**Golden Sunwood Tavern**
As one of only two taverns in Silent Wind Town—the closest settlement to the Amethyst Dungeon—the Golden Sunwood stood apart from its competitor. While the other served watered-down swill and attracted every riffraff in town, the Golden Sunwood's glasses were always filled with undiluted, high-quality liquor.
Naturally, its higher prices drew a more discerning clientele: skilled adventurers who could actually afford it.
Today, though, the usual scattered patrons were strangely clustered on the right side of the room. The four people seated alone on the left had practically half the tavern to themselves.
No one dared approach.
That was the Silver Thorn team—a Diamond-rank adventurer party, every member above LV50.
It wasn't that Silver Thorn was especially domineering, but anyone with eyes could see the group's mood was poisonous. No one wanted to risk setting them off.
The other adventurers drank in near silence on their side of the room, torn between fear and morbid curiosity, hoping to overhear some juicy gossip they could whisper about for the next few days.
The most eye-catching member of Silver Thorn was undoubtedly Garr, the half-dragon warrior. Even sitting down, the 2.3-meter-tall giant towered over most standing men. Clad in reinforced heavy plate, he looked like a walking city wall.
And that was exactly what he was: the unbreakable shield for his teammates. Countless times he had stood at the front line, absorbing the full brunt of enemy assaults so the others could strike safely from behind.
His only regret was that he hadn't inherited his dragonkin mother's breath weapon. A sudden blast while tanking would have been devastating—even a berserk orc warrior would have been reduced to ash.
Yet right now, the words coming out of this towering half-dragon carried none of that legendary bravery:
"It's over. It's completely over. We probably can't stay in the United Kingdom anymore.
"Boss, if you ask me, since this mission is impossible anyway, we should just take advantage of their unpreparedness and slip away to the archipelago right now. Once we leave this dungeon, we won't get another chance to escape!"
*Clang—*
A sharp throwing knife struck Garr's chestplate and bounced onto the table. The Shadowwalker, Night Owl, twirled the other two blades idly between her fingers.
The elf—who had slit the throats of countless monsters with those very knives—was now staring at her frontline tank like he was a pile of goblin dung.
"Have you already forgotten how you nearly puked your guts out after just two days on a riverboat last time?
"Going to the archipelago? You'd probably die of seasickness halfway there.
"Besides, the mission hasn't even properly started yet—and completing it means we get a *city*!"
Night Owl's eyes literally sparkled when she said the word "city." No one could figure out why a pure-blooded elf would be so obsessed with owning a human settlement.
"You still have to *complete* it!
"You keep saying we have to bring her back 'unharmed,' but it's already been half a month!
"Don't pretend you don't know what happens to adventurers who get trapped in the Amethyst Dungeon and don't die quickly.
"It's either the parasitic tree on the fifth floor or the tentacle nest on the ninth. Even if we drag her out, her brain will be mush. Do you really think the Duke will call *that* 'unharmed'?
"At best, she's been captured by wandering orcs and turned into rations. By now her limbs are probably half-eaten or completely gone.
"And even then, we have to pray she hasn't completely lost her mind from despair.
"This mission is borderline impossible!
"When the Duke comes to question us in person, Night Owl, you'll just melt into the shadows and vanish. The rest of us three will be the ones getting beaten to death!"
No wonder Garr was so terrified of Duke Amara. Ten years ago—when the rest of Silver Thorn were still Gold or Silver rank—Amara was already a LV70 powerhouse standing at the absolute peak of human potential.
Don't let the mere ten-level gap fool you. In reality, even if you tied all four of them together, they'd barely be enough to serve as a warm-up for someone like the Duke.
The higher the levels, the more exponential the difference became. And a long-time max-level monster like Amara almost certainly had multiple high-tier skills and legendary equipment. Otherwise, he couldn't have held the border against constant pressure from the Empire for so many years.
"Stop, stop—Garr, enough."
Seeing the half-dragon about to launch into another round of defeatism, Captain Nova finally cut in:
"Isn't it still possible to save her? Brain damage is out of our hands, but we can just amputate a few limbs and use limb-regeneration potions afterward.
"Yes, the risk is high—but the reward is a literal city.
"How can we give up before we've even set foot inside?
"Let's take the gamble. If we only manage to rescue someone mentally broken, I'll go report to the Duke myself. You three can use the chaos to escape."
Deep down, Nova knew Garr was right. Ten years ago, he would have already been planning the fastest route to the Western Isles or elven/dwarven lands. No matter how strong Amara was, he couldn't chase them across borders.
But the world had changed.
The United Kingdom and the Hermit Empire were locked in escalating border conflicts—war felt imminent. Neither the elves nor the dwarves would welcome high-level foreign adventurers right now; they'd see them as potential threats or spies.
The Western Isles were the only realistic refuge for humans like them. They certainly couldn't defect to the Hermit Empire and become vampire thralls.
But even the islands weren't safe anymore. The ever-expanding western mist was swallowing islands one by one, and the desperate slave-lords there were growing increasingly ruthless.
A cornered Diamond-rank party showing up now would almost certainly be conscripted—or blackmailed—into fighting the mist front lines.
That was far more dangerous than any dungeon.
Weighing the options, gambling on rescuing the Duke's daughter intact—or at least alive enough that Amara wouldn't execute them on sight—was the least bad choice.
But Silver Thorn wasn't a dictatorship. The final call belonged to all four.
"Same as always—vote. I vote dungeon."
"I want to be a city lord!" Night Owl said immediately.
"I still say we should run while we can." Garr clearly wasn't convinced.
"Ivan?"
All three turned to the fourth member—Ivan Netz, the halfling who had been completely silent, fiddling with something under the table.
His tiny frame was almost swallowed by the edge of the wooden bench. When he stayed quiet, he became practically invisible. But as the team's primary damage dealer, his vote carried equal weight.
"Finally… out!"
A cracked, deformed, discarded magic crystal was tossed onto the table with a clatter. Ivan excitedly pulled out a pristine B-grade crystal and slotted it into the empty socket in his abdomen with a satisfying *click*.
Ambient mana immediately surged toward him, channeling through the crystal and flooding every nerve in his body. The violent rush of magic sent him into a dreamy, euphoric haze.
"Ahhh~"
The entire tavern heard the halfling mage's shameless moan of pleasure. Several patrons shot strange looks their way.
Night Owl's fingers tightened around her knife, barely resisting the urge to hurl it into her teammate's neck.
"This magic-addicted idiot…"
Nova stared at the archmage across from him—eyes rolled back, drooling slightly—and felt the full weight of team leadership crush his soul.
"The mission can't wait any longer. It's 2–1. Garr, you carry Ivan. Night Owl and I can handle the first few floors."
Garr let out a long, defeated sigh but didn't argue further. He simply extended one massive hand toward Nova.
"?"
"Magic resistance potion. Have you already forgotten the time he point-blank magic-blasted me while I was carrying him on my back and nearly killed us both?"
"…"