Dim moss-light clung to the cracks and corners of the stone walls.
It barely lit the small caves and the narrow tunnels with many turns.
Every so often, eerie roars and the sounds of battle echoed through the passageways from all sides.
Dark, noisy, and dangerous. Down here, that felt normal.
This was the Upper Floors of the Dungeon, one of the world's three great mysteries, stretching without end beneath the Labyrinth City of Orario.
The 4th Floor, the Cave Labyrinth.
"Waaaaghhhhhh!"
A small goblin with red eyes let out a crazed shriek and lunged, its thin claws reaching for him.
Ronan threw back his cloak and stepped forward instead of backing away.
His left arm rose in front of him at once.
At the same time, he kept his short sword low and steady by his side, waiting for the right moment to strike.
His eyes stayed locked on the goblin as it rushed straight at him.
The instant it entered range, he drove the blade straight forward.
"Hah!"
The sharp edge punched through the goblin's throat without the slightest resistance.
Squish!
[Ding!]
Ronan pulled his sword free, and blood started to pour out.
He had already turned away, making sure the blood that splashed out would not stain his clothes.
He gave the blade a quick shake to fling the blood off it.
Under the cloak, he wore light black armor with leather padding.
Out of habit, he pulled a rag from the pouch at his waist and wiped the blood and gore off the short sword.
Then he knelt down, took out a spare meat knife, and dug a magic stone the size of a fingernail out of the corpse before dropping it into his stone bag.
He felt the weight of the bag in his hand.
The clear clink from inside made him smile under his hood.
Then he looked at the corpse again.
The smile vanished at once.
A helpless look appeared on his face.
"Just like I thought."
With a quiet sigh, he got back to his feet.
"That's enough. I'll call it a day here," he muttered, more like a reminder to himself than anything else.
Ronan Veyr.
That was his name.
Like countless low-level adventurers in Orario, he was just another face in the crowd.
Put simply, he was one more outsider from another world trying to make a living.
Level 1 adventurers like him, the kind who lived off the Dungeon, were everywhere.
They made up most of the population in this city of adventure and held up the foundation beneath it.
People liked to ask why someone with average talent would still choose this line of work.
Because they still had things they wanted.
Danger aside, adventuring still paid well.
Even at Level 1, once you got through the rough beginning, the money from the Upper Floors was enough for a fairly decent life.
At the very least, you did not have to worry about food or drink.
Ronan had only recently managed to get through that part himself.
"Six months, and I can't even remember the last time a drop item showed up."
At least I got a little surprise today, so I'm not going back empty-handed.'
He grumbled to himself as he hung the magic stone bag back at his waist.
He slid the cleaned short sword and knife into the leather sheaths at his hip, tightened his cloak, and pulled out an old brass pocket watch.
He slid the cleaned short sword and knife into the leather sheaths at his hip, tightened his cloak, and pulled out an old pocket watch.
Never get greedy.
Stop while you're ahead.
Keep your head down.
Stay steady and careful.
With his hood pulled low and his gear put away, Ronan moved quickly through the narrow tunnels of the labyrinth.
What kept circling in his mind was the notification sound he had heard when he killed that goblin.
It was the first time this had happened.
Under the hood, Ronan kept fighting back a smile.
Before long, he merged with the stream of people leaving the labyrinth and followed the broad main passage toward the plaza near the Dungeon's exit.
Evening, along with the morning around eight or nine, was one of the busiest times in the Orario Dungeon.
Adventurers and supporters moved in and out like the tide.
Ronan was one of them.
This endless mystery was how he made a living.
He slipped into the crowd without drawing attention.
His gaze fell on the large, bulging packs carried by the supporters around him, each one nearly half a person's height.
He felt a small hint of envy.
Those spoils either belonged to fixed parties with several members or to strong adventurers operating below the 9th Floor, people whose basic abilities had already reached Rank B or higher.
For people like that, every trip into the Dungeon meant steady profit.
Even on a bad day, when few drop items appeared, the magic stones alone could still be exchanged for a large amount of money.
'I'm not jealous.
Stay calm.
Keep your head down.
Keep improving.
Getting carried away is how people die.
I can't start taking risks just because my head gets hot for a second.'
He forced the feeling down and kept walking.
He was still thinking about what to do that evening when a familiar voice called out from the crowd.
"Hey, Ronan! Haven't seen you in a while. How was the labyrinth today?"
A thin adventurer with a slim body packed with muscle spotted Ronan even in the middle of the crowd.
After saying a few words to his companions, he hurried over, bumped Ronan on the shoulder, and greeted him with a grin.
Ronan took one look at that broad smile and recognized him as one of his drinking buddies from the tavern.
He let out a helpless sigh.
"You can still spot me with the hood up? What kind of eyes do you have?"
"Haha, I'm a veteran. Something like that is easy."
The man looked pretty pleased with himself.
Ronan could not really argue with that.
Even at the bottom of the adventurer ladder, anyone who survived in the Dungeon had a few tricks of their own.
That was even more true for old hands like them.
"Don't ask. Same as always. Around 3,000 valis."
Ronan brushed it off, then glanced at the bulging backpack carried by the supporter with the other man and changed the subject.
"How am I supposed to compare to a five-man team of veteran Level 1s?
Looking at that, you hit it big again? Ten thousand each?"
"Hehe, listen to this."
The man leaned closer and lowered his voice, though the excitement still showed on his face.
"We got three Orc Tusks on the 10th Floor today.
Big haul.
Forget 10,000.
If the price is good, it could be 20,000, maybe even 30,000!"
"..."
Ronan's expression darkened.
Now he understood.
The guy had come over to show off.
Watching someone else make money felt worse than staying poor yourself.
He picked up his pace, trying to leave the man behind.
"Hey! The Hostess of Fertility tonight! Don't you dare skip it! Drinks are on me!" the man shouted after him.
"I know!" Ronan called back without turning around.
...
Soon, the crowd spilled into the huge plaza on the first basement floor, a safe zone big enough for thousands of people.
Ronan climbed the spiral staircase that wound up along the inner wall around the Dungeon's opening.
Passing through Babel's grand hall on the ground floor, he finally put an end to the day's work.
The moment he stepped out through the tower's massive doors, his view opened wide.
The circular plaza around Babel connected to the city's busy main roads and the rows of buildings stretching into the distance.
Stone fountains stood here and there, and small parks broke up the streets, making the whole place look clean and bright.
Adventurers and supporters coming off work, tavern girls calling for customers, street vendors, busy craftsmen, and smoke rising from chimneys beneath the evening sky all mixed together and filled the city with life.
This familiar sight no longer amazed Ronan the way it had when he first arrived.
He did not stop.
He went straight to the exchange center the Guild had set up near Babel's entrance.
A few minutes later, he came back out and stopped by a stone fountain in the plaza.
He weighed the coin purse in his hand, now heavy with gold coins.
A small spark of joy rose in his chest.
'With today's money, I finally have enough.'
"System, open the panel!"