Airmid's eyes widened.
Even though she had promised to trust the boy who had risked his life to save her, his words still shook her to the core.
"Are we... really going to do this?"
Roars and footsteps echoed through the tunnel.
"Yes. The choice is yours, but time is running out," Bell said firmly, his gaze unwavering. "Once we take this path, there's no turning back."
It was a reckless gamble.
They would abandon the fourth floor—their only safe escape route—and forgo the sixth, where they might find help. Instead, they would remain on the fifth floor, using its maze of intersecting passages to evade pursuit.
A brief thought was enough to know this was far from a wise plan. Their pursuers outnumbered them and could easily sweep the floor in a full-scale search. Even if Bell had memorized every path and predicted the enemy's movements, avoiding a fight would be impossible.
Airmid met the boy's determined gaze and spoke softly. "Cranel-san, I will follow your lead."
The moment she said it, Bell didn't hesitate.
He took Airmid's right hand and sprinted through the Dungeon.
The fifth floor's branching tunnels were vast. To slip past unseen, one would need speed like the wind itself—something far beyond what the two of them could manage.
"They're over there!" a man's roar thundered through the corridor.
Exposed from the very start!
Airmid felt the warmth of Bell's hand tighten around hers. He never slowed. Had he already anticipated this outcome?
She couldn't tell. She had entrusted herself completely to him. Even if what awaited them was an endless hell, she would face it head-on—and protect him if she had to.
"Block the exit! Don't let them get away!"
Figures appeared at the far end of the passage. But as if expecting this, Bell turned sharply down a central fork and dashed ahead.
Walls blurred past on both sides.
It was like they were running through a vast forest, hunted by unseen predators.
"After them! Hurry!"
...
Airmid remembered her patients' complaints—how running through the Dungeon was nearly impossible. The twisting terrain disoriented the mind, while cold fear clouded all judgment. Many of their injuries had come from such panic.
But Bell was different.
He seemed to know every turn, every passage. Even surrounded by enemies, he moved with unshakable confidence.
For some reason, a spark of exhilaration welled up inside her.
Pursued by multiple Adventurers, unarmed and powerless, she should have been terrified. Yet the Dea Saint found herself smiling.
It was a crisis unlike anything she had faced before, yet everything felt different—simply because of him.
Was it because he held her hand? Or because they were running together?
Airmid didn't know. She couldn't even explain why she felt that flicker of joy.
They just kept running.
Their steps were sure and light. The pale blue walls shimmered like a vast curtain, the winding paths stretched out like a springy track beneath their feet, and the soft earth felt like a boundless carpet.
Roars and shouts echoed all around, but to Airmid, they sounded more like a chorus urging them on.
Under the glow of the pale blue phosphorescence, the boy led the Dea Saint in a magnificent flight through the Dungeon.
...
"Quick, keep up with them!"
"Over there!"
The pursuers were closing in fast.
In a shadowy passageway, Bell finally slowed his steps. Even though they had managed to slip past their pursuers, their situation hadn't improved in the slightest.
The path to the fourth floor was blocked—everything they were doing was little more than a desperate struggle.
Is this where it ends?
Airmid recalled that fleeting moment of exhilaration from before and prepared to tell the boy to leave her behind. With her memory and awareness, if she drew their attention, Bell would surely have a chance to escape.
"Cranel-san, I—"
Bell squeezed her right hand tightly, cutting her off. "I haven't gone down this path before. Stay close and be careful."
Before she could respond, he pulled her forward and dashed into the narrow passage.
Their earlier sprint had carried them past the main artery of the fifth floor, into the unexplored left section.
The path was so dark that, without a careful eye, one could easily mistake it for a wall and turn away. When Bell first passed by here, he had noticed the ceiling was shrouded in shadow. That faint trace of danger had convinced him to explore the right side first.
Now, as they returned, the chill in the air grew sharper.
Bell knew this path wasn't unique to him—just well hidden. Their pursuers would find it soon enough.
This was a gamble.
Not a bet on the enemy's negligence—but on the Dungeon itself.
The clues were all laid out before him; the answer was clear.
When Bell had first entered the Dungeon, he'd been ambushed by Goblins—an incident that earned him the title "Weakest Adventurer."
In the following days, the Goblins had grown stronger. Some were massive, mutated variants, and a few even seemed to show signs of intelligence.
Why had they all suddenly disappeared?
The Dungeon was steeped in malice. It never shifted in favor of adventurers.
Bell's theory was that the mutated Goblins hadn't vanished at all—they were merely hiding.
The peculiar structure of the fifth floor supported this.
High-level adventurers only traveled through the main corridors. Even a cautious newcomer mapping the area would likely overlook a dim, narrow path like this one. And if they ever did find a mutant Goblin, they'd never survive long enough to report it to the Guild.
The Goblins were lying in wait.
What most would dismiss as absurd fantasy now felt disturbingly plausible—especially after discovering that alchemy lab.
Bell had heard Eina mention something called a "safe zone."
The Eighteenth Floor, often called the Safe Zone Floor, had seen countless Dungeon mutations throughout history. The settlement there had reportedly been destroyed and rebuilt more than ten times.
From that perspective, the leader hadn't simply exploited a hidden chamber for illegal activity.
The Dungeon itself had noticed them.
And instead of stopping them—it used them.
That alchemy lab had been nothing more than bait, a lure to draw attention away from something else, to divert adventurers from the truth.
Endless malice was stirring beneath the surface.
Bell hoped his theory was wrong—yet part of him feared it was right.
The pitch-black walls stretched endlessly ahead. Compared to the right side, the air here was heavy and suffocating. The Dungeon seemed alive, watching them with unseen eyes from the darkness.
Airmid unconsciously tightened her grip on his hand.
Their breathing and heartbeats were drowned out by the echo of footsteps and distant roars.
As they turned the corner—
Airmid's heart froze for a moment.
The vast chamber ahead was filled wall-to-wall with Goblins.
Dark green skin melded into a sea of bodies, countless crimson eyes flickering like the flames of hell.
They clutched crude weapons, fangs bared, twisted smiles stretching across their faces—cruel and gleeful enough to make her tremble.
One, two...
Airmid couldn't even count how many there were.
Some of them were towering figures sitting motionless in the back.
This wasn't a horde of monsters—it was an army.
The aura they emitted was overwhelming, far beyond that of ordinary Goblins. They had likely been lurking here for a long time, feeding on Magic Stones and growing stronger.
As a Level 2, Airmid stood no chance against them.
The Goblins noticed their presence.
Before they could even raise their weapons, Bell had already moved.
He grabbed Airmid's hand and sprinted back the way they came.
The Goblins surged forward, flooding the passage in pursuit.
Shrill screeches and furious roars crashed together in the narrow corridor.
A monster stampede.
An act other adventurers would scorn as cowardly—Bell had deliberately provoked it.
What he did wasn't the act of a hero.
It was the move of a strategist.
To pit one monster against another—to let the tiger devour the wolf.