CHAPTER 92: CH 92: THE FINAL FRAGMENT- PART 2

The entrance to the dungeon named Beginner’s Adventure was chaotic.

Fenrir had barely stepped inside when he found himself surrounded by crowds—hunters of all levels, guild scouts, solo rankers, and even a few merchant peddlers trying to sell low-level gear.

The number of people milling about inside the dungeon made it feel more like a festival than a place meant for combat and training.

There was hardly room to breathe, much less move freely.

"Tch."

Fenrir clicked his tongue as someone brushed against his shoulder.

"Hey, watch it! Did I just bump into a wall?"

A hunter snapped at the empty space Fenrir had already vacated. Another muttered.

Fenrir ignored the noise. With a flick of his wrist, he activated his concealment cloak—one of the many crafted tools in his arsenal.

Instantly, he vanished from sight, and those around him stumbled, blinking at the place he’d just stood in, now vacant.

"Guess I imagined it."

Someone mumbled as Fenrir made his way further in.

The deeper he went, the thinner the crowd became.

Eventually, the dungeon’s entrance faded behind him, replaced by a more natural setting—rolling hills, small cliffs, and a dense stretch of artificial forest crafted within the dungeon.

This was the main appeal of Beginner’s Adventure: it mimicked real terrain to prepare hunters for real-world battles.

Yet as he moved farther in, Fenrir noticed something peculiar.

Hunters were scattered around, pushing deep into the forest even though they hadn’t been given clearance to do so.

Most were laughing, some setting up makeshift camps, others boasting about how "easy" the dungeon was and how they’d expected more from something reclassified as S-class.

"I told you this would be a joke. Should’ve just cleared a regular dungeon instead of wasting time here."

One A-class hunter grumbled to his party.

Fenrir walked past them silently, ignoring their complaints. His eyes scanned the terrain—quiet, too quiet.

No monsters in sight, not even low-level ones. That wasn’t just unusual. It was suspicious.

"No wonder it’s so empty. They’ve scared them off—or something worse is keeping the monsters at bay."

Fenrir muttered under his breath.

He turned his attention to the treetops and hills around him, and for a brief second, he caught a faint shimmer in the leaves.

A monster watching from above. Then another behind a stone ridge. They were circling, drawn to the gathered hunters like moths to flame, yet oddly hesitant to strike.

"Idiots don’t even know they’re surrounded. If they’re not paying attention, it’s not my job to warn them."

Fenrir sighed.

With that thought, he continued moving. His steps were deliberate, his body calm and in control.

He moved like someone who had long outgrown the challenges this place was supposed to offer.

Far from the safe zones and deeper into the heart of the dungeon, the trees grew denser and the light thinner. The quiet grew heavier.

That’s when the system pinged.

[System Notification:

The final fragment of the ’Echoes of the Tower’ quest has been detected nearby. Would you like to activate tracking mode?]

Fenrir stopped in his tracks, eyes narrowing.

The final fragment.

So it was here.

A part of him wanted to find it using his own senses.

After all, this entire plan—the reason he was reborn, the scattered shards of his previous life’s power—it was all his.

Relying on the system felt almost like cheating, a betrayal of the work he’d done and the instincts he’d cultivated across lifetimes.

But then again, efficiency mattered.

Fenrir sighed and whispered.

"Activate."

The system responded instantly.

[Tracking engaged. Guiding coordinates initiated.]

A faint golden thread of light appeared before him, visible only to his eyes, winding through the trees like a trail of smoke.

Fenrir followed without hesitation.

Behind him, chaos was beginning to stir. The monsters, now emboldened by the noise and numbers, began their assault. Screams and clash of steel echoed faintly, but Fenrir didn’t look back.

"Not my problem."

He muttered.

He had his eyes on something far more important.

The Tower was calling, and this time, the door would open.

______

The golden thread of light guided Fenrir through narrow paths and between looming stone formations until it led him into a massive, open arena buried deep within the dungeon.

The sudden openness made Fenrir halt for a moment. It was quiet—too quiet.

The center of the arena held a single throne carved from obsidian stone, untouched by time or wear.

Resting just above the throne floated a small, glowing light, pulsing softly like a star plucked from the night sky. Its gentle shimmer was in sharp contrast to the dead silence around it.

That was it—the final fragment of the Echoes of the Tower quest.

Fenrir narrowed his eyes.

"Yeah, right. Like it’s ever that easy."

The system may have led him here, but the Tower wasn’t known for giving gifts without a price.

This quest, more than anything else, was designed to test the willpower and survival instincts of those who sought to enter the Tower. It was a filtering mechanism, not a handout.

He scanned the arena.

Boulders were scattered all across the stone floor—too neatly placed to be random.

Each one varied in size, from small enough to sit on to large enough to hide a house behind.

At first glance, they seemed like part of the dungeon’s natural design, but Fenrir had spent far too long in far too many battlefields to take anything at face value.

He took one cautious step into the arena.

The hair on the back of his neck stood on end.

Another step.

The nearest boulder twitched—just barely, but enough for Fenrir to see it.

"Figured."

The ground trembled, and a deep grinding sound echoed through the arena as massive figures began to rise from the stone itself.

The boulders weren’t boulders—they were golems.

Ten of them.

Each towering over three meters tall, with bodies of jagged rock and glowing red cores embedded in their chests.

Their movements were slow but deliberate, and the moment Fenrir stepped deeper into the arena, their eyes lit up with deadly intent.

The first golem charged.

Without hesitation, Fenrir activated Master of Earth, slamming his hand into the ground.

A thick wall of solid stone erupted in front of him just in time to block the first golem’s punch. The shockwave cracked the earth, but the wall held—barely.

Fenrir clicked his tongue.

"Too slow."

He darted sideways before the second golem’s fist could crush him, rolling across the ground and narrowly avoiding a direct hit.

His stone wall crumbled into dust behind him, unable to endure another blow.

"Ten golems, one me. Not great odds."

Reaching into his storage ring, Fenrir summoned his reinforcements.

With a flash of light, five magical circles lit up in the air beside him—and from each of them dropped a hamster.

"Let’s keep it clean."

Fenrir muttered.

Then came the final summon—Nedrax.

The dragon burst forth with a loud yawn, stretching his wings lazily as if waking from a nap.

"Ten golems? That’s it? I can reduce them all to pebbles in ten seconds."

"I don’t need them destroyed. I need a path."

Fenrir pointed toward the throne.

Nedrax blinked, then huffed.

"You’re really no fun, you know that?"

"Focus, Ned."

With a reluctant grumble, Nedrax rose into the air, a ripple of heat trailing behind him. The golems turned toward him instantly, recognizing him as the larger threat. That was good.

It gave the hamsters a chance to swarm the rear golems, distracting them with elemental attacks.

Fireballs, water whips, and flashes of lightning scattered through the air as the battle broke out in earnest.

Fenrir sprinted toward the center.

Nedrax unleashed a burst of flame to the left, shattering the legs of one golem and creating a narrow opening.

Fenrir jumped through, narrowly dodging a fist that cratered the ground behind him.

He was almost there.

Another golem intercepted him, slamming a stone club toward his head.

Fenrir ducked, rolled, and summoned a quick earthen spike from the ground, tripping the golem just long enough to vault past it.

Hundred meters to the throne.

Seventy.

Then—

An explosion.