Chapter 321: First Layer of Dustbone Corridor

Shuna didn’t drag him back to bed to “punish” his sleep deprivation—instead, she let him tag along as usual.

For the past two days, Will had been patrolling the streets in a hood and mask, observing for suspicious figures. Shuna had joked that he looked more suspicious than any actual spy.

She stepped out of the inn first. Will, as usual, slipped out the window to meet her.

“So, what’s the special function?”

He kept his voice low as they walked side by side, pretending to be strangers occasionally stopping at the same stalls.

Spy tactics.

No overt connection.

If someone still noticed them under these conditions, their method of surveillance would be narrowed down significantly.

“Simple.” Shuna picked up a trinket from a vendor’s table, feigning interest. “You can now detect magic.”

“Huh?”

Will turned his head—and froze.

The monocle wasn’t just a visual aid.

It was augmented reality.

Like some sci-fi tech, faint numerals flickered in his vision—estimating magic intensity and distance.

The numbers weren’t perfectly precise (magic quantification was still a nightmare), but the distance readings were sharp.

A performer conjuring fire for children lit up as [12.7 Hs – 15m].

“You think in numbers.”

Shuna’s back was still to him as she examined another stall.

“Most adventurers never quantify magic—but you? It’s all equations. So I made something that fits you.”

She spun around, grinning.

“Don’t complain if the intensity readings are off, though. I fight on instinct, not calculations.”

“Makes sense. Some designers are balance-focused, others specialize in systems—”

“???”

Shuna tilted her head.

Will adjusted the monocle, grateful.

Since realizing this world blended both the novel and his game, he’d suspected its mechanics mirrored his old work.

Now he had proof.

“But don’t treat it as just equipment.”

Shuna’s voice turned sharp as she brushed past him.

“Someone gave you a storage ring and her blood. Someone gave you demonic artifacts. Someone gave you enchanted collars.”

She exhaled.

“I had to give you something useful too.”

For a split second, her usual “I won’t lose” expression flickered—competitive even in gift-giving.

Classic Shuna.

“Back to Dustbone Corridor. You were right. Your death wasn’t an accident.”

They sat at a café—back-to-back, strangers sharing no table.

Will had suspected this from the start.

A desert-themed dungeon—pyramid entrance and all—shouldn’t have water slimes.

“I took a guide mission. Floors 1 to 10—it’s a young dungeon, only 30 layers deep.”

Shuna stirred her latte.

“First floor? Empty. A wasteland. No monsters. No puzzles. Just sand.”

A desert.

Endless dunes, scorching sun, air so dry it parched the throat.

“Follow the broken signs, and you’re out. No challenge. No slimes.”

Silence.

Will’s fingers tightened around his cup.

This confirmed it.

His death hadn’t been bad luck.

It had been staged.

“So,” Shuna set her cup down with a clink, “you were murdered.”

A murmur rose through the café.

“—The Radiant Knights?”

“—An S-rank party? Here?”

“—Move, let me see—”