The healing spell changed something in Jaren.
Not his circumstances—those remained as brutal as ever. The cellar rats still needed clearing, the moonweed still needed harvesting, the copper coins still needed counting. But inside, where the weight of fifty thousand estimated days pressed against his soul, something had shifted.
He had learned to give. In a world that only took, he had found a way to offer something back.
The priestess's words echoed in his mind as he walked through the morning streets: Be one of the few who give. It was absurd, really—a starving boy with nothing to his name, being told to be generous. But the absurdity was precisely the point. Generosity when you had everything was easy. Generosity when you had nothing was revolutionary.
He stopped at the Registry, as always, to scan the boards.
Today, something was different.
A new quest had been posted overnight, its parchment edged in gold—a sign of high priority, high reward. The text was brief:
[Urgent: Dungeon Clearance - The Warrens Below]
Location: Deep Warrens, Sub-Level 3
Threat: Unknown (Recent magical surge detected)
Requirements: Minimum Level 15, Combat Class Preferred
Reward: 500 gold, 1,000 Merit Points, Class-appropriate artifact
Note: Multiple teams will be dispatched. Team formation at Registry Hall, 8am.
Jaren's breath caught.
One thousand Merit Points. A thousand. More than he had earned in months of back-breaking labor. Enough to cut years off his impossible timeline.
His Level was 11—four short of the minimum. His class was Farmer. His reputation was... complicated.
But the Warrens Below were calling to him.
---
[System Notification]
Quest Detected: The Warrens Below (Elite).
Minimum Level: 15 (Current: 11).
Recommended Party Size: 5-6.
Risk Assessment: Extreme.
Warning: Entering below recommended level carries significant danger.
[Accept? Y/N]
Jaren stared at the notification for a long moment.
Then he pressed Y.
---
The Registry Hall at eight in the morning was chaos.
Dozens of adventurers jostled for position near the quest board, their armor gleaming, their weapons displayed with aggressive pride. Warriors, mages, rogues, rangers—all the combat classes, all confident in their superiority. Jaren stood at the edge of the crowd, invisible in his patched tunic, and watched.
Teams formed quickly. The strong gravitated toward the strong. Nobles sought out other nobles. The famous recruited the famous. Within thirty minutes, six teams had been assembled, their leaders striding to the registration desk to claim their spots.
Jaren remained.
A harried clerk finally noticed him. "You here for the Warrens? Teams are full. Try again next time."
"I'm forming my own team."
The clerk laughed—a short, dismissive sound. "You? You're what, twelve? And wearing rags. What class?"
"Farmer."
The laughter stopped. The clerk's expression shifted to something between pity and contempt. "Farmer. Right. Look, kid, the Warrens are no place for—"
"I have a team." Jaren's voice was calm. "Myself."
"That's not a team. That's a suicide mission."
"Then it's my suicide." He stepped past the clerk to the registration desk. "Jaren, Level 11 Farmer. Registering for solo entry to the Warrens Below."
The registration officer—a woman with iron-gray hair and eyes that had seen too much—studied him for a long moment. "You know the survival rate for solo dungeon runs at your level?"
"I know the survival rate for Farmers in general. It's not encouraging."
Something flickered in her eyes. Respect? Curiosity? Hard to tell.
"You're either very brave or very stupid." She stamped a form and handed him a bronze token. "Sub-Level 3. Report any discoveries to the Guild. Try not to die."
Jaren took the token. "I'll do my best."
---
[System Notification]
Dungeon Entry Authorized: The Warrens Below (Sub-Level 3).
Party: Solo.
Entry Time: 0900.
Recommended Duration: 4-6 hours.
Warning: Oxygen levels decrease below Sub-Level 4. Do not descend further.
---
The Warrens Below were exactly what their name suggested: a labyrinth of tunnels carved by unknown hands in ages past, their walls slick with moisture, their floors treacherous with loose stone and the leavings of creatures that should not exist.
Jaren entered through a guarded gate at the base of a collapsed tower, his bronze token gaining him access to the upper levels. The guards watched him pass with expressions ranging from amusement to pity.
"Another one," one muttered. "Won't last an hour."
"Took the solo entry. Farmer class." The other shook his head. "Definitely won't last an hour."
Jaren ignored them and descended.
The upper levels were empty—cleared days ago by other adventurers, their monsters already respawning somewhere in the system's depths. He moved quickly, his Observation skill cataloging details that others might miss: scratch marks on the walls (claws, recent), droppings (goblin, within 24 hours), a faint magical residue (unknown origin).
By the time he reached the Sub-Level 2 checkpoint, he had been underground for two hours. His eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the phosphorescent fungi that grew on every surface. His ears had learned to distinguish between the drip of water and the scuttle of unseen things.
He rested for ten minutes, eating a piece of the bread from the mill woman and drinking from his waterskin.
Then he descended to Sub-Level 3.
---
The change was immediate.
The air grew colder, heavier. The fungi here were darker, their light more sinister—a sickly green that made the shadows seem to move. The tunnels widened, opening into chambers that could hold a hundred people. And the smell—something ancient and foul, like rot and iron and old blood.
Jaren moved cautiously, his Aetherium dagger in one hand, a Flash-Pod in the other. His Life-Web Sense extended before him, feeling for presences, for threats, for anything that moved.
He found them quickly.
A group of five—no, six—adventurers, stopped in a large chamber ahead. They were arguing, their voices carrying through the tunnels.
"I'm telling you, we should wait for the mage's mana to recover. Charging in now is suicide."
"We don't have time to wait. The nobles will take all the credit if we're last."
"Credit doesn't matter if we're dead."
Jaren slowed, pressing himself against the wall. Through a crack in the stone, he could see them: four warriors in matching armor, a mage leaning against the wall with exhaustion, and—
And a girl his age, bound and gagged, her eyes wide with terror.
---
[System Notification]
Unexpected Encounter: Hostile Adventurers.
Status: 5 Combatants, 1 Prisoner.
Mage Status: Mana Depleted (Temporary).
Prisoner Status: Frightened but Unharmed.
Intervention Options:
1. Ignore (Continue dungeon exploration).
2. Observe (Gather intelligence).
3. Intervene (Risk combat).
---
Jaren had no business intervening.
He was Level 11. They were at least Level 15, probably higher. Even with the mage depleted, four warriors could kill him in seconds. The smart choice was to wait, to observe, to maybe report what he'd seen after escaping.
But the girl's eyes.
He had seen eyes like that before. In another life. In another world. A child named Sera, clutching a notebook, looking at him with desperate hope.
He moved.
Not toward them—around. The tunnels were a labyrinth, and he had spent hours mapping them in his mind. There was another entrance to that chamber, smaller, hidden behind a curtain of fungus. If he could reach it unseen...
Three minutes of silent crawling brought him to the secondary entrance. He could hear them more clearly now.
"—just kill her and be done with it. The ransom's not worth the trouble."
"Lord Valdric wants her alive. Something about her bloodline. Don't ask me why."
Valdric. The name meant nothing to Jaren, but the tone said everything: noble, powerful, dangerous.
The girl made a muffled sound through her gag. One of the warriors backhanded her.
"Shut up."
Jaren's hand tightened on his dagger.
He assessed. Four warriors, spread around the chamber. The mage, still recovering, near the main entrance. The girl, bound, in the center. His advantages: surprise, knowledge of the terrain, and a handful of Flash-Pods.
His disadvantages: everything else.
He pulled three Flash-Pods from his pouch and crushed them between his fingers, triggering their delayed-release fuses. Then he threw them—one toward the warriors, one toward the mage, one toward the ceiling.
The chamber erupted in light.
Screams. Confusion. Warriors clawing at their eyes. The mage, blinded, stumbling into a wall. Jaren moved through the chaos like water through stones, his small form weaving between the larger bodies, his dagger finding throats with surgical precision.
Two down. The remaining warriors, recovering, swung blindly. One blade caught his arm—a deep gash, blood flowing—but he ignored it, kept moving, kept killing.
The third fell. The fourth, panicking, ran toward the main entrance—
And straight into the mage, who had finally regained enough sight to cast. A bolt of fire sizzled past Jaren's ear, close enough to burn. He dove, rolled, came up beside the girl.
Her eyes were huge. Terrified. Hopeful.
He cut her bonds with his dagger. "Run. Now. Back the way I came. Don't stop."
She ran.
Jaren turned to face the mage.
---
[System Notification]
Combat Engaged: Mage (Level 17) vs. Jaren (Level 11).
Advantage: Mage (Class, Level, Range).
Disadvantage: Mage (Partial Blindness, Panic).
---
The mage's next spell was fire—a wave of it, filling the chamber. Jaren threw himself behind a fallen warrior's body, felt the heat sear his exposed skin. When the flames died, he was already moving, circling, using the smoke as cover.
His Green Mother's Mercy pulsed in his chest, offering healing, but he couldn't stop—couldn't spare the concentration. He pushed the feeling aside and focused on the mage's position.
There. A flash of robe. A muttered incantation.
Jaren threw his last Flash-Pod.
The mage screamed, blinded again. Jaren closed the distance, dagger raised—
And stopped.
The mage was young. Younger than he had seemed in the chaos. Sixteen, maybe seventeen. His face, contorted with fear and pain, was just a face. A person. Someone's son.
Jaren's blade hovered.
"Please," the mage whispered. "Please don't."
The girl was safe. The warriors were dead. The mage was helpless.
Jaren lowered his dagger.
"Go. If I see you again, I won't hesitate."
The mage scrambled away, disappearing into the tunnels.
Jaren stood in the chamber, bleeding, burning, barely standing. He had just let an enemy live—an enemy who could report him, who could bring worse enemies, who could make his life even harder.
But he had also chosen mercy. In a world that only took, he had given something.
He used his healing spell on himself—once, twice, three times, until the gash on his arm closed and the burns faded to pink. His mana was nearly gone. His body screamed for rest.
But the dungeon wasn't finished with him yet.
From the darkness ahead, something growled.
---
[System Notification]
Combat Complete: 4 Warriors Slain, 1 Mage Spared.
Experience Gained: +800.
Level Up! Jaren is now Level 12.
Prisoner Rescued: ??? (Unknown Noble).
Reputation Change: ???
Warning: Boss Detected.
---
Jaren gripped his dagger and walked toward the sound.
The Warrens Below were waiting.
---