"So that was it," I murmured inwardly.
Royal blood.
In the original game, the condition to clear this dungeon had always felt strangely anticlimactic.
Bring the prince.
Trigger the script.
End of story.
When the original protagonist arrived here escorted by the imperial heir, the dungeon practically collapsed on itself in submission.
One dialogue choice.
One glow of authority.
And everything was forgiven.
---
[Your transgressions are absolved.]
---
The moment that line appeared, the boss vanished without resistance, dissolving into light and leaving the treasure chamber untouched—loot neatly arranged, artifacts intact, not even a scratch on the environment.
Back then, it felt cheap.
Now?
Now it was terrifyingly logical.
"This world really does run on narrative authority," I muttered.
But things had changed.
The dungeon was no longer just a game system responding to flags and scripted bloodlines.
