"Someone’s disappeared," Hazel mumbles.

  The moment the words leave the girl’s mouth, I nearly trip over a root and pause mid-step.

  "Hey, watch it!" the person behind me snaps, shoving me forward. "You almost crushed me back here!"

  A wave of agitation pulses from the tentacles at the contact—some of them expressing disgust, clearly offended by something sweaty and dirty touching them.

  "Hey!" Mary says, swiveling her head back with a frown. "What do you think you’re doing?"

  Ignoring her, I focus on Hazel.

  "What did you say?" I ask, eyes locked onto the girl. "Someone disappeared?"

  Hazel nods, looking dazed. From the corner of my eye, I catch Mary glaring at someone behind her before reluctantly turning back around.

  "When I met up with the other Essevians," Hazel begins, briefly glancing toward the cluster of porters, "one of the people I knew was… dead."

  As she lowers her head, I purse my lips and look ahead.

  …So something definitely happened.

  I slowly narrow my eyes and scan the faces around me, raising a brow.

  …Then why is everyone acting so casual? There should be more commotion. At least some kind of protest.

  Closing my eyes to slits, I frown.

  It’s not surprising coming from the hunters, but from the other porters, too? Is something else at play here?

  "She was just… gone," Hazel continues. "She wasn’t there when I went to find her."

  From the corner of my eye, I see Mary place a hand on Hazel’s head, gently ruffling her hair.

  "You two must have been close," she says softly, wrapping an arm around the girl’s shoulder. "I’m really sorry for what happened."

  Hazel shakes her head. "Not really, but… we said hello a few times. Do you think she’ll be alright?"

  Mary offers a gentle but awkward smile, rubbing Hazel’s hair reassuringly.

  "Maybe she just got lost somewhere?" she suggests, her voice lifting a little too brightly at the end. "I’m sure we’ll see her pop out later. Undead like you are resilient, after all."

  She raises her hand and gestures to me. "You have no idea how many times this girl gave me a core attack. I keep thinking she’s a goner—and then she pops up out of nowhere."

  "I just got lucky," I mutter, letting my gaze drift toward the front, toward Mark. "But yes, as long as our core isn’t damaged, Essevians will be fine. That’s why we’re a popular choice for porters."

  The longer I stare at Mark, the more bile rises in my throat.

  When he turns to talk to someone else, my shoulders tense instinctively. My legs feel like they’re bursting with energy, ready to bolt at any moment.

  "We’ll start splitting up soon," the man says. "There’s a nest full of Cockoo Birds. Get ready to face the upcoming dangers."

  Several hours later, I trail behind a group of hunters, head lowered and eyes glued to the ground. Muddy water clung to my legs, making it somewhat difficult to wade through.

  Behind me, the tentacles keep poking at my back, trying to broadcast a flood of faux happiness through the bond.

  "Uh, is our Essevian defective?" someone whispers from the front. "She’s just been staring at the ground with a gloomy expression on her face."

  "…Eh, maybe?" another voice chimes in. "I think it’s fine so long as she does what she’s told."

  I swat a few tentacles away as I continue walking.

  …I wanted to be placed with Mary. Why did I have to be assigned to the scouting team?

  Glancing up slowly, I scan the hunters ahead of me. Some have their weapons haphazardly out, casually waving them around. A few at least have theirs stashed in scabbards or strapped to their backs—but the way they’re tied is so lopsided they swing back and forth with every step. One in particular doesn’t even carry their weapon properly. The axe’s blade is still caked in layers of blood and… other things, with fresh fluids dripping from it.

  I stare at them through half-lidded eyes and blink slowly. With a sharp inhale, I cover my face with a hand, trying to will away the embarrassment heating my cheeks.

  Newbies or not, if this had been the team I was temporarily assigned to back in Crystal Blossom City, I would’ve thrown myself off a ledge rather than be associated with such disgrace to their ancestors. Even a pig could manage better.

  Lowering my hand, I fix my eyes back on the ground.

  I should be used to sights like this by now, but it still rankles my entire being. I know other places don’t send their four-year-olds into dungeons—something I will never understand and honestly find quite preposterous—but for goodness’ sake, at least teach them how to care for their weapons properly! It’s like someone just handed them tools and let them loose!

  "Hey, zombie," one of the hunters calls out, interrupting my whirlwind of thoughts. "Get over here."

  Pushing down the annoyance radiating through the bond, I quickly bound over to them.

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  As I get closer, one of them points toward the path ahead.

  "Mark told me this isn't your first time in a dungeon," says a young hunter, a girl who looks barely older than me. "What is that thing?"

  I stare at her for a moment, blinking slowly. With a sigh, I turn my gaze to where she’s pointing.

  ...Seriously? What kind of schooling did they even have? As hunters, they should at least know what they’re looking at instead of asking a porter for help.

  The moment my eyes land on the shape in question, my entire body freezes.

  Like everything else around us, the space is thick with the same strange trees and protruding roots. But in the very center—almost hidden beneath the canopy of others—stands a tree with nauseatingly purple bark.

  Its roots are submerged deep in the swampy mud. Red, vein-like vines wrap tightly around the trunk and twist through its gnarled branches.

  Nestled at the center of the branches is a massive, pulsing, organ-like sphere. The same red veins are clustered around it. With every beat, they throb in rhythm, as if the whole tree is breathing.

  I open my mouth to say something—but nothing comes out. Through the bond, a hush vibrates from the tentacles.

  "Hey!" a hunter beside me waves a hand in front of my face. "Hello? You alive in there?"

  Snapping out of it, I give the hunter a brief glare before turning back to the tree.

  "...That’s a corpse tree," I say slowly. "They’re known to feed off the dead. Specifically, bodies that aren’t entirely made of mana—ones that still have organic material and need something extra to break down."

  As the words leave my mouth, I begin chewing on my lower lip.

  But... why would something like that be here? Sure, dungeons can spawn weird, impossible things, but the conditions still have to be right…plus, the colors…

  I look away from the scene, narrowing my focus. Through the bond, a few of the tentacles reluctantly lend me their strength.

  As I concentrate, I can just barely sense the strands of asura energy swirling faintly around me.

  When I open my eyes again, my frown deepens.

  ...Corpse trees need an environment with extremely low asura concentration. Almost to the point that asura becomes toxic.

  But for me—someone who literally lost her asura organ—to still feel it… even faintly?

  Slowly narrowing my eyes, I curl my hands into fists.

  Sure, I could blame the tentacles for letting me sense asura without a dedicated organ, but it shouldn’t be to this level. Our bond is... unstable—too unstable for something like this.

  Glancing back at the corpse tree, I frown even more.

  ...Someone or something placed it here on purpose. This isn’t normal.

  "A corpse tree, huh?" a hunter suddenly speaks up. "Wasn’t there a whole clusterfuck of demand for their fruit a few months back?"

  Another chimes in. "Oh yeah, you’re right. Think we’ll make a pretty penny selling it to those fat pigs who wanna live forever?"

  Slowly turning toward the two, I raise an eyebrow and give them a look.

  "Is it really appropriate to be thinking about money right now?" I ask, crossing my arms. "Don’t you realize how unnatural it is for something like this to be here? We should investigate it before doing anything rash."

  As if I were just a buzzing fly, the two hunters ignore me and continue their conversation.

  Feeling one of my eyes twitch, I dig my fingers into my arm.

  ...Seriously? Why did they even bother asking for my opinion in the first place?

  "Is it supposed to be that color, though?" a different hunter asks. "It looks really off."

  "I agree," another says. "The color of the fruit depends on whatever corpses it’s digesting. If we rush in, we might accidentally trigger something dangerous."

  The hunter beside me hums in agreement. "Yeah, I’ve heard about the fruit exploding when someone touches it. Apparently, the asura trapped inside the organism was too powerful."

  "I see," hums another hunter—probably the leader. "After hearing everyone’s statements, I agree it’s best to investigate it first before bringing the fruit back during regrouping."

  Staring at them all with half-lidded eyes, I press my palm to my face and drag it down slowly.

  That’s literally what I just said. Just with more words.

  Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose.

  …Whatever. It’s not like this affects me much, anyway. Let’s just get this over with.

  Several minutes later, I found myself with a bag in hand, staring emptily at nothing as I slowly walks toward the tree.

  …I hate my life.

  The tentacles didn’t even bother lifting themselves off the ground, just dragging along behind me as they flooded the bond with misery.

  “You can do this!” a hunter calls from far behind. “I believe in you!”

  “Think she’s gonna be fine?” another voice asks—still loud enough to reach me. “I mean, we’re kinda sending her on a death errand.”

  “Ehhh, she’ll be fine. Essevians are durable,” someone else chimes in. “At least, I hope so? I mean, I think we can stitch her back together if we need to.”

  Wading through the swampy mud with a blank face, I try not to dwell on the pain of possibly being exploded into a million pieces. Harder to ignore is the tentacles’ rising panic bleeding through the bond.

  The closer I got to the tree the less I hear of the aruguing voices of the hunters behind me and the worse the smell wafting around me got.

  The odor has an extremely sharp, acidic stink, mixed with the smell of rotten eggs and the cheese Mary left to rot in her bag for two years. It feels like it’s jabbing deep inside my nose.

  There’s also an underlying tinge of something chemical—like bleach—and a hint of something indescribable that twitches at the back of my mind, something I can’t quite put my finger on.

  Several of my tentacles jerk slightly back, pulling against the point where they join with my back.

  Quickly digging my heels into the ground, I steady myself before swiveling my head back to the tentacles.

  “The hell is wrong with you?!” I hiss, my voice coming off much harsher than I anticipated. “I’ve got enough problems and worries already. The last thing I need is to—”

  A strange, unreadable feeling suddenly flows from the tentacles’ side of the bond.

  Unlike the usual streams of emotion that emanate from them and occasionally leak through the barriers I put up, this one clings uncomfortably to the many crevices of my brain. It doesn’t help that there’s an underlying sense of dread and horror that’s somehow both subtle and overwhelming at the same time.

  Frowning at the tentacles, I give them a look before glancing up at the path ahead of me again.

  Just a few feet away stands the corpse tree. Being this close, I can see the veins wrapping around its trunk pulsate every time it tries to transfer nutrients upward.

  The veins trail all the way to the bottom of the tree, far below the muddy water where the roots are submerged.

  In the small space between the mud, I can make out something poking through.

  Standing there, letting the mud cling to my legs, I flicker my eyes side to side. The only things I see are the same type of trees I’ve encountered throughout this dungeon—clusters packed tightly together. Anything beyond that is too far away and dark for even my eyes to make out.

  My ears strain as I scan the surroundings a few more times, trying to pick up any sounds. The only things I hear are my own sharp inhale and the occasional twitching of the tentacles.

  ...This is really quiet... Too quiet...

  Slowly turning back the way I came, I begin to lift my leg. Suddenly, something twitches in the back of my brain, making me pause.

  Inexplicably, just like during that incident with the weird top hat man, my body turns itself back toward the tree.

  My eyes are immediately drawn back to the unidentifiable object poking out of the mud. Flashes of vision surface one after another—too quickly to grasp—gone within a blink.

  Slowly narrowing my eyes, I lean forward slightly. A few tentacles tug weakly at my back, as if all their strength has drained away.

  I glance at them and raise an eyebrow.

  What’s got these things so spooked? They don’t usually react like… whatever this is.

  Just as I start to turn away, one of the tentacles shakily lifts itself, pointing toward something high above my head.

  Briefly narrowing my eyes, I scrunch my nose before slowly glancing up. My mouth drops open without my input.

  High above, branches thick with black-hued leaves—hidden earlier by the surrounding trees—spread out like a canopy.

  Nestled deep among the foliage is a face. It stares back at me with wide, empty sockets and an open mouth barely clinging to its hinges.