A bus rolled into the cracked lot outside the Goblin's Keep facility, its engine wheezing as it pulled to a stop beside a half-filled parking row. The doors hissed open, and Leo stepped out first, followed closely by five other individuals who, at a glance, seemed like strangers.
Each was dressed just distinctively enough to avoid drawing suspicion. One wore a beanie pulled low and a disposable nose mask. Another had donned thick-rimmed glasses and a fake, poorly trimmed beard that looked like it belonged in a drama club costume bin. A third had wrapped a black face mask tightly across his lower face, while the fourth had his head wrapped in a long, patterned scarf that gave him the odd appearance of an urban ninja.
.
In reality, they were all the same person—his clones.
Leo had summoned them earlier in the restroom back at the Awakening Center, disguising each one just enough to pass visual inspection. It was a calculated risk, but the only real option he had. The law required a party of at least five to enter a dungeon like this, and unless one was ranked high enough to override protocol, solo entry was flat-out denied. Using clones was the only workaround.
He'd spent hours thinking through every angle before committing to this plan. And now that he stood in front of the dungeon entrance, the weight of it hit him all at once. His heart was pounding harder than he liked. His fingers twitched with nervous energy, and he instinctively wiped the sweat from his palms onto the sides of his jeans.
No matter how much theory he'd studied or how many simulations he'd run in his head, this was real now. Actual danger. Actual monsters. Actual death, if he slipped up.
He took a deep breath, looked toward the massive structure before him, and gave a short nod.
"Let's go," he said.
The clones fell into step behind him.
The dungeon monolith towered over the rest of the landscape, easily four stories tall, with high, obsidian-black walls that seemed to absorb the sunlight rather than reflect it. As Leo approached, he noticed the faint glow coming from the center—an ethereal blue that pulsed steadily like a heartbeat.
That glow meant the dungeon was stable.
Every dungeon had a color-coded state system tied to its activity. Blue meant it was regularly cleared, with minimal risk of overflow. Green meant it had been left alone a bit too long. Yellow and orange were warnings. Red was catastrophic—a ticking time bomb. If a dungeon reached red status and wasn't cleared, it would burst open and release its monsters into the world. Cities had been wiped off the map that way before the system was understood. That's why hunter regulations existed. That's why dungeons had to be cleared.
Two security guards in standard guild uniforms stood at the entrance checkpoint. Both carried stun batons, and one wore a scanning visor over his eyes. As Leo approached, one of them held up a hand and asked for identification.
Leo handed over his freshly minted hunter license, careful to maintain a confident posture. The guard gave it a quick scan and nodded. Behind him, each of the clones produced a license of their own—copies Leo had created earlier using \[Duplicate], mimicking the look and weight of his real one down to the magnetic strip.
The first three were waved through without incident.
Then the guard paused at the last one, frowning slightly as he held up the license.
"All of your names are Leo," he said, looking up from the card, then at the group of similarly-built men standing awkwardly in a line. "Same rank, too. That doesn't seem like a coincidence."
Leo's stomach tightened. He'd expected the question, had even brainstormed a few backup stories in case it came up, but in that moment, his mind went blank.
Before he could say a word, one of the clones—the one in the ninja scarf—stepped forward and spoke.
"Oh, yeah, that's on purpose," he said with a nervous chuckle. "We're starting a guild. The Lion Guild. Only people named Leo can join. Kind of a dumb gimmick, but it makes us easy to find."
He laughed again, lightly slapping the arm of the clone next to him for added effect.
The guard raised an eyebrow, clearly not fully convinced. "You're serious?"
The other clones nodded in sync, including Leo himself, who forced a smile and added a quick, "Yeah, it's a branding thing."
The guard stared at them for another moment, then sighed and handed back the license.
"All right, fine. Just don't die in there."
"Wouldn't dream of it," Leo muttered, walking past the checkpoint with a half-relieved breath.
Once they were through, Leo glanced at the scarf-wrapped clone, his expression unreadable. The clone said nothing, just returned to formation like nothing had happened.
Leo was quiet as they continued walking. That moment stuck in his head—not just the lie, but the way the clone had delivered it. Smooth. Believable. Improvised. And yet it wasn't something Leo had told it to say.
It had been one of the possible excuses he'd thought about earlier, but he hadn't verbalized it. That meant the clone had somehow picked up on his internal thoughts or instincts and acted on them.
That discovery shifted something in Leo's understanding of [Duplicate].
Two things were now certain:
1. His clones could speak and act without direct orders.
2. They could respond to danger or uncertainty by making decisions based on his unspoken thoughts.
It was unsettling, sure. The idea that they were almost autonomous replicas was both thrilling and slightly terrifying. But it also meant they were smarter than he'd realized—and that opened the door to far more complex uses than just brute force.
Wanting to confirm the limits, Leo gave a simple mental command to the clone with the fake beard: Do a front flip.
The clone didn't hesitate. It immediately bent its knees and attempted a jump, throwing itself into a clumsy rotation. The result was far from graceful—the clone landed awkwardly on its shoulder and rolled sideways with a heavy grunt.
A few nearby onlookers turned at the noise. One of them burst into laughter.
"What the hell was that? Is this guy part of a circus?"
Leo cringed, quickly helping the clone to its feet while muttering under his breath, "Okay, maybe no more acrobatics."
Still, even as he dusted the clone off, he couldn't help the small grin tugging at his lips. Embarrassing as it was, the test confirmed what he'd hoped: he could give them commands on the fly, and they'd respond.
They weren't just puppets. They were... extensions of himself.
The group moved toward the entrance proper now, where the monolith opened into a tunnel-like structure carved with runes along the walls. At the center was the gate: a circular arch embedded with ancient markings that glowed softly.
To enter, each hunter had to place a hand against the gate. The system would register the party and transport them inside.
A group ahead of them went first. Five people in matching gear placed their hands on the gate, and within seconds, they shimmered out of existence, transported into the dungeon's interior.
Leo stepped forward with his group.
The staff agent standing nearby counted them quickly, checked the system monitor, then nodded.
"You're good. Stay sharp in there. And try not to die, yeah?"
Leo met his eyes and gave a simple nod. "We'll manage."
Then, one by one, he and his clones placed their hands on the gate.
A soft pull rippled through Leo's body. The light engulfed him, cold and blinding for a split second—and then, as quickly as it came, it faded.
He opened his eyes and found himself in a dim cavern.
The ceiling dripped with moisture, and the walls were covered in moss. Stalactites hung above like jagged teeth, and the air smelled faintly of iron and mold. Ahead, the tunnel widened into darkness.
Leo exhaled slowly and looked around at his clones, who stood silently, waiting for orders.
"This is it," he murmured.
His first real dungeon. His first real test.
And no one else to rely on but himself.