never forget that moment.

She had been cornered by monsters, her puppets broken, her strength failing. She had been desperate. And when her eyes landed on him, weak and alone, she smiled.

That was the first time she used her talent on him.

His body stiffened against his will. His mind screamed to run, to fight, to resist—but his limbs ignored him.

His dagger slipped from his hand. His legs moved without his command. His mouth opened, words spilling out that he hadn't chosen.

He became her puppet.

A puppet to buy her time, to shield her from death.

The memory still clawed at him.

He could still feel it—the throbbing ache in his skull, like his head was splitting open.

The suffocating pressure, like invisible chains binding his body.

The horror of watching his own hands move without his permission. The terror of being trapped inside himself, screaming silently as his body fought and bled for someone else.

A shiver ran down his spine. His fingers tightened into a fist.

It had been horrible.

Unforgivable.

And the worst part?

Back then, he had been too weak to stop her. Too dumb, too gullible.

Not anymore.

This time, he wasn't the same naïve fool she had toyed with.

This time, if Bree tried to sink her claws into him again, she would regret it.

Riley steadied his breathing, his hand brushing against the rough stone wall as he advanced deeper into the dungeon.

For now, he had only one goal in mind: to find the key to the boss room. Without that, progress was impossible.

This was just the first floor of the dungeon, and already it demanded precision, patience, and blood.

There were still five more floors beneath this one, each more dangerous than the last.

Each floor carried its own theme, its own paths, and its own monsters. None of them were alike. Riley knew that very well.

The dungeon's design was intentional—each level reshaped the pace of progression, designed to whittle down the weak and test the resolve of those who dared venture deeper.

The first floor, unlike the others, was deceptively large.

It resembled a sprawling underground tunnel network, twisting and splitting into countless paths that intersected and looped back on themselves.

A maze meant to exhaust and disorient, especially those who lacked patience.

More than one unlucky player had lost themselves down here, wandering until death came clawing at their heels.

It was also the largest floor, the most confusing. The following levels would grow smaller but far deadlier, each filled with unique challenges.

But the trial of the first was its sheer size, its endless paths, and the beasts lurking within the shadows.

And, of course, every floor came with its own boss. Without defeating it, moving forward was impossible.

But even before facing the floor's boss, there was another requirement: finding the key that unlocked the boss chamber.

The key was never simply handed out. It was hidden, tucked into the most inconvenient places, often guarded by stronger monsters or laid amidst treacherous traps.

That was the dungeon's nature—forcing players to bleed before they could take even a step forward.

But Riley had an advantage that others did not. In his past life, he had walked this path before. He knew where the first floor's key was hidden.

A faint smirk tugged at his lips as he moved forward, his steps echoing softly against the stone.

He was about to turn into another path when the faint sound of footsteps reached his ears. His smirk faded, and his eyes narrowed sharply. Someone was coming.

The sound grew louder—fast, unsteady steps, almost like people fleeing. His fingers brushed against the hilt of his dagger as he turned his head toward the sound.

From a side passage, three players emerged.

They stumbled into view, panting heavily, their clothes stained with blood and dirt.