The faint green glow of moss pulsed like breath across the cracks and corners of the stone walls, painting dim light over the narrow tunnels.
Somewhere deeper in the passageways, the air quivered with the sound of distant roars and the clash of steel. The atmosphere was heavy, claustrophobic—alive with tension.
This was the Dungeon.
Fourth floor.
"Waaaaghhhhhh—!"
A goblin lunged from the shadows, red eyes blazing, claws outstretched.
The hooded man didn't flinch. His arm twitched, cloak parting to reveal the gleam of armor and steel beneath. He set his feet, short sword angled across his body, left arm raised to block.
His gaze locked onto the monster's movement—focused, razor-sharp.
The moment the goblin pounced, his sword shot forward like a striking serpent.
"Hah!"
The blade pierced straight through its throat.
Schlk!
A soft chime echoed in his mind.
The man's gloved hands tightened on the hilt. One hard pull—and the goblin's blood sprayed like a broken pump. He twisted aside without hesitation, letting the spray whip past him harmlessly.
In one smooth motion, he wiped the blade clean with a cloth, then crouched by the corpse. A flick of his wrist, and his smaller knife dug into the creature's chest, prying out a fingernail-sized Magic Stone. He tossed it into a pouch at his hip.
The faint clink of stones colliding drew a satisfied grin beneath his hood. But after a moment, the smile faded. His eyes dropped to the corpse, resignation creeping back into his face.
"Figures."
He sighed, pushed himself upright, and brushed off his knees.
"Alright. That's enough for today."
Lucas—that was his name.
Just one of thousands of Lower-class Adventurers in Orario, grinding day after day to survive. The bottom rung of the ladder. Cannon fodder for the Dungeon.
Some might ask why people with no talent still chose this line of work. The answer was obvious: money.
Even at Level 1, if you survived long enough, the pay wasn't bad. Not glamorous, but enough for food, rent, and maybe a drink or two at The Hostess of Fertility.
Lucas was one of the lucky ones. Barely.
Two and a half years in this world… can't even remember the last time I got a real Material drop. At least today wasn't a total bust.
He hooked the pouch back onto his belt, sheathed his weapons, and pulled his cloak tighter around him. A glance at his old brass pocket watch told him it was earlier than usual—but early or not, he was done.
No greed. No risks. Stay low, stay smart, stay alive.
He melted into the twisting corridors, his footsteps light and practiced. As he walked, he couldn't help recalling the strange ding sound that had played in his head when he'd killed that last goblin.
Something new. Something System-related.
A grin tugged at his lips again—small, secret.
Before long, he joined the outbound crowd—adventurers and porters streaming toward the upper floors in a tide of exhaustion and chatter.
Rush hour in the Dungeon.
Morning and dusk, the place turned into a living artery, pulsing with the lifeblood of Orario's economy.
Lucas kept pace, his eyes flicking toward the teams hauling massive, overstuffed packs. Envy prickled, uninvited.
Those kinds of hauls came from real squads—or solo pros who braved the 9th floor and below. Every trip earned them a fortune in Magic Stones and Drop Items. Even a bad run paid well enough to make the rest of them look broke.
Nope. Not jealous. Not doing anything stupid today.
He forced the feeling down, turning his thoughts toward dinner instead—when a familiar voice called out from the crowd.
"Yo, Lucas! Long time no see! How'd you do today?"
Lucas looked up just in time to see a wiry guy weaving through the crowd, grin wide enough to make his cheeks hurt just looking at it.
Lucas sighed. "You recognized me with the hood on? That's some freak-level perception."
The guy laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. "Please. I've been down here longer than you. Comes with the job."
Lucas smirked despite himself. Fair point. Level 1s might be the bottom tier, but the ones who stuck around weren't amateurs.
"Same old, same old," Lucas said. "Maybe three thousand Valis. Enough for dinner and a drink." His eyes darted to the man's support carrier—the guy's pack looked ready to burst. "You, though—you look like you hit the jackpot."
"Ha! You're not wrong." The adventurer leaned in, lowering his voice even though the excitement practically radiated off him. "Dropped three Orc Hide on the 10th floor today. Could sell for twenty, maybe thirty thousand if we get lucky!"
Lucas's smile froze.
Oh. He came over just to brag.
He rolled his eyes and picked up his pace.
"Hey! Don't run off! Drinks tonight at The Hostess of Fertility! My treat!"
"Yeah, yeah!" Lucas called back, waving without turning around.
By the time he reached the massive plaza on the first floor—a safe zone big enough for thousands—the crowd had thinned.
He climbed the spiral stairs, emerging through the grand marble halls of Babel Tower and out into the open air.
The sunset painted the sky in orange and gold. The circular plaza at the tower's base connected to Orario's main avenues, alive with movement—vendors calling out, smiths hammering metal, adventurers laughing over the day's loot. The smell of food and smoke filled the air.
The sight no longer amazed him the way it once had.
He made his way straight to the Exchange Office near the tower gates. A few minutes later, he was back at the fountain, hefting a small bag of coins in his hand.
A soft jingle. A quiet smile.
Finally. I've saved enough.
"System," he murmured, eyes bright beneath the hood. "Open Status Panel."
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A/n: By tomorrow I'll be uploading around fifteen to twenty chapters, so add it to your collection, okay? I'm sure you'll love this fic!