Turns out the very first thing you do after being volunteered—
or rather, voluntold—to join the Dungeon Division…
…is paperwork.
Not training.
Not strategy.
Not "here's a sword, go stab a goblin."
Paperwork.
Lenna dragged me straight to the Management Office — a long, miserable corridor filled with officials wearing identical black-and-white uniforms and expressions that said I regret my life choices.
Honestly? Same.
A clerk glanced up at Lenna and immediately sat straighter, like breathing her air had just given him a promotion.
"L-Lady Lenna Ironcreed," he stammered. "W-we received the Patriarch's order. Dungeon Division Squad… uh… formation papers?"
"Yes," she said. "Prepare them."
Her voice had all the warmth of a collapsing glacier.
The clerk scrambled like a man with a death timer counting down and pushed a stack of documents onto the counter—enough to bury a medium-sized horse.
I stared.
"You're joking."
Lenna didn't blink. "Sign your parts."
"That's like… fifty pages."
"Forty-eight."
"Oh good. That makes it so much better."
She ignored me and began signing her stack with the elegance of a calligraphy master and the emotional range of a brick wall.
Meanwhile, I was over here trembling as I scribbled my name at the bottom of
'AGREEMENT OF DUNGEON LIABILITY — SURVIVAL NOT GUARANTEED.'
Line after line, signature after signature, I could feel my lifespan draining out through the ink.
Why am I doing this?
How did I end up here?
Why did I appraise her?
Why does the universe hate me?
I paused at one form, pen hovering.
"Uh, Lenna? This one says 'In case of death, the family may not be able to retrieve my bones for ceremonial purposes.' Is that mandatory?"
"Yes."
"…Okay then."
Another page:
'Acknowledging the unpredictability of spatial distortions and eldritch anomalies.'
Fantastic. Love that for me.
By page thirty, I was convinced I had lost every human right I ever had.
Lenna finished her stack before I was even halfway done. She waited with arms crossed, watching me like my handwriting was a life-or-death exam.
I felt judged.
Deeply judged.
Finally — finally — I finished the last cursed signature.
A system screen appeared in front of me:
---
CONTRACT AGREEMENT OF DUNGEON LIABILITY — SURVIVAL NOT GUARANTEED: ACCEPTED
---
Holy f*ck.
It was a system-enforced contract.
The clerk gathered the papers like he was holding explosive relics.
"Very well! The squad is officially registered! Congratulations, Lady Lenna… and Sir Augustus."
He said my name like he was reading a tragic poem.
Lenna nodded. "We're leaving."
I stumbled after her.
"Wait—can't we celebrate first? Snacks? Tea? Emotional support therapy?"
"No."
Of course not.
...
We walked across the estate, past training fields and branching corridors, until we reached the Second Branch's residential wing.
My family's wing.
She opened the door without knocking.
"Lenna—this is my residence."
"No. This is where we talk."
"…That is not how privacy works."
She ignored me.
Typical.
Inside, she walked straight into the drawing room like she owned it. Which, socially speaking, she practically did.
I followed, shut the door, and she stood by the window with hands clasped behind her back — posture perfect.
"We need to discuss our team."
Right. The team that currently consisted of:
Her.
And me.
And my gifted talent for regretting every decision.
She turned, silver-gray eyes razor sharp.
"Augustus Ironcreed. Tomorrow we begin preparations for dungeon entry. Before that, we need clarity on our division of roles."
"Okay," I said. "That sounds reasonable."
"First rule: I lead."
"I figured."
"Second: You follow my instructions without delay."
"That… sounds concerning."
"Third: You do not act independently unless you appraise something out of the ordinary. Even then, you report first, act second."
"…That's basically—"
"You have appraisal, Survival Instinct, and a class that makes you durable. For someone who claims to care only about living long, your skill set is surprisingly fitting."
"Thanks?"
"That was an evaluation, not praise."
Of course it was.
She stepped closer, aura sharp enough to slice my confidence in half.
"Dungeons are unforgiving. One hesitation can kill you. One misjudgment can erase your existence."
I swallowed. "You're really not helping my fear of this job."
"You should be afraid. Fear keeps you alive."
Her expression didn't change.
But her voice softened by maybe one molecule.
"I don't choose teammates lightly, Augustus. If you weren't capable, I wouldn't have asked for you."
My heart betrayed me by skipping a beat.
Was that… praise?
Before I could process it, her tone snapped back to normal:
"When I say move, you move. When I say attack, you attack. When I say run, you run."
"So I need to be the perfect soldier."
"Yes."
"Wow. Brutal."
"Accurate."
I sighed. "And you?"
"I am the sword. You are the shield and the danger sensor. Together, we survive."
That line hit hard.
It wasn't dramatic.
It wasn't poetic.
It was simply true.
And somehow, that made it scarier.
"…Alright," I said quietly. "I'll try."
"You'll do more than try."
"…Okay, I'll do more than try."
She nodded. "Good. Tomorrow morning. Dawn. Training field."
"Can I at least—?"
"No."
Didn't think so.
She walked toward the door, paused, and said:
"Augustus?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't disappoint me."
She left.
No waiting for replies.
I stared at the door.
Perfect soldier, huh?
I sighed.
"Fine. I'll try not to die."
I leaned back—
—and nearly died anyway when a voice spoke behind me.
"You don't need to become the perfect soldier, young Master."
I turned so fast I injured a neck muscle.
Victoria stood in the doorway with a tray of tea, absolutely unimpressed by how close I was to fainting.
"You just need to man up."
I opened my mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
"…Victoria, can you please stop appearing out of nowhere? You're cutting years off my life."
"No," she said calmly. "You're simply too easy to ambush."
I groaned. "Apparently that's my whole identity now."
She set down the tea. "If you are going into dungeons with Lady Lenna, you will need far more than tea."
"Don't remind me."
"I will remind you every day."
Of course she would.
I rubbed my temples. Dungeon Division. Lenna. Dawn training. Perfect soldier. Shield. Danger sensor. Contractually obligated not to die.
My life used to be simple.
Now?
Now I had a maid telling me to man up, a prodigy sword-maiden expecting competence, and a Patriarch watching to see if I survive long enough to justify the ink on my paperwork.
Perfect.
Victoria poured a cup and handed it to me.
"Drink," she said. "You look like you need strength."
"Tea doesn't give strength."
"Then pretend it does."
For once, I didn't argue.
Because she was right.
Tomorrow, I needed to "man up."
But tonight?
Tonight I was definitely having two cups of tea.