Moss clung to every crack and corner, breathing a faint phosphorescent glow across the stone. It wasn't much light, but it was enough to sketch the shape of the tunnels and low-ceilinged caverns stretching out in all directions.
Somewhere deeper in, the sounds carried. A guttural howl. The ring of steel on something hard. Echoes folding over echoes until it was impossible to tell where any of it came from.
Oppressive. Deep. That was the baseline here. Equal parts eerie and deafening, contradictory and completely natural.
This was one of the three great unexplored frontiers of the world, an endlessly layered labyrinth that sprawled beneath the city of Orario. The Upper Floors of the Dungeon.
Floor Four. The Cavern Maze.
"Waaaaghhhhhh!"
The goblin lunged, its eyes burning with a dull red light, bony claws raking toward its target with frenzied abandon.
The young man in the black hooded cloak didn't flinch. His arm snapped outward, the cloak falling open to reveal armor underneath. His right hand extended, grip tightening around a short sword held crosswise. Left arm up, braced in a guard. Feet planted.
Every scrap of focus narrowed to the creature's movement. The instant it closed the distance, his blade shot forward like a striking viper.
"Hah!"
A single, sharp exhale. The edge punched clean through the goblin's throat without resistance.
A wet crunch. Then the chime.
Ding!
Gloved hands wrenched the blade free. Blood erupted from the wound like a burst pipe.
He was already turning. The motion was practiced, automatic. The arc of filthy gore missed him by inches.
A quick flick cleaned most of it from the steel. Beneath the cloak he wore black light armor layered over leather, and without breaking stride he fished a rag from his belt pouch to wipe the remaining mess from the short sword. Then he crouched beside the corpse, drew a small utility knife, and carved out the fingernail-sized Magic Stone from the creature's body with the ease of someone who'd done it a thousand times before. It clinked into his Magic Stone Pouch.
He hefted the pouch. Listened to the stones rattle against each other. The corner of his mouth twitched upward beneath the hood.
But something made him glance down at the body, and the smile vanished just as quickly. A flicker of resignation passed through his eyes. The look of a man confirming what he already knew.
He sighed, bracing against his knees as he stood.
"That's enough for today." The words came out quiet, half-directed at himself. As if he needed convincing.
Leon Hart. That was the man's name.
Like countless other low-level adventurers in Orario, he was an unremarkable face in an enormous crowd. One more body among the masses.
In other words, an isekai wage slave.
Level 1 adventurers who scraped by on whatever the Dungeon offered were a dime a dozen in this city. They made up the bulk of Orario's population, the foundation the whole place was built on.
People asked sometimes: why become an adventurer if you're this ordinary?
The answer was simple. Ambitions aside, adventuring paid well. Even at Level 1, once you survived the learning curve, the "modest" income from farming the Upper Floors was enough for a comfortable life. At minimum, you'd never run short of drinking money.
And Leon was exactly that kind of adventurer. A rookie who'd survived the learning curve, picked up the rhythm, and knew enough to not get himself killed.
Six months in this world and I can't even remember the last time I got a Drop Item. At least there was a nice little surprise today, so it's not a total bust. He grumbled internally about his abysmal luck as he clipped the Magic Stone Pouch back onto his belt.
The cleaned short sword and utility knife slid into their leather sheaths at his hip. He tightened the cloak, pulled out a battered brass pocket watch, and squinted at the face. A touch earlier than usual, but he'd already made up his mind to head topside while there was still daylight.
Never get greedy. Quit while you're ahead. Stay low, stay careful.
Hood up, gear secured, Leon's figure threaded through the layered maze corridors with the confidence of routine.
His steps were light, his mind circling back to that moment during the kill. The chime he'd never heard before. Beneath the hood and high collar of his cloak, the grin on his face refused to stay down.
Before long, he merged into the stream of adventurers heading out for the day. The flow moved along the main corridor toward the plaza that connected to the Great Hollow's exit.
Early evening and the eight-to-nine morning window were Orario's Dungeon rush hours. Adventurers and Supporters surged in and out like tides.
Leon, a man who made his living off the Dungeon's infinite resource output like everyone else, fell in step with the crowd without a second thought. Just another commuter.
His eyes drifted to the Supporters in the flow around him, each one hauling massive packs half their own height, bulging with loot. A pang of envy he couldn't quite suppress.
Those hauls belonged either to organized five-man squads or to powerful solo adventurers who hunted past Floor Nine with Basic Abilities ranked B or higher. People like that pulled in serious money every run. Even on a bad day with few Drop Items, the Magic Stones alone from their kills added up to a small fortune.
Easy. Don't do anything stupid over a mood. Leon wrestled his thoughts back into line.
He settled himself, started planning how to spend the evening, and then a familiar voice cut through the crowd, calling his name.
"Hey, Leon! Haven't seen you in a while. How'd it go today?"
A lean adventurer approached. Not heavily muscled, but something about the way he carried himself suggested speed. He'd spotted Leon lurking in the crowd, said something quick to his companions, and jogged over to bump his shoulder with a grin.
Leon eyed the beaming face and recognized one of his drinking buddies from the tavern. He sighed.
"I'm wearing the hood. How do you even pick me out? What kind of freak eyesight is that?"
"Ha! I've been at this a long time. Comes with the territory." The man looked entirely too pleased with himself.
Leon couldn't argue that one.
Level 1 might be the bottom rung of the adventurer hierarchy, but anyone who'd lasted this long in the Dungeon had a few tricks up their sleeve. The real veterans had more hidden talents than you could count.
"Don't ask," Leon said, waving him off. His gaze slid to the Supporter in the man's party, whose pack looked ready to burst at the seams. "Roughly three thousand valis. Same as always. Not like I can compete with a seasoned five-man squad of Level 1s. What's this, another big haul? Ten thousand each?"
"Oh, you have no idea." The guy leaned in close, dropping his voice but failing completely to contain his excitement. "We got three Orc Tusks on Floor Ten today. Absolute jackpot. Forget ten thousand. If we get a good price, we're talking twenty, maybe thirty thousand per head!"
"..."
Leon's expression went flat. So that was why this guy had come bouncing over with that stupid grin. He hadn't come to say hello. He'd come to brag.
Someone else's windfall somehow stung worse than his own bad luck.
He picked up his pace, trying to shake the man off.
"Hey! Hostess of Fertility tonight, you hear me? Don't flake! Drinks are on me!" the voice called after him.
"Yeah, yeah!" Leon shot back without turning around.
...
The human current carried him to the massive plaza on the first underground floor, an absolute safe zone large enough to hold thousands. He climbed the spiral staircase that hugged the inner wall of the Great Hollow, followed the gentle slope upward, and passed through the grand surface hall of Babel, ending another day's work.
He stepped through the towering gates, and the world opened up.
The circular plaza radiating out from Babel connected to bustling main streets that stretched toward a dense skyline of buildings in the distance. Pale stone paving, broad and clean. Sculptured fountains and pockets of green parkland broke up the urban sprawl.
Adventurers and Supporters finishing their shifts. Tavern girls calling out for customers. Street vendors and busy craftsmen. Wisps of cooking smoke drifting against the amber of the evening sky. A living, breathing fantasy postcard.
None of it turned his head anymore. The wonder had worn off long ago. Without slowing, Leon made straight for the Exchange the Guild operated near Babel's entrance.
A few minutes later, he reappeared beside the plaza fountain, quietly bouncing a coin purse full of gold in his palm. A small, satisfied warmth settled behind his ribs.
With today's earnings, I've finally saved enough.
"System, open panel!"