This is bad.
Being the sole occupant of my thoughts, it was far from uplifting. However, I must ask, what would occupy your mind when an unimaginable, nightmarish creature, unknown even in the most heroic of legends, hurtles toward you with a frenzied desire to drench itself in your blood?
My name is Bell Cranel, and I am what you might call a Low-Class Adventurer, or more simply, a Level 1 Adventurer.
What led me to this situation? My livelihood revolves around hunting monsters, typically within the sole Dungeon in Orario, Babel. On this particular day, as I have for the past three years since my arrival in the Capital of Orario, I was hunting Goblins. They're my primary source of income, providing the means to put bread on my table. Naturally, it's not a daily feast, and there are nights when I drift off with a growling stomach, but that's beside the point.
My daily routine is predictable: each morning, I don my adventurer's gear and descend into the Lower Levels of the Dungeon to hunt Goblins, accumulating the coin I need. Sometimes, luck is on my side, and I find magic stones or items beside them. At the end of the day, after emerging from the Dungeon, I return to the Guild, where I exchange my day's spoils for Valis, the lifeblood of Orario.
Today, much like yesterday, was intended to follow this very routine. However, fate had other plans in store for me.
Before I delve into the heart of my troubles, you should acquaint yourself with some Dungeon basics. The Dungeon of Babel is a sprawling maze, with ever-expanding floors as you descend deeper. It takes a group of adventurers at least five days to reach the 50th Floor. While the Upper Floors can be navigated solo or in pairs, beyond the Middle Floors, you're asking for death if you venture alone.
For the past three years, I've been treading the Upper Floors, from Levels 1 to 4, every single day of the week. I've explored every corridor, inspected every chamber, but I've never ventured below the 4th floor in all the years I've spent in the Capital. Why is this relevant? Because I'm well-acquainted with these floors; it's impossible for me to get lost here.
But it was on that day that I stumbled upon a hidden passage on the 3rd floor. I had traversed and mapped this floor countless times on my way down to the 4th floor. In any other scenario, my complacency and lack of ambition would have led me to overlook the new passage. Despite being an Adventurer, my interpretation of the word differed significantly. I was the sort who strategized meticulously, prepared for weeks, and ventured for mere minutes.
However, there were other Adventurers, of the same level as me, who had no qualms about descending to much lower floors. Surprisingly, on that day, I decided to join their ranks.
To be clear, the Dungeon of Babel is the only one on the entire continent. It was mapped out years before my birth, and finding a new entrance could bring me fame and fortune. It might lead to a legendary sword, an elixir of immortality, or a treasure trove of jewels, gold, and artifacts.
So, I concluded that I should venture through that passage, driven by the hope of ending my nightly hunger pangs, of no longer agonizing over whether my earnings would suffice to mend my equipment and continue surviving.
However, as you can probably surmise, my pursuit of adventure, fame, and dreams didn't lead to a happy ending.
I found myself face to face with a creature that could only be born from the most twisted imagination ever to tread this earth. It was rumored that if a God were to set foot inside the Dungeon, it would spawn a sinister doppelganger with the same power, but consumed by pure malevolence.
The monstrosity before me might even surpass that description.
Of all the abominations that could have confronted me, it had to be an Ogre. This behemoth stood at a towering fifteen meters, its body oozing a dark, viscous substance. Its form was grotesque, with a distended belly, and gashes crisscrossed its arms and legs. It was barely clad in tattered rags, hanging like tent-sized loincloths. But beneath those, its naked body revealed a network of pulsating veins coursing with that same inky fluid.
Normally, the thought of a Low-Class Adventurer like myself even scratching a nail against this monstrous entity would be pure lunacy. I had no inkling of what level an Adventurer would need to confront such a creature, but it would undoubtedly require a formidable group at the very least to have any chance of survival.
It was evident that this Ogre was afflicted by some sort of grotesque mutation, for there was no rhyme or reason to its size, let alone its form. Yet, there was no denying that it was an Ogre, or a variation thereof, at the very least.
Ordinarily, Level 1 Adventurers like me who crossed paths with "typical" Ogres had no hope of survival, their tales buried within the belly of that Ogre. Yes, Ogres devoured their adversaries.
In terms of rarity, I assumed Ogres weren't a particularly uncommon sight, but they generally inhabited much deeper Dungeon levels. The Ogre before me, however, was likely the first to be encountered by a human being.
Yet, when all was said and done, I, an adventurer who had spent three years battling nothing more formidable than child-sized Goblins on floors 1 to 4, would be torn asunder if that Ogre so much as nudged me with one finger.
I couldn't fathom why, but a strange curiosity compelled me to gaze at the Ogre's hands.
Of course, the notion of engaging in combat was absurd. I couldn't entertain that thought. All that raced through my mind was the urge to flee. If I didn't run, I was assuredly destined to meet my end. Though, deep down, I knew that my fate had already been sealed, regardless of the choice I made.
Nonetheless, before I could even muster the resolve to turn and take a single step, I found myself rooted to the ground, motionless, frozen from head to toe. Fear had rendered me paralyzed.
Well, to be precise, my body refused to obey, perhaps because my brain sensed the looming threat and believed that remaining motionless would render me invisible, ensuring my survival. It was a cruel irony that my courage had been snuffed out along with any semblance of logic when fear overshadowed all my rational choices.
And, believe it or not, my fear wasn't solely induced by the Ogre's appearance, though its sheer size certainly contributed. The sum total of my terror emanated from the overwhelming pressure and aura it projected. Despite my time spent on the upper floors, I had developed an adventurer's knack for reading my opponents' nature, whether they were humans or monsters. Therefore, I could sense the weight of a being far mightier than myself, not just mentally but physically, as if the very air had grown heavier. It was an inexplicable sensation, possibly tied to some form of arcane magic – who could truly say?
Due to this overwhelming dread, I found myself utterly immobilized. My lips refused to part in a plea, my body wouldn't obey to sink to my knees and beseech mercy from a creature as mindless and irrational as an Ogre. Yet, an innate desire pulsed within me, a yearning for the freedom and courage not to flee but to drop to my knees and beg for forgiveness.
Regrettably, I was not destined to be the hero of this tale, nor the protagonist of anything beyond the scope of my own life.
Thus, all I could manage was to watch as the grotesque Ogre drew near, while silently wishing that this monstrous entity would somehow lose its appetite and grant me a reprieve.
After a cursory sniff in my direction, the Ogre opened its maw almost mechanically, revealing a set of grimy, jagged fangs, intermingled with the remnants of its past victims, possibly other low-level monsters. And, of course, I was about to join that grim collection.
It's essential to emphasize that I was a coward, though it's often the cowards who survive such encounters throughout history. If only I could move, I would have had a handful of desperate options and paths to choose from, if only I could move...
I had left my hometown after the passing of my sole relative, my grandfather. I had lived for a remarkable fourteen years, a time when I dreamed of being a hero, a potent Adventurer with the power to rescue distressed princesses and receive rather straightforward rewards. It was during my childhood that the seeds of aspiring to greatness were sown within me.
Thus, each day since my arrival in Orario, I could muster the strength to rise and repeat the same pitiful and wretched routine, all in pursuit of that dream. Yet, despite the immense effort and the meager rewards, it appeared that this was the irrefutable conclusion of my narrative. I had encountered the insurmountable wall of my existence and lacked the energy to scale it.
Pathetic? Indeed, I couldn't argue with that. But then, what other course of action remained?
With a profound sense of despair and regret, and the sensation of complete physical numbness, I felt my body lifted into the air by the Ogre's massive fingers. Finally, it hoisted me overhead, preparing to deposit me into its cavernous mouth.
Have you ever experienced the sensation of a summer nap? You know, those times when you return home utterly exhausted after a grueling day, intending to just rest your eyes for a moment, but end up waking in the dead of night, drenched in sweat?
Similarly, that peculiar feeling of being roused from what seemed like a forced slumber was slowly dissipating within my body. It appeared that I had just awakened, despite my certainty that I had been devoured by an Ogre.
Yet here I was, miraculously rousing from what felt like a nap.
Before frustration could set in, I hoisted myself from the ground, making no effort to survey my surroundings. I simply lowered my gaze and inspected my own form. I ran my fingers across my face, my torso, abdomen, back, waist, thighs, and the rest of my legs.
I was stark naked, devoid of any clothing. While the darkness obscured a comprehensive assessment, I could at least discern that I was intact, without pain, and only burdened by the disorientation of having just awakened.
In short, this was inconceivable.
The Ogre had undoubtedly devoured me; I held no doubt about that. I should have been completely digested.
Yet here I stood, in whatever "here" entailed.
On that fateful day, I, Bell Cranel, a Level 1 Low-Class Adventurer, had evidently descended far beyond any depth previously ventured by a human in the Dungeon.
The question that loomed now was how on earth I would return to the surface.
