Mystic Forest.
A poetic na for sothing that was basically a botanical slaughterhouse.
The mont I stepped through the rift, color assaulted my eyes — glowing flowers, crystalline fungi, vines shimring with mana like liquid neon.
It was beautiful... in the way a poisonous frog is beautiful.
If people didn’t die here, honestly?
Tourists would pay fortunes just to take pictures.
But this wasn’t so fairy grove.
This was a demonic bio full of man–eating flora.
One wrong step and a flower could chew your face off.
I inhaled slowly — the air tasted sweet, almost sugary. That was the first sign.
The sweet sll attracts prey.
Good thing I wasn’t prey.
I moved along the elevated ridge — enough to see the entrance staging area spread out below.
Dozens of hunters — an entire pioneer team — had already set up tents, crates, portable mana barriers, and supply racks.
Rough estimate?
Fifty people. Maybe more.
They were the frontline surveyors — the type who map a dungeon’s interior, classify monster tiers, identify resources, mark hazards — before the actual raiding teams go in.
They were already shouting reports, trading intel, arguing pricing of harvested blooms.
Typical.
"Figures..." I muttered.
Then the familiar golden notification slid across my vision.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
[Main Quest]
Conquer the Mystic Forest
Reward: 1,500 Points
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
A week ago, this number would’ve dazzled .
Now it was just... nice pocket change bonus.
Conquering this dungeon officially would take weeks.
Months even — depending on how deep the core was buried.
But for ?
I wasn’t here to do a full clear.
I wasn’t here to map paths.
I wasn’t here to kill every plant with teeth.
Speedrun route.
A normal party would cut vines, clear mobs, rest, repeat.
I just sprinted through the maze of prismatic stalks, vaulting roots, ducking thorn tendrils that snapped at my ankles.
Movent Arts Lv.7 was doing its work.
The world blurred — branches whipping past my face, scent of sap and blood mixing in the air.
The first ambush ca fast — a blooming crimson polyflora erupted at my left, petals peeling back to reveal rows of serrated teeth.
"Back off, carnivorous tulip."
Bang.
Shotgun blasted the stalk clean off.
It spasd like a decapitated snake and curled inward — dead.
The second ambush was worse — a cluster of vine–leech blossoms slamd down like weighted ropes, trying to coil around my neck.
I rolled forward — the landing jarred my spine.
"Dammit—"
Bang. Bang.
Two quick shell pops shredded them mid–air — green gore splattering the leaves.
I kept running.
The only problem wasn’t danger —
it was my lung capacity.
After barely ten minutes of nonstop sprinting and firing, my breath started rasping.
"...haa— haah— damn..."
My muscles burned.
My shotgun felt heavier each reload.
This is what low Strength stat does — it wasn’t crippling, but it was annoying.
Even with movent buffs, the body was the limit.
Still — I forced myself onward.
Two vine serpents blocked the fork ahead — their bodies twisted like braided cables, eyes glowing toxic yellow.
They lunged.
I instinctively sidestepped — leaned low — and fired directly into their open mouths.
BANG.
Plant guts exploded like rotten lon pulp.
I wheezed, wiping a splash of green off my cheek.
"I hope Ariana learns to brew stamina potions soon"
But I didn’t stop.
Steps... steps... steps—
That shimring corridor of pale blue–leaved trees appeared ahead — exactly where it should be.
The sub–boss chamber — right beyond this chokepoint.
Which ant...
I was close.
The mana herb — the one I needed desperately — grew in the hidden alcove behind the boss arena.
Just a few hundred ters more.
I tightened my grip, reloaded fresh shells, and pushed forward.
****
A few hours later, I finally staggered into the clearing that marked the deepest chamber of the dungeon. My lungs burned, my calves trembled from all the sprinting and weaving, and sweat clung to my back like glue beneath my uniform.
"Haa... damn..."
I dropped into a crouch, resting one forearm on my knee, and forced my breathing to stabilize. Even with Movent Arts boosting my speed, my raw stamina stat was garbage. If my body were even slightly weaker, I would’ve collapsed on the way here.
After a couple minutes of focusing my breath, the trembling in my muscles eased enough for to stand. I pushed aside the thick curtains of vines ahead of .
And then, I entered the boss room.
Calling it a "room" was an understatent. It was a giant natural cathedral — like an ancient hollow carved inside a forest’s heart. The air was heavy with mana. Roots sprawled across the terrain like the veins of so primordial organism. Bioluminescent spores floated lazily, shifting green and pale white, making the entire clearing glow faintly.
And at the center of it all —
[...Human?]
A voice resounded inside my skull.
I looked up.
A colossal tree rose from the center like a divine sculpture. Bark as smooth as marble. Branches that looked like arms reaching toward the sky. From one side of its trunk — the upper half of a woman erged, carved from wood yet unmistakably alive: pale green skin, long cascades of leafy hair, eyes glowing with faint erald light.
A Dryad.
A boss-class Dryad.
One of the rarer botanical bosses.
She gazed down at , expression unreadable.
[...Alone...?]
Her ntal voice rippled through the room, soft and faintly curious. She tilted her head slightly — like she didn’t know whether I was prey or so oddity that had accidentally wandered into her territory.
Then her eyelids slowly closed — a sign that she had recognized as "enemy."
I smirked.
"Hello there."
I raised my shotgun — polished steel barrels gleaming dully in the bioluminescent haze — loaded with two specialized shells I had purchased specifically for this mont.
Two 12-gauge shells.
Dryads didn’t bleed. They didn’t have organs to rupture. They were giant magical plants.
So you attacked the spores first, not the wood.
The Dryad’s branches quivered. The spores flared like a dust storm.
I squeezed the triggers.
BOOM — directly in front.
BOOM — slightly to the left.
The green spore cloud exploded into fragnts, dispersing mid-air before it could trigger the Dryad’s initial area–root–bind skill.
That was the Dryad’s opener — suffocate prey, paralyze with pollen, then drain them dry.
I’d just countered her tutorial chanic.
"I ca here to kill you," I said plainly — and smiled up at her like I had just stated the weather.
For the first ti, genuine disbelief flickered in her glowing eyes.
[...Alone? With such a feeble weapon?]
Her ntal tone sharpened — mocking, amused, condescending.
And frankly — she had a right to assu so.
In this world, what I held wasn’t even considered a "weapon." It looked like so bizarre two-barreled tal pipe toy compared to enchanted greatswords or mage staffs.
But that was fine.
She didn’t need to understand it.
She only needed to die from it.
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