the beginning after the end perfect duo

Dire tombs

Two years after our meeting,

I was in a dungeon—specifically the dungeon, the one where Arthur would have met Elijah, the place where many people would have died. I know I should have avoided this place, for obvious reasons. It's a dangerous dungeon, but during the last two years, we've faced even deadlier ones—and come out on top.

And I think it'll be a good challenge to see how far Lucas has come. These two years weren't easy, and Lucas certainly didn't make them any easier.

"Are you done with your monologue, Tom? We're about to enter our last dungeon, you know. I could put this in the report," Lucas muttered.

"Shut it, Lucas. Where are the others, anyway?" I shot back.

"They're already inside. Jasmine, Mira, Sylvia, and Arthur are waiting for your big head to catch up," he replied with a smirk.

Ah, yeah—I forgot. I sent Lilia to the elves so she could train under Virion. We'll meet her at the Academy once this mission's over. A lot has happened in two years, but I'll fill you in later.

"What's so special about this dungeon, anyway?" Lucas asked.

"I've heard it might contain an S-level mana beast. I'm pretty sure your father would fall head over heels for its core if we get lucky enough, don't you think so?"

"Yeah, my old man's the type to do that. But what about the rest of the team? You can't expect them to let us take it, can you?" Lucas asked.

"We'll pay them off. We've got enough money from the last time your father paid us. Good job on the reports, by the way—I like how you kept out all the dirty sides of the job," I said.

"If I told him about everything, I wouldn't be around—and where would I be able to mock your ugly butt, anyway? Now let's get going. They're probably holding another presentation paragraph inside," Lucas said.

The moment we crossed into the dungeon, a cold so sharp it felt like a physical slap hit us. I gritted my teeth and pushed more mana into my skin, the familiar warmth a flimsy shield against the grave-chill of the place. Up ahead, a cluster of figures stood huddled under a flickering light. Looked like we were the last to arrive. Great.

My eyes scanned them, sizing them up. You learn to do that fast in our line of work.

Front and center was a blonde guy who reeked of "trust fund" and "I'm in charge." His armor was so polished I could probably see my own annoyed reflection in it. He stood there with his arms crossed, already looking at Lucas and me like we were late for his personally scheduled apocalypse. Yeah, I knew his type alright.

Next to him was a mountain of a man. A classic Augmenter—you could tell by the tactical lack of armor around his joints, all for better mana flow. He had this giant hammer resting on his shoulder like it was made of foam, and a face that probably had one default expression: grim. Brown hair, no-nonsense vibe. Probably the muscle.

Then there was the old-timer. Beard so slick you could probably slide on it, covered head-to-toe in armor that had seen more battles than I've had hot meals. He wasn't just leaning on the wall; he seemed part of it, watching everything with a quiet, tired kind of judgment. The kind of guy who's seen every trick in the book and written a few of the chapters himself.

My gaze shifted to the woman. Blonde, like the wannabe leader, but that's where the similarity ended. She had this practical, almost academic look—a tunic, a skirt, and those long socks that somehow seemed both functional and like a style choice. A glowing crystal hovered near her shoulder, and a spellbook was strapped to her hip. An Emitter. Hopefully a competent one.