“Same as before—I’ll scout ahead first. Once I confirm it’s clear, you follow.” Raging Lion called out to the members behind him.

The group nodded.

He then led a few nearby warriors and slowly stepped into the passage leading back to the first floor.

“Sister Sophia, please don’t be sad. Sister Sally definitely wouldn’t blame you.”

Windsor, the little fire-elemental girl, walked over, gently tugged Sophia’s robe, and spoke softly.

She’d noticed Sophia’s aura had grown even colder since leaving the King of Taunus’ territory and assumed she was still drowning in guilt.

“Mm. I know.”

Sophia glanced at Windsor and gave a slight nod.

*What a genuinely kind-hearted girl,* Sophia thought inwardly.

In truth, Sophia had been deep in thought the entire journey—where exactly had her disguise slipped?

How could Sally have seen through it?!

After turning it over and over, she could only suspect her physical condition.

Ordinary mages, once grappled up close, were weaker than commoners.

In that earlier goblin ambush, any other mage would’ve died instantly.

Yet she’d drawn her dagger, twisted free, and cleanly beheaded the creature!

Goblins were monsters—their hide and bones far tougher than humans’.

Severing a goblin’s head so smoothly with a small blade required at least Tier-3 warrior strength.

*Sally must’ve witnessed my combat skill and grew suspicious,* Sophia reasoned.

After all, in her previous male form, she *had* been a warrior.

As for why Sally exposed her… likely cornered and desperate, she gambled on her guess.

Unfortunately…

Luck confirmed it—but her own recklessness cost her life.

“Huh? Why hasn’t the captain sent word yet?”

A warrior’s mutter snapped Sophia from her thoughts.

Raging Lion had entered the first floor over ten minutes ago—double the expected time for a round-trip scout.

“How about a few of us go check?” another warrior suggested.

Others quickly agreed. The group, including two mages, headed back to the first floor.

Ten minutes passed…

Silence.

“Stay alert. Something’s wrong on the first floor,” a mage announced, brow furrowed, voice grave.

Hearts tightened.

What could’ve happened?

Another goblin horde?

But… not even a chance to retreat?

Panic and confusion swirled—no answers.

“Huff… huff… Help…”

A faint, ragged voice drifted from the dark passage.

The group exchanged glances, then wearily raised their defenses.

Next second—a battered figure limped out.

His armor bore the Lion Warband emblem!

“The captain… they were ambushed!”

“!!!”

Shock rippled through the warband. Even Sophia’s brow furrowed.

Something felt off. She stayed silent, watching the wounded warrior from the sidelines.

“What happened? A monster trap?” someone asked.

“No—the Brown Bear Warband!” the warrior gasped. “They ambushed us at the entrance, demanding the quest materials and token…”

“Brown Bear!”

An angry growl rose.

Sophia narrowed her eyes. From hushed whispers, she pieced it together:

Both Brown Bear and Lion Warbands were major factions in Nexar City, long-standing rivals with little honor. Such betrayals weren’t rare.

This quest’s reward must’ve been too tempting.

*Sigh… I join one quest and walk straight into their feud,* Sophia thought, irritation flickering.

“What do we do?”

“The Brown Bears are forcing the captain to surrender the items… If he refuses…” The warrior trailed off.

No need to finish. Everyone understood.

In this bloodstained trade, coin sometimes outweighed life.

They might kill the whole team for the prize.

“Just give it up! We can earn more later!” cried some tearful girls.

But others—those who’d bled and lost their vice-captain—shouted back:

“No! We can’t surrender what he died for!”

Tension crackled. Hostile glares split the group.

Sophia’s eyes narrowed slightly. She took a subtle step back, distancing herself from the chaos.

Yet her aqua-blue gaze never left the wounded warrior.

A cold draft swept through the cavern, stinging exposed skin.

“What *is* that smell?” Sophia murmured, frowning, her petite nose twitching.

“What’s wrong?” Windsor asked, concern in her eyes.

Sophia hesitated. “Do you smell it? Something… strange.”

“Odor?” Windsor blinked, then smiled gently. “Normal. Dungeons reek of monsters and filth.”

Sophia shook her head. This scent was different—sharp, distinct.

Thanks to the isolating mist, her senses hadn’t dulled to the dungeon’s usual stench.

Following the trace, her eyes locked on the warrior’s pocket.

A strange green tip peeked out from the fabric.

Her sharp gaze caught the unnatural bulge.

“This is… Dormant Grass!?”