Danmachi: Is it Wrong to be Alise Lovell in a Dungeon?

Alise Lovell's POV

The 1st Floor of the Dungeon was surprisingly bright.

Light emanated from the walls and bluish tunnels themselves — a pale, almost translucent light blue — winding throughout the environment, with no end in sight. There were no torches or visible crystals, yet, after only a few minutes of adjustment, my eyes could see everything with startling clarity. It defied logic. How could a place so deep underground be so well illuminated?

The floor, made of the same material as the walls, was uneven, with subtle rises and fissures spreading like fine crystal veins. There was no smell of earth or dampness. No trace of dried blood. Only sterile air, unnaturally clean for what should be a natural space. It made me uncomfortable — there was too much order for a place that, by its nature, should be wild.

Ahead, the Beginning Road opened wide enough for five people to walk side by side comfortably. Mister Fergus had told me about it — the main corridor of the first floor, a reasonably safe route where rookies like me began their explorations. He said it was the section with the lowest risk of direct ambush.

Still, he had warned seriously: many fought their first battles there. And while deaths were rare, they did happen. Not because the enemies were particularly dangerous, but because heedless adventurers... forgot where they were. Forgot that the Dungeon, even in its gentle beginnings, was still a waking nightmare.

That thought lingered in my mind when footsteps began to echo ahead.

I stopped, alert. For a moment, my heart raced. But then, two adventurers appeared in the distance, coming in the opposite direction. They were older, wearing worn clothes and moving with experienced posture. One of them gave me a vague, curious look — and passed by. Neither spoke a word. In that place, even conversation seemed a privilege no one wanted to grant.

I moved forward in absolute silence. Even with Fergus's advice fresh in my mind, the tension of exploring the unknown traveled with me. The fear didn't go away — it just hid beneath my focus.

Then, something new tore through the silence: a rough, dragging sound. Claws. Or teeth. Scraping against stone. My muscles tensed instantly.

This time it wasn't a false alarm. I turned toward the noise, alert like a cat sniffing danger.

A goblin stared at me from the far end of the tunnel. Short, with dull greenish skin dirtied by grime. Deep-set red eyes burned with primitive hatred. Its oversized head bore three off-white protrusions like tiny horns, and its gaping mouth revealed rows of long, thin, yellowed teeth that looked like rusty knives.

It snarled — a sharp, guttural scream that echoed off the cavern walls, a warning that it had seen me too.

The confidence I carried into the Dungeon's entrance vanished without a trace. The air grew heavy, hard to breathe, and fear — invisible yet suffocating — weighed down my shoulders, wanting to pin me to the ground.

The goblin advanced. Not hurriedly, but steadily. Its short, precise steps reminded me of a predator accustomed to killing. There was conviction in every move—maybe it already envisioned our confrontation's outcome.

I choked on my own nerves. My body stumbled back instinctively — one step, then another. The blade trembled in my hand, threatening to slip at any moment. My mind blared fragmented commands: lift the sword, strike, move… anything.

It launched into a sudden leap — more feral than calculated — closing the distance in the blink of an eye. A scream escaped my throat, born of reflex more than bravery, and I swung the sword in a rushed lateral cut, poorly aimed.

The blade cut the air but struck stone with a metallic clang that vibrated through my arm to my shoulder. If anyone was watching, they'd think we were competing to see who could be clumsier in the fight.

The goblin dropped beside me. We both spun practically at the same time, two amateurs lost in an impromptu duel. It clicked its teeth in a grating sound — and for a fleeting moment, it seemed to mock me. A part of my panic-addled mind believed it could feel my terror…and that it reveled in it.

It attacked again — the jagged, glass-like claw aiming for me in a savage strike.

Retreating once more was all I could manage. One claw scratched the side of my armor, producing a metallic screech that made me shudder. No pain — the plate had taken the hit.

The goblin continued, driven by an insatiable thirst for blood. In my whole life, I'd never seen a creature so cruel and relentless, capable of chasing death with such resolve.

In a swift move, I lunged to the side. I rolled across the hard floor, feeling the metal of my armor scraping against the stone with every turn. It passed over me, claws scraping the tunnel wall as it let out a piercing cry of frustration.

I struggled to get up, but it was too late. The goblin charged with a feral growl and, instead of leaping, slammed its head violently into my chin. My neck snapped backward with the force, and the world spun before I fell onto my back.

Chaos erupted in an instant. The impact threw me to the ground, and despite my slender frame, its momentum was enough to pin me down. Its bony hands reached for my face, its yellow teeth threatening my neck.

I let out a hoarse moan and drove my knee into its abdomen. That was enough to break the continuation of the attack. I remembered the sword. In an adrenaline-fueled impulse, I pushed its body with my feet, using the momentum from the fall to hurl it backward. It was thrown over me, squealing in rage as it flipped in the air.

Before it even hit the ground properly, I was on my feet with the sword steady in my hands. I ran. I reached the goblin as it tried to stand and stabbed the blade into its chest with a choked cry.

The sound was muffled — as if something had been plunged into thick mud. It froze. Its wide eyes trembled between shock and pain. The blade pierced its chest… then — puff. The body dissolved into a thick cloud of black dust, leaving behind only a small purple gem, faintly pulsing on the cold stone.

I collapsed to my knees, struggling to breathe. For the first time since the fight began, my hands stopped trembling. I looked at the sword — the blade still released a dark mist mixed with the last traces of blood. Remnants of the creature that had ceased to exist.

I stared for a few seconds, uncertain what to think. I had just killed. It wasn't human, nor a helpless animal, but it wasn't lifeless either. It wasn't a puppet or an object. It was a real creature. Viscous, warm, noisy. And now, just dust in the air.

The memory of the blade slicing through its body turned my stomach. I had to swallow hard to chase away the disgusting taste rising in my mouth.

I bent down and picked up the purple gem from the floor. Smooth to the touch. Light. Too small to carry such weight on its own. So real, and at the same time… hard to believe.

My heart still pounded as if my body didn't know the fight was over. Is this what adventurers faced every day? That mixture of fear, shock, and the need to go on?

Doubts began piling up, one after another. Could I do this again? Was I ready?

I swallowed the questions and pressed back the tears. Now was not the time.

Yes, it was just a goblin. Yes, the fight was clumsy, ugly, almost pathetic. But I felled an enemy.

If I wanted to continue… I'd have to do it again. Many times.

**

I sat down slowly, leaning my back against the Dungeon's rough wall, and placed another magic stone into the small cloth pouch Lady Astraea had given me. Now I fully understood why she considered it indispensable.

I examined its contents with a furrowed brow before pulling the drawstring shut. My mouth was dry, my lips sticking together every time I tried to swallow. Five… no, seven enemies so far. Two kobolds, the rest goblins. Each one more aggressive than the last.

None of them looked different from the others — short bodies, grimy skin or fur, sunken eyes and crooked teeth. But repetition took its toll. The exhaustion wasn't from physical strain, but from accumulation — from the constant tension between fights, the vigilance that couldn't waver.

Leaning there had been almost automatic, a rare moment of concession. A brief silence just for me, where my body asked for a pause, and I obeyed. I sat on the floor, feeling the cold dampness seep through my clothes, and let the sword rest on my lap. Sweat trickled slowly down my back and under the collar of my armor, gluing the fabric to my skin.

I looked up at the ceiling. A solitary crack crossed the corridor from one side to the other — the same one the last monster had emerged from, scraping the stone with short claws. I took a deep breath, feeling my chest rise and fall at an increasingly slower pace.

And then, inevitably, the question returned: Should I descend to the second floor?

So far, the encounters had played out just as Mister Fergus had described. The path was wide, almost straight. There was room to reposition, to calculate, to breathe. No treacherous corners or suffocating corridors — the enemies came from the front, giving me time. I heard them before I saw them. Their growls echoed through the tunnels, warning me that danger was approaching.

It was my fifth — maybe sixth — rest since the start of the incursion. And each one lasted a little longer than the last. I wanted to respect my own limits, move at a pace I could sustain. But the Dungeon didn't wait for me. It kept spitting out monsters, one after the other, as if trying to break me through sheer exhaustion.

The fear of repeating the mistake from the first fight still lingered. Back then, it wasn't the creature that nearly brought me down — it was hesitation. I'd fallen victim to panic, confusion, and a body that locked up. That couldn't happen again.

I let out a heavy sigh as I stood up, feeling my knees protest under the weight of the armor. With each pause, I was reminded that I couldn't just get comfortable. The path to the second floor was just ahead, waiting.

According to the Guild's books, the next floor wasn't much different in terms of raw strength. The real change was something else. It was the appearance of a new enemy — the Dungeon Lizards.

Reptilian and cunning creatures. They weren't stronger than goblins or more resilient than kobolds, but they had something the others lacked: tactics. They ambushed. They emerged from the walls, the ceiling, from nowhere. And even if not deadlier in raw power, they were dangerous because they attacked where vigilance faltered.

I had been advised not to go past the second floor today. This incursion was meant to be an introduction. A warm-up — not a trial by fire.

But now, standing at the uneasy crossroads between moving forward or stopping… the weight of the decision loomed heavier than any previous battle.

The next enemy would appear soon. And after it, another. If I waited too long… I might miss the chance to continue while I still had strength left in my legs.

"…I'm going. I can do this. I have potions with me," I muttered to myself, sealing the decision. And if I realized the second floor was beyond what I could handle, then I'd retreat. Simple as that.

I adjusted the pouch strapped to my right hip. The damp fabric clung briefly to my sweaty palm. In silence, I resumed the march down the Initial Path. As long as I stayed in that straight corridor, there was no way to get lost. I just had to move forward. A path with no curves offered no forks — or at least, that was what I held onto to stay calm.

With each step, the memory of meeting Mister Fergus returned more vividly. Without his guidance, I wouldn't have made it past the entrance. I might not have even dared cross the Dungeon's gate. It was thanks to his basic yet precise instructions that I had managed to stay focused this far, even during the worst moments.

I couldn't say if he was the most experienced of the Guild's advisors — I'd never spoken to another, after all — but that didn't really matter. In practice, he had been my first foundation. And without him, everything inside here would've been much more frightening.

I kept moving forward. I passed a few adventurers along the way, all silent, focused — some more wounded than others. The corridor, once wide enough for five people to walk side by side, began to narrow. Now, two adventurers would need to adjust their pace to avoid bumping into each other.

With no announcement or visible marker… the passage appeared. Subtle. A natural recess in the stone, bordered by a ridge shaped by the rock itself. In the center, a rustic staircase descended into the depths — narrow, steep, poorly lit.

I stopped in front of it, staring at the steps that led down to the second floor. My hands tightened around the sword's hilt, my gloved fingers going stiff and pale.

The bluish light from the first floor still reached the upper steps but gradually faded, swallowed by shadow. The air was colder there. Denser, as if the Dungeon's weight increased with every meter downward.

"Stay calm. Don't look down…" I whispered, my voice almost inaudible in the mineral silence.

And then I took the first step.

The staircase was sloped, but firm. I placed my hands on the damp walls for balance and kept descending. One step at a time. No stumbling. No slipping.

And just like that, I left the first floor behind.

**

At first glance the second floor of the Dungeon didn't seem all that different from the first. But I quickly noticed the absence of the Beginning Road — that long, straight corridor that, on the previous level, gave a false sense of security.

Here, the tunnels branched off in all directions, like twisted roots spreading underground. I tried to memorize the path, but some intersections… changed. It was as if the walls shifted when I looked away. I'd already walked into two dead ends and circled back through a looping hallway, only realizing I was trapped once I returned to the starting point.

I turned left into a tight crossing and found myself in an even narrower corridor. The walls were close together, almost touching. The faint bluish light barely reached the center of the passage. I stopped. A chill ran up my spine. The silence here wasn't just quiet — it was oppressive.

I crouched slowly and picked up a handful of gravel from the ground — loose fragments, possibly the remnants of some creature that had emerged from the wall. Without thinking much, I tossed the stones ahead, down the corridor.

A dry clatter echoed — followed by growls. A deep, muffled chorus from somewhere up ahead, still hidden. My blood ran cold. I ran. Hurled myself out of that narrow tunnel without looking back, pursued by something I still couldn't see. Whether they had just noticed me or had been waiting for the right moment to strike no longer mattered. The hunt had begun.

Two kobolds appeared shortly after, emerging from the tunnel. Their lupine feet slammed against the stone floor with force. One charged straight at me. The other flanked from the side, as if coordinating an ambush — but their red, wild eyes held no trace of reason.

As synchronized as they seemed, they were nothing more than aggressive beasts, driven by incomprehensible rage.

The first kobold came at me from the front, growling low, while the second closed in from the side, fast and determined, like part of the same pack. Their red eyes gleamed under the dim light, and their curved teeth ground together in raw hatred.

I took two steps back, drew my sword, and raised the blade in front of me, feeling the weight of the confrontation approach.

The one in front struck first. It leapt, jaws wide, aiming for my throat. I dodged to the side and swung the sword in a short, precise arc, striking its leg. The cut was deep enough to draw a pained howl from the monster.

But there was no pause.

The second kobold lunged without hesitation. It came in a low leap, aiming for my flank. I twisted my body quickly and raised my forearm, shielding myself with the armor. The impact reverberated through my entire arm, knocking the breath from my chest. I staggered. My free hand reached for the sword to keep from falling.

They weren't giving me any space. And I'd barely started fighting.

They didn't seem much stronger than the kobolds from the first floor, but the difference was in the pressure — now there were two at once. This was my first time facing multiple enemies at the same time. Was this normal for the second floor?

The one I'd wounded was already getting up, limping slightly. The other, mostly unharmed, growled low, crouched, ready to strike again.

I moved quickly to the side of the tunnel, pressing my back against the stone wall. The limited space left no room to be flanked — from there, only one could reach me at a time.

It worked.

The wounded kobold came first. It lunged straight at me, reckless. I waited until the last second, kept my blade low, then raised it in an upward arc, firm and precise, slicing through its chest from bottom to top.

The sword met resistance but pushed through. The blade tore fur and flesh, and a burst of dark dust erupted from the wound. The creature's body hit the floor with a muffled thud… and dissolved into black particles before it could reach me.

My chest rose and fell rapidly. One was down. But the second didn't falter. On the contrary — it charged with even more fury, as if the fall of its companion had only fueled its rage.

It came at me with claws raised, trying to pin me down. I kicked it directly in the knee. Nothing elegant, nothing technical — just the bare minimum. But it was enough to throw it off balance.

I didn't hesitate.

I lunged forward, both hands gripping the sword, and slashed diagonally. It moved in time, and the blade only grazed its arm. The gray fur stained red, and from the clumsy way it moved afterward, I could tell the wound had done damage. The arm hung limp, weakened, but it was still standing.

Now it was my turn to apply pressure.

It tried to counterattack, but the blow was off. The injury had thrown off its movement. I took advantage of the opening and spun, landing the edge of the blade straight into its neck.

The cut was clean, precise. I felt the metal slice through flesh, and before it could even react, the purple glow of a magic stone lit the air — just as its head separated from its body and everything turned into dark mist.

Two kobolds. Alone.

I panted, still standing, and for the first time, the heavy breathing wasn't just from exertion. It was something else. Something warm, pulsing in my veins — relief, pride, and a kind of childlike disbelief.

I had won.

A breathless laugh escaped me as I gathered the magic stones from the ground. My hands trembled — not from fear, but from exhilaration.

This time was different. It wasn't like the panic I'd felt when facing my first goblin. I had chosen every move. I knew — however imperfectly — what I was doing.

I laughed again, louder, and leaned against the wall to breathe. My knees buckled slightly, but I didn't care. The smile was still on my face.

"I… did it. Alone." I murmured, as if the words gave weight to the moment.

It wasn't luck. I was learning. Understanding how to fight, how to survive. And survival… maybe it wasn't a miracle. Maybe it was just the consequence of continuing to try.

I closed my eyes for a moment and let the warmth of a small victory wash over me. A moment of peace.

And of course… that's when I let my guard down.

A classic rookie mistake, too convinced by recent victories. My eyes stopped scanning the tunnel. My ears stopped searching for sounds.

And the Dungeon, merciless as always, was already preparing to remind me exactly where I was.

Something wet dripped onto my shoulder. I blinked, confused — and when I turned my face upward, it was already too late.

A roar tore through the air — far too close. My eyes barely had time to focus before the creature's gaping maw dropped from the ceiling. The sharp protrusions on its face descended like scythes, and one of them slashed across my forehead, carving a deep cut above my brow.

I screamed — loud and involuntary — clutching at my face. Hot blood streamed down immediately, blurring my vision. My body reacted without thinking: I sprinted down the tunnel, the pouch of magic stones forgotten behind. There was no right direction — only the certainty that I had to get away.

The impact of the creature hitting the floor echoed behind me with force, filling the tunnel. The Dungeon Lizard had landed exactly where I'd been just moments before. Its forked tongue flicked out, tasting the air. It started to follow — not running, but with steady, deliberate steps. It knew I was bleeding. It knew what that meant.

I tripped on a raised edge in the stone floor and caught myself against the wall, stumbling. That's when I realized — I'd run into a dead end.

My temples throbbed. Blood still poured down my face, mixing with sweat, seeping into my eye and distorting everything. Each heartbeat pulsed through the wound.

"Damn it…" I muttered, teeth clenched. The pain was real. The dizziness, worse. But I had to fight back.

I still felt the burn of the previous battle in my muscles. My shoulder ached, my lungs begged for air, and now the cut on my face threw everything off balance. But fleeing was no longer an option. I swallowed hard, braced my feet on the ground, and turned to face the creature.

It was already there, stepping into the mouth of the alleyway, its black, unblinking eyes locked onto mine.

The Dungeon Lizard was the largest enemy I'd ever faced. Over a meter and a half from snout to tail, its elongated body was covered in rough brown scales, marked by irregular gashes that ran across its thick hide. Its long, narrow limbs ended in round suction pads, gripping the walls with unsettling ease. Behind it, a thick tail swayed with calculated cadence — swinging back and forth, threatening and precise, like a pendulum ready to strike.

It spun suddenly. The tail came in a wide arc, aiming for the side of my face — the one where my vision was still blurred. I tried to dodge, but it hit me squarely. I was thrown against the wall. My shoulder took the brunt of the impact, popping out of place with a dull crack.

The pain surged through my arm like an electric shock.

My grip faltered. The sword almost slipped from my hand. But I forced myself to hold on, swallowed the groan, and dragged myself back toward the center of the tunnel.

It still wasn't over.

My head throbbed, vision fading in and out. Dizziness threatened to drop everything — except my will to keep going. The fear that once froze me now burned in my veins like fuel. Adrenaline. That's what pushed my body forward, even if clumsily, even in pain.

The lizard lunged at me in a brutal leap, trying to crush me with its weight. I rolled aside, and it slammed into the wall with a crash, rocks flying from the impact. Dazed, it faltered — and I struck.

I closed the distance and aimed for the base of its neck — the only spot where the scales seemed thinner. The blade pierced… but not deep enough. With only one arm, the strike lacked power. It didn't drive through the way it needed to.

The monster roared. It twisted violently, and the tail struck my leg. The blow knocked me to the ground. I landed on my knees, gasping, air leaving my lungs in ragged bursts.

"Just… hold on a little longer…" I murmured, voice choked by sweat and blood.

It retreated, climbing the wall with unsettling agility. From above, it watched me. Its dark eyes were fixed on mine, and there was purpose in its gaze. It was studying me. Waiting for a mistake.

I used the brief pause.

With trembling fingers, I pulled a potion from my pouch, bit off the cap, and drank it in one gulp. Relief came quickly — it didn't erase the pain entirely, but pushed it far enough away that I could think again. I felt my shoulder pop magically back into place.

Going after it now would be suicide. If I moved first, it would pounce from above — and from that angle, I wouldn't stand a chance. So I waited.

I dug my feet into the ground. Steadied my center of gravity. Kept my eyes locked on the creature. It shifted side to side, restless, irritated. And just as I expected… it lost patience.

With a deep growl, it leapt down with its jaws wide open, ready to swallow me whole.

But I didn't back away. I ran forward.

I dashed toward it, sword extended like a makeshift spear. It was a contest of reach: teeth versus steel. And I already knew who would win.

The blade's tip pierced the gap at the center of its chest. It drove in deep. The creature's roar burst through the tunnel. Its body twisted, thrashed, convulsed — but I didn't let go of the hilt. I held on tight, both hands locked on the weapon until the guard pressed against its scales. The blade was fully buried.

The monster toppled backward, thrashing violently — then, suddenly… stilled.

And then, it dissolved. Flesh and bone turned to dark mist, scattering through the air like soot on the wind.

A magic stone rolled across the floor — larger than any I'd collected so far. It stopped near my hand.

I stayed there, kneeling, palms on the ground, breathing hard. The entire tunnel felt too quiet — only the sound of my own breathing filled the space. My heart beat like it wanted to burst through my chest.

Blood still dripped from the cut on my forehead, but the potion had dulled the worst of it. Still, every muscle screamed. My arms felt heavy. My legs tingled. Any movement now would be a challenge.

But I was alive.

And the lizard wasn't.

I sat down with a stifled groan, my body pleading for rest with every movement. With some effort, I reached out and picked up the magic stone from the floor, my fingers still trembling.

"That was too close…" I murmured, staring into the space where the lizard had vanished into mist. Then I looked down at the stone in my palm, its violet glow flickering faintly.

It hadn't been stronger than the others. But it had been different. The way it appeared… the attack from the ceiling…

If it had fallen just a second earlier. If those spikes had landed a few centimeters to the side, they could've pierced my skull.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. The metallic taste of blood still coated my mouth. Nausea rolled in waves. The adrenaline that had carried my body until now began to fade — leaving only the weight of exhaustion. A hollow, deep fatigue that spread through me like fog.

"That's enough… it's enough."

With effort, I planted my hands on the ground and stood up. I wiped the blood from my face with my forearm, feeling the sticky texture on my skin. Sheathed the sword at my hip. I still had potions. I still had strength. But I didn't need to keep going. Not now. Not today.

I looked around, eyes sweeping the tunnel for any movement. The calm of the Dungeon wasn't peace. It was a warning.

The second floor allowed no mistakes. No distractions. No arrogance.

I turned toward the stairs. I would leave with what I'd learned. And above all, with the reminder that the Dungeon does not forgive those who dare to underestimate it.

**

The city hummed with nightlife as I crossed the streets of Orario. The lanterns cast their warm glow over the stone, signaling how late it already was. But to me, everything felt hazy. Every step was a strain, like my body needed convincing to keep moving.

I was covered in dust, dried sweat, and blood — some mine, some not. The cut above my brow still stung, even though it was nearly closed thanks to the potion. My shoulder throbbed with every deep breath. And my hands… they trembled with exhaustion. A kind of fatigue that went beyond the physical — something that rose from within, corroding everything around it.

I had never felt like this before. Not even during the long days pushing rusty shovels through the shops, or when hauling heavy sacks under the orders of impatient bosses. This was different. This left scars.

And then there was the damned sachet.

I cursed under my breath as I remembered — in the panic, in the pain, in that blind instinct to survive, I'd left the little cloth sachet behind. The one that held the rest of the magic stones. A stupid oversight. The only one I managed to bring back was the one from the Dungeon Lizard, which I had placed in my bag.

I cursed again — same reason. Same frustration.

I traded the stone for 140 valis at the Guild. One hundred and forty. I didn't even know how much the potion I'd used cost, but it was definitely worth more. I'd taken a loss. Literally. The taste was bitter.

I knew the life of an adventurer was dangerous. I'd been told that many times. But they also said it was lucrative. That risk brought reward. And yet, at that moment, all I wanted was to have come back alive. My secondary goal — saving 20,000 valis to repay Lady Astraea — felt farther away than ever.

I climbed the front steps of home slowly, fingers pressing the coins in my pocket as if they were war medals. When the door opened, Astraea was there.

"Alise!" — her voice was a breath of joy, cutting through any formality. She ran to me with open arms, not caring about the dirt or the blood. — "I was so worried! It was already so late and you hadn't come back yet!"

The goddess's eyes sparkled when she saw me. She touched my face with gentle fingers, trembling slightly when they found the dried blood.

"You're hurt… what happened?" — there was fear in her expression. But beneath it, there was relief. A relief so strong it almost hurt.

I tried to smile, but all I managed was a trembling curve on my lips.

"It was hard," I murmured. "Much harder than I imagined."

She pulled me into a tight embrace, and I let myself fall into it. I rested my face on her shoulder and closed my eyes for a moment. For the first time since leaving the Dungeon, I relaxed. Truly relaxed.

Earlier, after killing my first monster, I had asked myself if I had the strength to keep going. Now, after an inglorious return, covered in wounds and frustrations, the question came back — heavier this time.

But now, there was something I understood.

If that embrace was what waited for me at the end… then it was worth it. It would always be worth it.

Next time, I'd do better. Make fewer mistakes. Pay more attention. Face the fear with both hands. Because surviving wasn't just a matter of luck. It was daily effort. A commitment to keep moving forward.

Astraea pulled back just enough to meet my eyes. Her smile still there, warm and kind.

"You came back. And that's what matters."

And in that moment, it really was. All that mattered.

I let out a long sigh and nodded. The warmth of home wrapped around me like a blanket. The Dungeon was cruel. Failure was real. But there was something no defeat could take away from me.

The gaze of my goddess. The certainty that I was loved. I would return to the Dungeon. I would fight again. And next time, I'd bring back profit, victory — and progress.