Dungeon Merchant? I couldn't leave? This was my "second chance"? I laughed bitterly, the sound guttural in my new throat. But hey, at least I could walk. No more tubes or weakness.
The dungeon was alive with beasts—slimes oozing along floors, giant rats scurrying in packs. I needed to survive first. Using my Item Box, I experimented: "Store rock." A pebble vanished from my hand. "Retrieve rock." It reappeared. Infinite storage? Perfect for a merchant.
But what to sell? I scavenged the area, appraising moss-covered stones and discarded bones. A rusty dagger from a skeleton warrior appraised as "Low-Quality Iron Dagger – Value: 5 copper coins." Not much, but a start.
As I wandered deeper, a growl echoed. A wolf-like beast lunged, fangs bared. Instinct kicked in—Reincarnated Knowledge flooding my mind with game tactics. I dodged, grabbed a loose stalactite, and bashed its head. It crumpled, dissolving into mana particles that absorbed into me.
Level Up! Level 2. Strength +1, Agility +1.
Exhilarating. For the first time, I felt powerful.
Days blurred in the dungeon's eternal twilight. I mapped the first floor, avoiding stronger monsters like ogres. My job restricted me—no exiting to the surface world—but I could traverse levels freely. I gathered herbs, monster parts, and rare ores, storing them in my Item Box.
One day, voices echoed from a tunnel. Adventurers! A party of three: a burly warrior with a sword, a elf archer, and a robed mage. They were battered, potions depleted after fighting a minotaur.
I hid at first, but my Merchant's Appraisal pinged their gear—valuable, but worn. Opportunity.
Stepping out, I raised my hands. "Halt, travelers! No need for alarm. I'm Akira, the Dungeon Merchant. Care to trade?"
The warrior drew his blade. "A hobgoblin? Talking? This some trap?"
"Barter Tongue, activate," I muttered under my breath. My words flowed smoother. "No trap. See?" I retrieved a healing herb from my box. "Fresh from the depths. Restores HP. Only 10 copper."
The mage eyed me suspiciously but appraised it. "It's real. Better than what we have left."
They bartered: herbs for coins, a spare cloak for monster fangs. As they left, the elf whispered, "Strange... a merchant in a dungeon. Useful, though."
Word spread. More adventurers came—solo hunters, guilds exploring for loot. I set up a makeshift stall in a safe cavern, using stones as counters. My level rose to 5, unlocking Haggling Mastery (Lv. 1)—boosting profits.
But not all were friendly. A rogue tried to steal from my box. Big mistake. Dungeon Affinity heightened my senses; I caught him, disarming with a swift punch. "No refunds for thieves."
As months passed, I became a fixture. Regulars like Lena the archer shared stories of the outside world—kingdoms at war, dragons soaring. I envied their freedom but thrived in my role. My Item Box overflowed: potions I brewed from appraised recipes, enchanted trinkets from defeated beasts.
One adventure changed everything. A massive tremor shook the dungeon—a boss awakening on the lower floors. Adventurers flooded in, seeking glory. I supplied them, but joined a party indirectly, guiding from the shadows with maps I'd drawn.
In the chaos, I met Elara, a human cleric fleeing a corrupt guild. She was cornered by goblins—my kin, but feral. I intervened, using strength to scatter them. "Why help?" she asked.
"You're a customer," I grinned. "Bad for business if you die."
We formed an unlikely alliance. She taught me healing spells (my MP allowed basic magic), and I protected her during delves. My job evolved: Dungeon Merchant Lv. 2 – Now with Shop Expansion, letting me summon temporary barriers for safe trading zones.
But danger loomed. Whispers of a "Dungeon Core" deep below—a sentient heart controlling the beasts. It sensed my anomaly, sending stronger minions. I couldn't leave, but I could conquer from within.
Level 10. New skill: Inventory Summon – Pull items from the box instantly in combat. Armed with this, I delved deeper, selling to elite parties while scouting.
The Core was a pulsating crystal, guarded by a hydra. Adventurers failed, but I had an edge: Reincarnated Knowledge. I recalled strategies from old games—weak points, elemental counters.
Posing as a neutral merchant, I supplied the hydra's foes with tailored gear: fire-resistant armor, poison antidotes. In the final battle, I joined covertly, hurling explosive vials from my box.
The hydra fell. The Core, impressed, spoke: "Outsider... you bend the dungeon to your will. Merge with me, or perish."
Merge? No. I bartered instead. "Partnership. I handle commerce; you provide security. Win-win."
It agreed, granting Core Link – Boosting my levels and allowing dungeon modifications.
Now, my "shop" was a thriving hub: stalls with rare artifacts, safe rooms for rest. Adventurers flocked, tales of the Hobgoblin Merchant spreading far.
I couldn't leave, but the world came to me. For the first time, I was alive—truly, vibrantly alive.