The dungeon collapsed behind her as she staggered out, the morning light burning her eyes. No cheers awaited her. No comrades to return with. Just silence.
"Can you compromise with me about each other privacy like going to the shower and--" Her blabbering was cut off by the ruler
"I understand, mortal from another world."
"Please call me Joohee not 'mortal from another world'." If some may see her she's a burning tomato right now because of how cringe the Ruler is.
When she reached her small apartment, her legs nearly gave out. She locked the door, stripped off the torn and blood-soaked healer robes, and stood under the shower until the water ran cold. Red swirled down the drain—monster blood, and her own. She scrubbed harder, desperate to wash away the feeling of fangs, claws, and death clinging to her skin.
When she finally collapsed on her bed, the voice came. Deep, calm, undeniable.
"Rest, vessel. You will need strength for what comes next."
She squeezed her eyes shut, whispering into the darkness.
"...Please. Just... let me sleep."
And for the first time since entering the dungeon, she did.
THE NEXT MORNING, she awoke from a restless sleep. Her body was whole—too whole. No scars, no aches. It was unnatural, but she was alive.
Then came the voice, smooth and commanding inside her mind. "You wish to survive, do you not? Then we must speak of strength."
She sat on the edge of her bed, clutching her knees. "...Strength?"
"Your healer's magic kept others alive. But alone, it will not protect you. You must choose a path. A role. What do you wish to become?"
She hesitated. "I'm already a healer. It's... what I'm good at."
"And yet you slew the Crimson Hydra not with healing... but with a blade. Do you not feel it? The desire to cut down what threatens you?"
She bit her lip. Images of her comrades dying flashed before her. Helplessness. Weakness. Fear.
Slowly, she whispered, "...A swordsman. If I had a blade... I could fight back. I could protect myself."
The Ruler's presence stirred. Almost approving.
"Then we begin. Close your eyes. Imagine the weapon your soul desires. Shape it. Call it forth."
Her heart pounded. "That's... impossible."
"Try."
She closed her eyes. Her hands trembled as she stretched them out, trying to imagine a sword. Not huge and heavy, but something she could wield. Something graceful, light, yet unyielding.
The air before her shimmered. A faint white glow sparked in her palms. She gasped as the light stretched, solidifying into steel.
When she opened her eyes, it was there—resting in her grip.
A sword. Long, but not oversized. Its blade shone with a majestic white gleam, its edge impossibly clean. It was light in her hands, balanced perfectly, as if made for her alone.
She stared at it in disbelief. "I... I did this?"
The Ruler's voice echoed, calm and absolute. "Yes. That blade is born of your will. It is yours alone. Remember this—your strength begins now."
She just sighed. Experiencing death and almost dying is different. Like something died inside her--her fear. She realized that fear is nothing when it comes to someone's eagerness to survive.
She stood there, the white sword glowing faintly in her hand, her chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. The morning sun streamed through the window, and as the light touched the blade, it also fell on her face.
Something shimmered.
Her eyes drifted toward the mirror across the room. At first, she thought she was hallucinating. But when she stepped closer, the air caught in her throat.
The woman staring back at her... wasn't the same one who had left her home yesterday.
Her hair—once a fiery orange that always seemed messy no matter how much she brushed it—now cascaded down her shoulders like strands of pure snow. White, luminous, almost glowing as if frost had kissed each lock.
Her eyes widened. And that was when she saw it.
Her once deep blue eyes, like calm seas, were gone. In their place burned a brilliant gold, radiant and sharp, as if molten sunlight had been trapped within her irises. They didn't just reflect light—they commanded it, blazing with an intensity that made even her flinch.
"No... this... this can't be..." she whispered, her trembling hand reaching up to touch her own face.
Her tan skin, kissed by years of outdoor labor, was gone as well. Now her complexion was pale, smooth, and flawless—like porcelain carved by divine hands. Even the scars she once hid beneath her sleeves had vanished, erased as if they had never existed.
She stumbled back, clutching her chest.
"This... this isn't me. What... what happened to me?!"
Inside, the Ruler's voice stirred, calm yet echoing like a storm contained.
"This is the proof of our bond. My essence flows through you. Your body has been remade to hold my power."
Her lips quivered, tears threatening to spill. "My hair... my eyes... even my skin... it's like I'm not myself anymore..."
"No. You are still you. But more. A mortal reborn. Vessel of my will."
Her golden eyes shimmered in the mirror, catching the light of the sword in her hand. She felt strange, alien, almost divine—and yet a deep ache pressed in her chest.
"...I don't recognize the girl in the mirror..." she whispered, voice breaking. "But she looks... strong. It's not the Joohee I know..."
Her grip tightened on the white sword, her golden gaze never leaving her reflection. Somewhere between fear and awe, a flame lit inside her heart.
If this was what it meant to live... she would bear it.
The days that followed blurred together. She barely left her home, afraid of what others might say if they saw her new form. Instead, her time was consumed by the voice inside her—the Ruler—who guided her every step.
Each morning, she awoke with the white sword in her hand, as if it refused to leave her. Its glow answered her heartbeat.
"Hold it properly," the Ruler's voice commanded as she swung clumsily in her backyard. "Your stance is weak. Again."
Her muscles screamed, but she gritted her teeth and obeyed. She swung the sword down. Again. Again. Until her arms shook and her breath came in ragged gasps.
When she faltered, the Ruler's voice cut through.
"Did you not face the Hydra with nothing but desperation? That same fire is what will mold you now. Swing."
She snarled in frustration, sweat dripping from her pale skin, but she kept going. "I'm... not giving up...!"
Days turned into weeks. Her movements grew sharper, her balance steadier. Each strike of the sword was faster, cleaner, carrying the strength of someone no longer just a healer.
Yet the Ruler did not let her forget her roots.
"Close your eyes. Heal."
She obeyed, channeling mana the way she always had—but this time it felt different. Stronger. She placed her hand over her bruised arm, and in seconds the pain melted away. Her golden eyes glowed faintly as light spread from her palm.
"Good. Remember this—your blade cuts, but your hands heal. You are not choosing between them. You are both."
She opened her eyes, her chest tight with a mix of fear and pride.
"Can I ask, do you know what is status window?"
"Yes, Joohee. If you are asking why you don't have one is because you have me as your system. Sung Jinwoo has the Shadow Monarch system, right?" The ruler's voice was calm yet definite.
"H-how did you know?"
"I feel it."
"Then why did my presence awaken you when you know that the Shadow Monarch will protect the world? I don't get it! Like what's the point of being here with this buff powers?" Her confusion was enough to make her head hurt.
"Because there will be more calamities the world will face having you here. The Crimson Hydra wasn't supposed to appear here. But as well as my reason for being here, you. Your existence alone broke the balance of this world."
When the Ruler finally deemed her ready, he gave a single command; "Enter a dungeon. Prove yourself."
She looked at the red rimstone the Ruler gave to her on the palm of her hand.
Her hands shook as she stood before the gate again. The last time she had entered one, she barely survived. Her comrades hadn't. She swallowed hard, the memory burning like a wound.
But this time, her reflection in the gate wasn't the same girl. Her snow-white hair shimmered, her golden eyes gleamed with quiet fire. The sword at her side pulsed like it was alive, waiting.
Taking a breath, she stepped through.
The dungeon air hit her—cold, thick, and filled with the growls of beasts. Shadows shifted. From the darkness came snarling orcs, their eyes glowing red, axe scraping against stone.
Fear tried to crawl up her spine, but she gripped her sword tighter.
The first orc lunged.
SHHHK!
Her blade flashed, cleaving it in one motion. The beast fell before it could even touch her. Her eyes widened—her movements were faster, sharper, more precise than ever.
Another orc leapt from behind. Without turning, she raised her hand, golden light bursting forth.
"Heal—no, shield!" she cried instinctively.
A barrier of shimmering light flared into existence, the orc smashing into it and staggering back. She spun, driving her sword straight into its chest.
Her chest heaved, but instead of fear, she felt... exhilaration.
The Ruler's voice rumbled with approval. "Good. You are no longer prey. You are the blade and the light."
She pressed forward, deeper into the dungeon, every strike cutting down monsters that once would have paralyzed her with fear. She healed her own wounds as quickly as they came, her sword moving like an extension of her will.
For the first time, she didn't feel like she was surviving.
She felt like she was fighting to win.
The dungeon grew darker as she pressed deeper. The air thickened, the stone walls wet with something that smelled of iron. Her footsteps echoed, and then... silence.
Her golden eyes narrowed.
The ground trembled.
From the shadows emerged a hulking beast—an Ironhide, its body plated with jagged black armor-like skin. Its horns curled like blades, its red eyes burning with hatred. It dragged behind it a colossal axe, the steel groaning as it scraped against the stone.
Her grip tightened on her white sword.
"The dungeon boss."
The Ironhide roared, the force of it shaking the cavern, then charged.
She didn't back down.
The axe swung, a blur of death. She sidestepped, barely escaping the arc, the blade carving a trench in the stone floor. Her hair whipped as she pivoted, bringing her sword across in a clean slash—CLANG! Sparks erupted as her blade met its hardened hide.
Her arms jolted from the impact.
"Tch—it's tough."
The beast retaliated, horns thrusting forward. She ducked, rolling past, and struck again—this time at its leg. The sword bit deep, white light flashing as steel pierced through the dark armor. The Minotaur bellowed in rage, stumbling but not falling.
"Keep pressing!" the Ruler's voice thundered inside her. "Your blade was born for this!"
The Minotaur's axe came down again. She raised her sword, both hands gripping tight. Steel clashed against steel, the shockwave rattling her bones. She groaned, knees buckling, but refused to give way.
Not again. Not like with the Hydra. I won't be helpless anymore!
With a scream, she twisted, redirecting the axe's weight to the side. Before the Minotaur could recover, she lunged, her blade cutting across its chest in a white arc. The creature staggered, black blood spraying across the cavern.
It roared, swinging its massive fist. She darted under it, her body moving faster than her mind could think, the sword flashing upward—SHHHK! A golden streak carved across its arm, severing muscle.
The beast faltered.
She didn't stop. Step by step, strike by strike, she drove it back. Her sword danced—sometimes a thrust, sometimes a slash, each motion flowing into the next like water. The white blade shimmered brighter with every strike, as if feeding on her will.
The Minotaur raised its axe for one final desperate strike.
She leapt forward, golden eyes blazing, both hands on her sword. Time seemed to slow. She could hear her heartbeat, the whisper of steel slicing air.
"Fall." she said, her voice echoing through the cavern.
Her blade cleaved downward, cutting clean through the Minotaur's chest. The beast froze, a gurgled roar escaping its throat, before collapsing to its knees. Its massive frame crashed to the ground with a thunderous BOOM, the axe clattering beside it.
Silence.
She stood above it, chest heaving, her white sword dripping with black blood.
Her arms trembled, but not from fear—this time from the rush of victory.
The Ruler's voice filled her, heavy with satisfaction. "Yes... You wield the blade well. You are no longer the girl who trembled before gates."
She stared at the fallen Minotaur, her golden eyes glowing faintly in the dark. For the first time, she allowed herself a small, breathless smile.
"I won."
She wiped the black blood from her cheek, breathing hard as she stood over the Minotaur's corpse. The silence felt deafening, the kind that usually came before a dungeon's collapse. Her golden eyes scanned the cavern walls, waiting for the tremor, the rush of light that meant it was over.
But nothing happened.
The dungeon didn't collapse.
Her brows furrowed. "What? Why... why isn't it ending?"
The ground rumbled, deeper than before. Cracks split across the stone floor, glowing faintly with a sickly crimson light. Heat swelled through the cavern, thick and suffocating, carrying the stench of ash and sulfur.
Her grip on the sword tightened. "No... no, this isn't right."
From the widening fissures rose a figure wreathed in smoke and fire. Two great wings, torn and leathery, unfurled with a sound like thunder. Its skin was obsidian, etched with glowing crimson veins, and its eyes burned like molten coals. A pair of twisted horns crowned its head, and in its clawed hands it carried a jagged spear dripping with flames.
The creature's voice rumbled like the earth itself.
"At last... I am called forth."
Her breath caught in her throat. The air around her was so heavy she could barely stand.
"A... a demon? Here? But... that's impossible. Demons don't appear in dungeons... not in the novel, not in the world I know!"
Her legs shook. She had read every record, every warning, every mention of monsters. Never once had demons been included. This wasn't supposed to exist here.
"Baal," the creature growled, his name like fire ripping through stone. "One of the Seven Kings of Ruin."
Her heart sank into her stomach. "This... this isn't happening..."
And then the Ruler's voice echoed inside her chest—calm, but heavier than she had ever heard it.
"It appears because of you, vessel."
Her golden eyes widened in horror. "Me?"
"Yes. By surviving the Hydra, by accepting me, by forging power beyond what this world should hold... you have broken the balance. The dungeon should not have contained such strength. But your existence has awakened something that should have slept forever."
Her hand trembled around the sword. "So... this thing... it's here because of me?"
"Correct. The worlds are beginning to bleed into one another. And this Baal—he is the first to cross through."
Her chest tightened. Her instincts screamed to run, but the dungeon gate was gone, sealed by fire and shadow. There was no escape.
Baal's laughter rolled through the cavern, shaking her bones.
"A vessel of light... how amusing. You will break easily."
She raised her sword, though her arms quivered under the crushing aura. Her voice shook, but it didn't falter.
"Then I'll fight. Even if it's my fault... I'll fight."
The Ruler's voice surged like a storm, resonating with her blade.
"Good. Then let us see how far you can go, vessel. Push your limits. Survive Baal, and prove you are worthy of the path you've chosen."
The cavern's heat pressed down on her, thick enough to choke. She tried to steady her breath, but her chest felt locked, her arms trembling as if the sword weighed a hundred pounds.
Her thoughts tangled, heavy and desperate.
I can't fight this. I barely survived the Hydra. I'm not supposed to face... this. I'm just a healer. Just... Joohee.
Her grip faltered, the blade lowering a little. Baal's molten gaze bore into her, unflinching, as if he already knew she would break.
"So fragile," he sneered, his voice a low rumble. "Your body quivers. Your heart is loud. You reek of fear."
Her knees almost buckled. He was right. Every instinct screamed to drop the weapon, to curl into herself and pray it ended quickly. She wanted to cry, to scream, to run—yet none of those would save her.
The Ruler's voice pressed against her mind, sharp and unyielding.
"Do not falter. If you fall now, this world falls with you."
Tears burned the corners of her golden eyes. "I don't... I don't want to die again..." Her voice was a whisper meant only for herself.
Baal moved, slow and deliberate, his spear dragging across the stone, leaving sparks. "Pathetic. Do you even know what stands before you, mortal? You should kneel and beg for the mercy of a quick death."
Her lips trembled, her body screamed weakness—yet something deeper inside her stirred. Something sharp. Something raw.
She remembered the Hydra crushing her comrades, the blood, the helplessness, the terror that almost paralyzed her. And then she remembered living. She remembered choosing the sword when death was certain. She remembered the taste of survival.
Her trembling stopped.
Her breath steadied.
The tears in her eyes dried, replaced by a cold glint.
Slowly, she raised her sword again, golden eyes narrowing, no longer wide with fear but sharpened like steel.
Baal paused mid-step. For the first time, his sneer faltered. The heat in the cavern wavered as he felt it—the shift. Her bloodlust seeped into the air, quiet but sharp as a blade against his throat.
"Hah..." Baal's grin returned, but it was tighter now, his voice laced with interest. "...There it is. The beast inside you. Show me, little vessel. Show me the monster you hide beneath that fragile skin."
"Time to hunt." Her voice came out low, steady, almost too calm for the chaos around them.
And in that moment, the healer was gone.
What stood before Baal was something else entirely.