Pain.
It came before everything else. A suffocating, heavy heat… then cold. My senses blurred, I couldn't tell if I was burning or freezing.
I took a deep breath. Or tried to. Pain exploded in my chest, tearing everything apart inside. Coughing came automatically. Something warm slid down the corner of my mouth.
Gastric acid? Blood? Probably.
I opened my eyes. Almost regretted it.
Everything spun. Dim, trembling light. Damp stone above. The Dungeon's ceiling. Still here. Still… alive?
I slowly turned my head. The ground was slimy. Sticky. Cold. Not water. The smell was far too strong to be just dampness.
I tried to move.
My legs responded. Weak, but they did. The right arm too. Pain. Tension. Normal.
The left one…
Nothing.
Absolutely nothing. No pain. No tingling. Not even the pull of gravity. As if it had vanished.
I looked.
It was still there. But… swollen. Rigid. Purple. The fingers looked like melted wax. My stomach churned.
I swallowed hard.
Tried to distract myself. My eyes wandered across the floor until they landed on something shiny, half-hidden among dirty rocks and dried puddles.
A vial?
I dragged myself toward it. Every movement made my body protest. My right hand grasped the cold glass. Small. Golden ornaments. A glowing red liquid, almost pulsing with energy inside the vial.
A potion. And not a cheap one.
I don't remember having this with me.
Something fell. A folded piece of paper.
I picked it up. Opened it.
"Be more careful next time. — L."
I froze. No reaction.
Read it again. And again. The handwriting was clean. Clear. Straightforward.
My gaze wandered around. Silence. Nothing. No one.
Only me. And the stench of burnt flesh.
That's when I noticed. A bit further ahead, the… hobgoblin. Or what was left of it.
Charred. The skin cracked, hard as coal. Some parts still smoked. The smell was unbearable.
That… was me? I did that?
I tried to remember. Fragments came. The bottle. The torch. A roar. Something crushing my left side. Then… nothing.
I sighed. Long. Painful.
Clutched the vial in my hand. Small. Beautiful. Expensive.
My eyes went back to the paper still between my other fingers. The handwriting was simple. Direct. But carried a strange weight. A… personal touch.
— Thank you, L. — I muttered. Low. Just for me.
Whoever it was… saved my life.
The cork popped with a dry click. A metallic, sweet, pungent scent escaped, flooding my nostrils. The liquid inside seemed to pulse with energy.
I swallowed hard.
Then downed it in one go.
The taste was horrible. Bitter and sour. My throat burned instantly. Like swallowing molten coals.
I gasped and almost spit it out, but forced myself to keep it in.
The first reaction hit my stomach. A scorching heat, spreading fast, violently. My veins felt inflamed, my skin tingled. Burning. Throbbing.
My wounds began to hiss. Literally.
Fsssssh sounds rose across my body. Thin smoke seeped from open cuts. Flesh writhed on its own, stitching itself back together too fast to be natural. The smell of blood gave way to a sharp, acrid stench, like acid eating raw meat.
I groaned. Not from pain, from shock. It was too much, too fast.
Then hunger. A desperate, sudden hunger, as if my body had burned through everything inside just to regenerate. My stomach roared loudly, a warning.
But the arm…
Still didn't respond.
The swelling had lessened a bit. The color was better. But it was still a dead weight hanging from my shoulder.
Fine. That was already more than I had expected.
I dropped the empty vial to the ground and leaned my head against the wall behind me. Still panting. Still trembling.
But… I was alive.
And, for some reason I might never know, someone wanted me to stay that way.
I waited a few minutes. Just… breathing. Letting the world stop spinning.
When I felt my legs could hold, I stood up. Slowly. Each movement made my body complain, but I had to deal with what could still get worse.
The arm.
The wounds had closed, no openings, nothing leaking. But the left arm… was still a serious problem. A risk.
I never learned first aid. Not even those movie tricks everyone seems to know.
So I improvised.
My armor was ruined, just dead weight hanging on me. I sighed, feeling a tightness in my chest, and let it fall. Each piece clattering to the ground sounded like a farewell.
I used what remained of my torn inner shirt to improvise a sling. Tight knots, but not too tight. Wrapped the cloth around my neck and let the dead arm rest there, like a burden I couldn't drop yet.
Not ideal. But it was the best I could do.
With life and something close to health under control, I finally took a moment to observe the surroundings.
Destruction. Blood. Smoke. And bodies.
Small, green-skinned ones. Goblins. Some cut apart, others pierced through. One with its head smashed, caved in like rotten fruit.
And in the center of it all, a body larger than the rest, black with soot, glowing embers still pulsing between cracks in the flesh. Charred. But strangely, a rope tied around its neck remained intact, drawing the eye.
It took me a while to recognize. Memories came back in fragments — screams, heat, smoke, pain.
The hobgoblin. He was dead.
Was it me?
I don't know. Doesn't matter.
I'm alive.
I looked at the ground beneath the corpses. The Dungeon was at work. Trying to recover its costs. Slowly, hungrily, it was absorbing the bodies bit by bit, as if swallowing what was left of the invaders.
The first goblin I killed, the one I took by surprise, was almost completely gone. Its mana crystal… lost.
The second one, cut in several places, was sinking too. Another loss. More money dripping away through the cracks in the floor.
I tried not to think about it, but it stung. The effort, the pain, the near-death… and so little in return.
But that was still a good sign. From what I could tell, judging by how fast the Dungeon absorbed the bodies, I couldn't have been unconscious for long.
Besides, to my relief, the biggest prize was still intact. The hobgoblin.
But there was a problem.
My sword… was broken.
I found what remained of it tossed in a corner. The blade twisted, the hilt shattered. Useless.
I needed to fetch my gear. The stuff I'd hidden before the fight, among the stalagmites I'd used for cover.
My backpack and the loot bag were still there, untouched. Relief washed over me.
But the other potions… were gone. Did I drink them? Use them? Had some plan? I couldn't remember. Only flashes, disconnected pieces of memory.
Didn't matter now.
I went back to the corpses and began searching.
No delicacy. No time. With bare hands, or hand in this case, I tore hides, dug through flesh, rummaged entrails. The filth didn't matter, I just wanted it over with.
The goblins' crystals were small, as expected from this cursed new generation of monsters. Smaller, but more dangerous.
The hobgoblin's, though… was something else.
Huge. The size of a baby's fist. Heavy, dense. With a faint glow different from the others.
The largest I'd ever found.
It would fetch a good price.
And honestly… after all this, I deserved every coin.
I didn't forget about the rope, either. Still hanging from the monster's neck, surprisingly intact despite the flames. I pulled it back. Might still be useful.
From what I pieced together, during the fight, the stone I'd tied at the end must have shattered on impact, or the rope itself snapped under the hobgoblin's strength.
Without weapons, I'd used it to try strangling him, which must've worked for a while. At some point, he broke free… but the loop had stayed around his neck.
Then, at the end of the fight or close to it, I'd thrown the remaining alcohol on him. Must've burned in the open wounds, costing him precious seconds.
Some spark i made, I can't remember how, started the fire.
But that alone wouldn't have killed him. I'm sure. The blow to my head, the blackout, the destroyed arm… everything showed I'd been beaten.
And yet, when I woke… he was dead.
Someone had finished the job for me.
How do I know? Besides the potion, of course.
While looting the body, I saw the cuts. Deep, clean ones, behind the knees and at the heels — where the tendons lie. Not my work.
My blows were there too — shallow, desperate, scattered across the torso and arms. I took pride in the number, not the strength behind them.
That analysis, however, would have to wait.
Everything was taken care of. I survived. Gathered what I could.
Time to head back to the surface.
Before the Dungeon changed its mind and spat more monsters my way…
…
The return was quick. Straightforward. Too quiet.
The Dungeon seemed satisfied. Or merciful.
Since I remembered the path well and had no desire to become dinner again, I kept a fast pace, only slowing at turns to peek ahead. No sounds, no steps, no enemies, no reason to stay still.
No adventurers either. Again.
Strange.
I had no idea how much time had passed since I entered. But it had to be hours. Many.
Eventually, the familiar fork appeared. The end. The exit.
Seeing the immense staircase stretch before me, relief nearly made my knees buckle. I almost forgot that now I had to climb them with a dangling arm and a battered body. Almost.
What's so hard about putting an elevator here? Seriously.
Up above, between the columns, sunlight pierced through the gates, bathing the interior in golden light. Warm. Comforting. Almost… sacred.
The reception of a hero returning from the abyss.
Poetic.
'Divine reception, huh… Think Hestia will be waiting at the door when I arrive? Hm... maybe not. She's probably at work.'
Only a few steps left. Just a few more to freedom.
When I finally reached the top… the gates of Babel were closed.
'Huh? Closed? Weird, they're always open.'
I stepped closer and pushed with my good arm. Nothing. Too heavy.
Pressed my shoulder against it, held my breath, and shoved harder. Why make a gate that's always open so damn heavy?
The structure groaned, opening a crack through which daylight seeped, widening until I could slip through.
And on the other side…
It wasn't what I expected.
A crowd.
Adventurers everywhere, armed to the teeth. Gleaming armor, spears, swords, shields. Banners of powerful familias raised above their heads. Guild staff. Officials. Gods. Many.
All gathered.
All in front of me.
All… staring at me.
Silence.
…
…
…
— (Uh… did I come at a bad time?) — I muttered, my brain still processing the scene.
— LUKI?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING THERE?! — Eina's voice cut through the crowd, one of the Guild staff, her eyes wide, paler than usual.