Silas felt the familiar pull of the portal grab his body, stretching and twisting his senses for a heartbeat. Then the pressure vanished.

His foot came down on something soft.

Not stone.

Not dirt.

Snow.

He sank a little as the white powder crunched under his boot. A cold breeze brushed against his face, slipping under his collar and biting his skin. When he looked up, his breath caught for a moment.

The dungeon was… quiet.

Snow fell from a pale, clouded sky in slow, lazy flakes. Giant trees rose all around him, tall and thick, their branches heavy with layers of white. The bark was dark, almost black, making the snow on them glow even brighter in contrast. Some branches bent low from the weight, forming little half-arches of ice and frost.

Silas exhaled. His breath came out in a white fog.

"…This is a B-rank dungeon?" he muttered.

He turned slowly, taking it in. Snow stretched in every direction—no walls, no lava pits, no burning stones, no standard dungeon pattern. Just quiet forest, gentle snowfall, and a silence that felt a little too clean.

Something in his chest tightened.

"System," he said slowly. "I don't remember any B-rank dungeon being a snow-type. What is this place?"

The system responded after a very small pause.

[Analyzing environment…]

[Warning, Host. I sense an ominous outside interference. This dungeon has been altered by an external force.]

[Suggestion: Escape from this dungeon.]

A drop of sweat formed on Silas's forehead, even though the air was freezing.

"Escape?" he repeated. "You're telling me to run? Me?"

He glanced behind him.

There was no visible gate anymore—just more snow, more trees, and endless pale air. The portal was gone, hidden, or sealed. Whatever the case, he wasn't walking back out.

"I don't even have a teleport stone to get outside," he said through gritted teeth. "So how exactly am I escaping, genius?"

The system stayed quiet.

Silas blew out a harsh breath. His fingers flexed near the hilt of his saber.

"Yeah. That's what I thought."

He took a step forward.

That was when it happened.

A whisper of movement cut through the silence. Barely there. A little shift in the air, a slight wrongness to the stillness.

Silas's body reacted before his mind did.

He snapped his head to the right, his upper body twisting slightly with the motion.

An arrow sliced through the space where his skull had just been.

It whistled past his ear and buried itself in the tree behind him with a sharp thunk.

A faint notification appeared near the edge of his vision.

<Chiron's Course Progress +0.8% (0.8%)>

Silas didn't get time to process that.

More arrows came.

He heard the soft twang of bowstrings from somewhere between the trees. His ears picked up the thin whistle of multiple projectiles cutting through the cold air.

He yanked his saber out of its sheath.

Voidreaver flashed in front of him, black metal catching the faint light of the snow.

He moved.

Steel met wood.

Clang. Clang. Shhk.

He deflected two arrows, the clash jolting up his wrist. A third grazed his arm, slicing through his coat and skin. A fourth skimmed his thigh, cutting fabric and leaving a sharp line of pain.

"Tch—" Silas hissed under his breath, ducking behind the trunk of a nearby tree. "Persistent fuckers."

He didn't waste time.

"System, scan them," he said, eyes narrowed, peeking from behind the bark.

[Scanning…]

[Name: Snow Elf]

[Rank: A]

[Potential Awakening: A]

Silas stared at the panel for a moment.

Then let out a hollow little laugh.

"A-rank," he muttered. "In a B-rank dungeon. Of course. Why wouldn't there be."

He swallowed once.

His heart rate ticked up—but not in panic. It felt more like the way adrenaline hit before a fight. His eyes sharpened.

Slowly, a menacing smile pulled at his lips.

"So that's what you meant by 'ominous', huh…?"

He leaned his shoulder slightly against the tree and peered out again.

He saw them now.

Figures blending in with the snow and trees. They stood on sturdy branches high above, half-hidden by the falling flakes and the white cloaks they wore. Their skin was pale, almost the same color as the frost. Their hair ranged from silver to ice-blue, tied back or flowing down their backs. Their eyes glowed faintly—cold, sharp, a kind of focused hatred that didn't need words.

Each held a bow made of carved bone and frozen wood, arrows tipped with jagged ice.

"Snow elves," Silas muttered. "A-rank archers. Great. Just my luck."

He tightened his grip on Voidreaver's hilt.

"So what now?" he whispered to himself. "Run? Can't. Hide? Won't. That leaves one thing."

His smile widened just a little.

"Let's have a go, then. Let's see what you A-rank bastards feel like."

He stepped away from the tree and sprinted forward.

Arrows flew.

This time, he heard them before they fully left the string. The air changed a second early—the sound was sharper, clearer. Chiron's voice brushed the back of his mind.

Every motion begins before it begins.

Silas didn't think. He moved.

He bent low, letting one arrow pass above his head. The next one he twisted away from, feeling the cold tip sweep past his cheek. A third one he cut down in mid-air, Voidreaver ringing as it cleaved through the shaft.

He activated Phantom Step.

The world blurred.

His feet hit the snow in light, fast steps. For a moment, his body flickered — one image there, another there. His afterimages scattered like ghosts between the trees.

To the elves above, he was no longer a clear target. He was a moving mess of distorted silhouettes.

Silas chose one tree to focus on and dashed toward it.

Another arrow came from above.

He saw the elf draw.

Felt the shift of its upper body.

Heard the tension in the bowstring.

Knew the release a split second before it happened.

He side-stepped, leaned just enough, and the arrow flew past his shoulder.

Then he kicked off the trunk and launched himself upward.

One of the snow elves turned too late.

Its eyes widened slightly when Silas appeared on the branch with it, snow scattering under his boots.

"Hi," Silas said, breath fogging. "Die."

Voidreaver stabbed forward.

[Piercing Thrust]

The blade rammed straight into the elf's chest.

The elf jerked, frozen for a heartbeat, then blood—dark red against snow-white clothes—spilled from the wound. It made no sound as it fell off the branch, dropping to the ground below like a broken doll.

Silas landed on the branch, boots skidding a bit on frost, and then pushed off again.

More arrows whistled around him. One caught his side this time, a shallow but sharp cut.

[Health: 82/100]

He grimaced, breath sharp.

"Better than getting one through the skull," he muttered.

He Phantom Stepped again, landing on another tree.

This elf reacted faster.

It had already drawn its bow. Mana crackled faintly around the arrowhead, ice gathering around the tip.

"Not good," Silas muttered.

The elf fired.

Silas dropped his weight, letting go of the branch. For a second, he was falling.

The arrow grazed the top of his shoulder, burning like ice and fire together.

[Health: 71/100]

As he fell, he twisted his body mid-air, slammed a foot against the tree trunk, and kicked off it.

He shot upward at a diagonal angle.

The elf tried to pull another arrow, but it was too slow.

Silas's free hand grabbed the branch for a second of balance. His body swung, and his sword thrust forward with that movement.

[Piercing Thrust]

The blade pierced through the elf's throat.

Its eyes widened. A burst of blood sprayed across the snow on the branch. Its body sagged and dropped, bouncing between branches before hitting the ground.

Silas landed on a lower branch, panting.

His lungs burned from the cold air. His shoulder stung. His side ached. His hands felt just a bit numb around the hilt from the chill and the strain.

He looked up.

There were more of them.

At least three shapes melting back into the white, fading between trees.

He could chase them.

Or he could not be stupid.

Silas let out a sharp sigh and dropped from the branch, landing in the snow with a heavy thud. His knees bent to absorb the impact.

He moved behind the thick trunk of a nearby tree, finally taking cover.

[Health: 64/100]

"System," he said, breathing heavily. "Mark two kills."

[Two Snow Elves defeated, Host.]

<Chiron's Course Progress +2.4% (3.2%)>

He let out a humorless laugh.

"So that's how it is, huh? I almost die, and the horse teacher levels up."

He reached into his inventory and pulled out a small glass vial filled with faintly glowing blue liquid.

[Minor Health Potion]

He popped the cork with his thumb and downed it in one go.

The taste was bitter, sharp, and metallic. A warm wave rolled down his throat into his chest, then spread through his limbs.

[Health: 100/100]

The cut on his side began to close. The arrow graze on his shoulder faded into a faint pink line.

Silas rolled his shoulder once and exhaled.

"Alright," he muttered. "Two down. A lot more bullshit to go."

He stepped out from behind the tree slowly, eyes narrowed, senses sharper than before.

The snow fell quietly.

But the forest wasn't peaceful anymore.

It felt like something was watching.

Smiling.

Waiting.

Silas adjusted his grip on Voidreaver and walked deeper into the white.

The dungeon had already stopped feeling like a simple "B-rank run."

It felt like a warning.

And he was walking straight into it.

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