I used to complain that the countryside was boring.
Wake up.Feed chickens.Avoid stepping in cow crap.Eat.Repeat.
Rain or shine, monsters or no monsters, the worst thing I had to worry about was, "Did the cow kick the bucket over again?" or "Did a chicken somehow get stuck on the roof… again?"
Simple, peaceful, repetitive.
I hated it.
"There's nothing to do here," I'd say, staring at the small patch of sky above our farm. "I'm going to rot."
My grandpa would snort and tell me, "Only lazy bones rot, boy. The land never does."
Deep wisdom. Very inspiring. Totally ignored it.
So when the Academy's scout came to our little town, covered in cool leather armor and guild badges, and said things like:
"You have talent, Leon. You should come to the capital. Train your class. Make a name for yourself."
My brain heard:
"Free escape from countryside. Chance to not die of boredom."
And that was that.
So yeah. I left the farm, joined the Academy, and thought:
"This is it. This is where my life starts."
…And now I'm pretty sure this is where it ends.
Because if I had stayed home feeding chickens, I definitely wouldn't be standing inside the Capital Grand Labyrinth, listening to the dungeon scream.
And yes, dungeons can scream. That's new information for both of us.
We were supposed to be on a supervised field trip.
"Welcome, first-years," Instructor Halden said that morning, standing in front of the yawning black entrance of the dungeon like it was a friendly dog and not a hole where people occasionally died.
Halden was the type of guy who always looked tired of everyone's existence but still cared. The kind of teacher who yelled at you for sloppy form but secretly healed your bruises after class. Messy hair, deep eye bags, robes that smelled faintly of healing herbs and burnt mana.
"If you behave," he continued, "this will be a safe, guided experience of Floors 1 to 3. You will follow instructions. You will not wander. You will not touch anything that glows ominously. You will not poke monsters 'to see what they do.'"
He stared very pointedly at a group of boys from the noble dorm.
They grinned back like they absolutely would poke monsters.
I stood near the back of the group in my standard Academy uniform, cloak too big on my skinny frame, fiddling with my worn leather gloves. The others chatted in clumps—noble kids, mage track, warrior track, archer track.
Me?
I was "that countryside kid who awakened as a Scout."
Scouts aren't impressive. We don't get giant swords, cool armor, or flashy magic circles.
We get:
Low Presence.
Tracking.
Some basic movement skills.
In our class, Scouts were basically air with a knife.
"Leon! You coming or are you going to stare at the rocks all day?" A voice jolted me from my thoughts.
I turned. It was Mira—another first-year from my class. Mage track. Fire affinity. Thin, glasses, too much energy.
"I'm coming," I said. "Just admiring the giant death hole we're about to walk into."
"It's sealed and regulated," she said, puffing up proudly like she worked there. "The capital uses magic formations and elite parties to keep the upper floors safe. Instructor Halden said the first ten floors haven't had a casualty in years."
"That's very comforting," I said flatly. "I love statistical safety mixed with the possibility of sudden death."
She laughed, like I'd made a joke.
I hadn't.
We went in as a group—two classes of first-years, a handful of upperclassmen acting as assistants, and three instructors.
The entrance hall was wide, stone, dimly lit by mana lamps. Runes pulsed faintly under our feet. The air was cool and dry, with a mineral scent and something metallic beneath it.
"Welcome to Floor 1," Instructor Halden said. "Remember, the dungeon is a living system. It responds to mana, population, and pressure. But it is also regulated by the kingdom. As long as you stay with us, you will be fine."
You know that cliché where the moment someone says "you'll be fine," everything immediately stops being fine?
Yeah.
We spread out a little as we walked, but stayed in sight of each other. Halden took the lead, a shield-bearing assistant next to him, and a spear-user upperclassman brought up the rear.
I stuck to the middle.
Safe. Comfortable. Invisible.
"Hey, Leon," one of the warrior-track guys muttered to me at some point. I think his name was Brock or Bronn or some other stone-sounding nonsense. "You nervous? You look nervous."
"I'm standing in a monster-infested cave with a stick and a Low Presence skill," I said. "I think I'm appropriately concerned."
He laughed and slapped my shoulder.
"Relax. Instructors've got this."
Ten minutes later, the dungeon proved him wrong.
It didn't start with monsters.
It started with a sound.
A low, grinding, bone-deep vibration that made my teeth ache.
Then the mana lamps flickered.
"Stay calm," Halden said immediately. "Everyone stay close."
A second pulse went through the stone, like the dungeon inhaled.
Then the alarms began.
Glowing red sigils erupted across the walls. A sharp, shrill siren howl echoed through the tunnels.
System messages appeared in front of every single pair of eyes, whether you wanted them or not:
[GLOBAL ALERT: DUNGEON OUTBREAK][Capital Grand Labyrinth — Containment Failure Detected][Seal at Floor 30 Compromised][Hostile entities ascending from lower levels][All non-combatant personnel evacuate immediately]
My heart dropped into my boots.
"Outbreak?" someone whispered. "Th-that only happens in old stories, right?"
"Silence!" Halden barked. His voice cracked slightly. That scared me more than the sirens.
He turned to the upperclassmen. "Form defensive positions. Lock the rear. We return to the entrance. NOW."
The upperclassmen moved fast, weapons out, faces pale.
Monsters hadn't even appeared yet.
But we could feel them.
Like a wave.
Like a pressure pushing up from the depths of the earth.
I swallowed hard.
This is fine, I told myself. It's not fine, of course, but if I say "this is fine" enough times, maybe I'll believe it before I die.
We started moving back toward the entrance.
Then the first roar came.
It shook dust from the ceiling. A second roar answered it from further down the floor.
Something big. Something fast. Several somethings.
I gripped the handle of the simple dagger at my waist like it was going to do anything.
It wasn't.
"Everyone stay behind us!" Halden shouted.
A pack of something burst from a side passage and slammed into the front line.
They weren't the cute, small dungeon wolves we'd seen in textbooks.
These were bigger, thicker, their fur streaked black and bone-white, patches of exposed bone plating along their spines. Their eyes burned with a faint, sickly glow.
"Those are deep-floor morphs!" one of the upperclassmen cried out. "They shouldn't be up here!"
"Then they are," Halden snapped. "Focus!"
Fire spells, shield bashes, and spear thrusts crashed into the wolves. One went down. Another leapt over and crashed into a student.
Screaming. Blood.
We were in a proper dungeon party formation for exactly four seconds.
Then all formation broke.
Monsters didn't care about neat lines. They swarmed, claws scraping stone, teeth flashing.
People panicked.
Someone bumped into me from behind. Someone else shoved past in front.
I stumbled but stayed standing.
For now.
"Leon!" Mira shouted over the chaos, eyes wild. "What do we—"
"Stay behind cover!" I yelled back. "Don't run into open space!"
A wolf crashed into a shield near us, sending an upperclassman flying.
So much for cover.
We were barely handling the first wave when the second came.
From behind.
Monsters from both directions.
"Oh, that's great," I muttered. "Just what I needed. A monster sandwich and I'm the lettuce."
We were done. Totally done.
And then it happened.
The worst, stupidest, most understandable, most unforgivable thing.
Instructor Halden grabbed my arm.
Not gently. Not accidentally. He yanked.
I almost collapsed just from the pain in my shoulder.
"Leon!" he shouted. "Get forward! Draw some of them away!"
My brain tried to reboot. "Wh—what?! Why me?!"
"You're a scout!" another instructor snapped from the side, panic sharpening his voice. "Low Presence! They'll chase the group with more mana signatures! You can slip past them!"
"That's not how that works!" I yelled. "I can't fight those things!"
"Do you want everyone to die?!" a senior student screamed at me, eyes full of real terror.
The worst part?
I didn't have an answer.
I glanced back. First-years crying. A guy on the ground clutching his leg at a wrong angle. Mira shaking, hands sparking with unstable fire. Upperclassmen bleeding. Instructors barely holding the line.
Someone was going to die.
Several someones.
Maybe me.
My heart hammered.
I opened my mouth to say "I can't."
What came out was, "I—"
Hands shoved me.
Not one.
Three.
Halden. The other instructor. The panicked senior.
They pushed me forward toward the wolves.
I stumbled, tried to regain balance, failed.
The ground rushed at my face.
I hit the stone. Hard.
My dagger clattered away.
I didn't feel heroic.
I didn't feel brave.
I felt like trash someone threw away.
Behind me, Halden's voice cracked:
"RUN! BUY US TIME!"
Buy us time.
Not "you can do it."Not "we're right behind you."Not "I'm sorry."
Just "buy us time."
I laughed.
Just a short, hysterical burst as I got to my hands and knees and stared into the eyes of a wolf with bones for armor and too many teeth.
"This is the worst group project I have ever been in," I muttered.
The wolf snarled, breath hot, drool dripping onto the rock.
I didn't breathe.
I didn't move.
My thoughts scattered like coins on the ground.
I'm going to die. I'm going to die. I'm going to—
A crack rolled through the floor.
Not from the wolves.
From beneath.
The whole dungeon shook. Runes flared red along the walls and then shattered like glass. The wolves staggered.
So did I.
The stone split right under me.
"Oh, come on—!"
Before I could even scream properly, the ground disappeared.
I fell.
Falling looks cool in stories. Dramatic. Cinematic. Slow motion.
Reality?
It hurts.
I slammed into something hard. Rolled. Slammed again. Bounced off something metal. Something bone. My back, my shoulder, my skull—everything caught a hit.
My brain tried to keep track.
Ceiling. Wall. Rock. Pain. Darkness. More falling.
Somewhere in the chaos, I saw glimpses:
— a dim cavern with roots hanging down.— a broken stone bridge.— a river glowing faintly blue far below.
Then I hit the water.
It knocked the air out of me.
Freezing cold.
The current grabbed me like a giant hand and dragged me along.
Up, down, side to side. My arms pinwheeled uselessly. My leg hit a rock. Right side went numb. My lungs screamed.
I tried to swim.The river disagreed.
I lost all sense of direction.
The only things I knew were:Cold.Pain.Dark.Too fast.
I opened my mouth to scream. Water filled it.
Oh. Great.
I'm going to die in a magical underground sewer.
My vision blurred.
Images flashed in my head.
Grandpa's wrinkled hands.The chickens fighting over feed.The farmhouse roof that always leaked when it rained.The morning fog on the fields.
I had wanted to escape that life so badly.
Now it was the only thing I wanted back.
"I'm such an idiot," I thought vaguely.
Something hard smashed into my side. The current twisted. Suddenly I was falling through open air again, just for a moment—
—and then I hit solid ground.
Everything went white.
Then black.
Pain screamed through every part of me, loud, then quieter, then distant.
I tried to move. Couldn't.
I tried to breathe. Managed a rough, wet gasp.
My body felt like it had been thoroughly tenderized for cooking.
My brain did one final, weak attempt at sarcasm.
"I hate school."
Then the darkness swallowed me completely.
Quiet.
Cold.
Alone.
Deep, deep underground.
On a floor no human was supposed to reach.
Floor 75.