Run—there was nothing they could do except run.
As Leon and Darrick sprinted madly back the way they came, only one thought filled their minds:
Which lunatic thought it was a good idea to put giant metal balls on an invisible bridge?
And not just giant metal balls—invisible giant metal balls!
From the moment they stepped onto that invisible bridge, they must have already fallen into the dungeon's trap.
First came the lure—a short stretch of perfectly safe road.
Then the bait—a clumsy, obvious decoy trap meant to draw their attention.
No one knew when the invisible iron ball had begun rolling toward them, but one thing was certain: the monsters hanging limply along the walls, letting themselves be kicked down, even their rhythmic screams as they fell… all of it had been carefully designed to disrupt Leon and Darrick's senses, to blind them to the real threat rushing toward their backs.
Something else was wrong.
Why didn't the bridge shake at all when the ball rolled?
If it had trembled even slightly, they would have noticed sooner!
Hundreds of thoughts compressed into a single furious roar—
"Damn you, Raya Lucaria!!"
Leon hadn't forgotten. According to the lore here, the sorcerers of Raya Lucaria had invited them over for experiments.
What kind of experiment was this!?
Were they treating people like circus animals!?
"Gurururu!"
The giant iron ball loomed closer, pressing down with suffocating pressure. The thunderous rumbling sounded as if it would smash into their faces at any second.
And somehow—it was still accelerating.
At this rate, they would be crushed long before reaching the cliff.
Leon glanced at Darrick, his resolve hardening. Suddenly, he grabbed Darrick's arm.
"What are you doing!?" Darrick panicked.
A story Roger once told him flashed through his mind—a hunting trip gone wrong, being chased by monsters.
Did Leon intend to—?!
Leon suddenly exerted all his strength and flung Darrick backward, toward the starting point.
"Wait—!"
Darrick flew through the air, eyes wide with disbelief.
Leon… was actually throwing him to safety.
But that meant—
Leon was guaranteed to be crushed.
The answer was yes.
And it would happen in the very next second.
Just before the iron ball swallowed him whole, Leon turned back and gave Darrick a radiant smile.
"Gurururu!"
Leon's consciousness plunged into darkness, sinking into a sea of black.
—
After some time, he woke up in his room.
So it really was a special event stage—death wasn't permanent.
A system message appeared:
[You received a petty reward from the Raya Lucaria Sorcerers]
[Large Glintstone Scrap] ×5
[Unstable glintstone. Consumes mana to unleash numerous magic projectiles.]
[Low-quality, fragile glintstones. Sorcerers generally don't even look at such trash.]
…It really was a petty reward.
Leon examined the cracked stones in his hands. They pulsed faintly with dangerous energy—just a little mana would trigger them.
…Actually, they seemed pretty strong.
What kind of rich sorcerer wouldn't even spare these a second glance?
Absolute aristocrats.
He carefully stored them away. After all, the description clearly stated they were low-quality and fragile.
Everyone has mana, so technically anyone can use magic—but talent is an unforgiving barrier. Those without it can only rely on tools like these to activate spells.
"Still…" Leon muttered to himself, "…I looked pretty cool just now, right?"
He replayed the moment in his mind—throwing himself into death to save someone else.
No matter how he thought about it, it was undeniably heroic.
Since escape had been impossible, choosing to save someone else was the only option.
If gods truly existed and watched over humanity, Leon was certain he'd earned himself a ticket to heaven.
"Hehe."
He chuckled softly, dusted himself off, and prepared to greet Darrick with righteous pride when he returned.
He had even decided which heroic pose he would strike—
When suddenly, a flash of light appeared.
Darrick returned.
"Huh?"
Leon lowered his head and met Darrick's exhausted, hollow stare.
"How'd you come back so fast?"
Barely a few minutes had passed. How did he die that quickly?
Darrick's cheek twitched.
He seemed to have a thousand things he wanted to say—but in the end, they condensed into a single, weary sigh.
"You… threw me crooked."
Leon froze.
…Right.
He'd thrown Darrick in a panic, without checking the rainbow stones below.
He had accidentally tossed him off the bridge.
During the few minutes Leon had waited…
Darrick had been in free fall.
Like getting stuck in a bug—falling endlessly, without dying.
The ravine was too deep.
His emotions shifted from terror, to calm, to numbness—
Until finally, he slit his own throat.
The two stood in silence.
Eventually, they reached an unspoken agreement.
They would never speak of this again.
Not after leaving the dungeon.
Not ever.
They continued deeper, approaching the third elite monster—a brand-new record.
Yesterday, Leon and Drew hadn't even made it past the first one.
"I wonder how far the others have gotten," Leon murmured.
Roguelike stages made it easy to lose track of time—and they deviated completely from standard dungeon exploration logic.
Normally, adventurers mapped terrain while cataloging monsters. Lower floors usually followed ecological patterns: identify one creature, and you could infer the rest.
But here, the monsters were entirely random.
No patterns—unless you counted every name starting with "Abyss-Tainted ___" as one.
And the map itself consisted of teleporting between rooms via chests.
Sometimes, Leon wondered if they were actually staying in the same room the whole time, and the teleport chest merely refreshed the monsters while disorienting them.
He was… half right.
Wade had indeed designed it that way—to cut costs.
"Your Master must've reached the end by now," Darrick said hesitantly.
He still wasn't sure how to address Gapar. Calling him "Sir" felt awkward, but using his name felt disrespectful.
"Definitely," Leon nodded firmly.
"He's absolutely at the end."
—
In another room, Gapar paced around an altar, his expression deeply troubled.
He had already slain three elite monsters.
From this point on, every space-time jump carried a chance of throwing him directly into the final boss fight.
So why was he still here?
Because…
Gapar let out a long, heavy sigh.
He was facing a joyful dilemma.
When he offered humanity at the altar, he encountered a special reward—a Treasure Chest that granted random boons.
Inside were three options:
[Choice 1: Learn three basic spells]
[Choice 2: Learn one advanced spell]
[Choice 3: Learn a random number of astonishing spells]
His lifelong dream of becoming a sorcerer…
…had just embraced him with open arms.
The joy was overwhelming.
There was no need to worry about whether he could wield magic—he had already obtained a Staff earlier.
Gapar stared at the choices, heart pounding, hands trembling.
Damn it—if he could only choose one, why show him three?!
He hesitated for so long that the dungeon itself might close. If it did before he made his choice, his hard-earned "temporary sorcerer trial card" would expire—and he wouldn't even have a place to cry.
Finally, he gritted his teeth and chose the most gambler-like option—
Option 3: Learn spells that will astonish him.
He wanted to see magic that truly lived up to his dreams.
A towering tornado of flame?
A life-transmutation spell that turned mountains into giants?
A devouring Gate of Darkness?
Gapar trembled with excitement.
He had always envied sorcerers surrounded by flashy, overwhelming effects.
Forget power—no one could deny how cool they looked.
Come.
Let me learn a spell that will astonish me.
[You have learned the spell: Carian Greatsword]
"Oh HO! The Carian—wait."
Gapar raised his fist to celebrate… then froze.
Wait.
The what?
He stared at the altar.
It clearly read: Carian Greatsword.
A… greatsword.
Gapar stood motionless for a full second.
Surely it wasn't that Carian Greatsword… right?
He pulled out his Staff to test the spell—but hesitated.
He had imagined a triumphant, explosive display of magic when casting his first spell.
Now… he wasn't so sure.
After mentally preparing himself, he finally cast it.
Azure magic gathered at the tip of the staff, shaping itself into a beautiful, shimmering greatsword—its blade glowing faintly, as if bathed in moonlight.
He swung.
And swung again.
And once more—until the sword dissipated.
Gapar froze mid-swing.
His expression could be summed up in two words:
Utter numbness.
Condensing mana into a sword and sweeping it—
Regardless of its actual power, the visual impact was…
Modest.
He cast it again, examining it more carefully.
The sword was elegant. Blue. Translucent. The runes were refined and stylish.
If you stared at it long enough…
Well.
It was kind of pretty.
He tried to comfort himself.
He tried making excuses.
He tried convincing himself that its minimalism carried a certain artistic charm.
But the longer he tried, the quieter he became.
Without another word, Gapar sheathed the Storyteller's Staff onto his back as if nothing had happened, walked to the teleport chest, and opened it.
He needed a fight.
Something to vent his frustration on.
His fists cracked loudly.
He hoped the next monster could withstand a beating.
As the teleportation smoke cleared, his opponent appeared.
A small, frail figu
re—so weak-looking that even a breeze could knock it over.
A human–beast hybrid.
Ugly? No.
But certainly not pretty.
A demi-human.
Gapar silently drew his sword.
His expression spoke volumes.
Disappointment.
Then, before the battle began, the enemy's name appeared:
[Demi-Human Swordmaster]
This...was the final boss.