NOVEL ONLINE FREE Chapter 2 - Floor 1 - Level 2 Hunter (1)
Chapter 2 – Floor 1 – Level 2 Hunter (1)
By the time I had lived through over a hundred cycles in this labyrinth, I realized something.
No matter what, I had to play a game where even death left something behind.
Every time I died and came back, I reverted to my original state.
Even in Soulslike games, you at least keep something, gradually guiding you toward eventual completion.
But in a Roguelike, there’s no mercy.
The NPCs I befriended, the character I painstakingly nurtured—everything was erased as if it had never happened.
Honestly, I wanted to just lie down for a week and do nothing.
The urge to indulge my sense of loss was overwhelming.
But I couldn’t afford to relax.
[Time Remaining: 1,216 days, 12 hours, 12 minutes]
The ever-present screen in the upper-right corner constantly pressured me.
A little over three years left?
At least, for a brief moment, the countdown wouldn’t decrease.
This was the grace period granted because I hadn’t started the next game yet.
Back when this was just a game, the time limit was merely a background element.
A minor setting designed to enhance player immersion.
Not anymore.
People dragged into this labyrinth from countless worlds had to push forward, stepping over endless deaths, striving for completion.
That heroic journey came with a time limit.
One hundred years.
And when that time runs out, the consequences are simple.
You can’t start over.
You can’t return from death.
From that point on, you are no longer the protagonist of this world.
But if you succeed, there is a different outcome.
Complete liberation.
Everything in the labyrinth is set free.
Everyone exiled from their worlds will return to where they came from.
I wanted to go home.
On a small scale, I missed carbonated drinks.
On a larger scale, I was sick of this world.
Most fantasy settings, when they become reality, are horrifying.
A Roguelike world is even worse.
The malice of others.
Deaths that could come at any moment.
Misery so unbearable, it was painful to witness.
These things constantly cast a shadow over my life.
Few can turn a blind eye to that and still find happiness alone.
I used to love games.
Back then, everything was contained within the screen.
Pixelated characters didn’t breathe, think, or talk autonomously.
Their lives were only vaguely defined by brief settings, never detailed descriptions.
The game wasn’t even real-time—it was turn-based.
But when this world became real, everything changed.
NPCs, who were supposed to be mere background elements, just fellow captives of the labyrinth, now remembered every cycle they had lived through.
Each of them believed they were the protagonist of their own story.
No longer lifeless chunks of code, they had become real people.
Why did I have to witness the countless flickering lives in this place?
I wanted to go home.
I desperately wanted to go home.
I missed the peace and comfort of modern society to the point of madness.
And so, once again, I pressed the start button.
The button beneath the countdown flashed and disappeared.
[Cycle 2,975 begins! Good luck!]
Time began to flow once more.
[Time Remaining: 1,216 days, 12 hours, 11 minutes]
[TIP: The term “Exile” was coined with the hope that they might one day return home.
Considering actual history, the likelihood of that happening is close to zero.]
The dreary message above the loading gauge disappeared.
“Huh? Mister, you’re awake?”
The first thing to check upon waking up was the surrounding situation.
No ambush.
The first floor of the dungeon, with its symbolic grandeur and haunting beauty, looked just as familiar as ever.
“Hey, are you awake or not?”
Not a place I had good memories of.
Even though I had long grown tired of it, my first intense memories here still gnawed at me.
The first floor existed to crush the spirits of inexperienced exiles who arrived in the labyrinth.
“Your eyes are open, but you’re not reacting. What’s wrong with you?”
A vast labyrinth of gray stone with no ceiling.
Walls decorated like an ancient ruin.
A sky that wasn’t a sky—just an oppressive, endless abyss of darkness above.
Just as I reached that thought, I saw the girl waving her hand in front of my face, about to slap me.
“I’m awake, so calm down.”
“Why should I calm down? You’re the one ignoring me.”
The girl pouted in response.
Then, her expression shifted back to one of expectation as she asked,
“Mister, do you know where this is?”
There was no deceit in her innocent face.
She was most likely a first-timer, someone who had just been dragged into the labyrinth.
Considering how many newcomers were overwhelmed by the sheer scale and atmosphere of this place, her composure was commendable.
I answered almost instinctively.
“No, I don’t know.”
The girl’s attitude deflated in an instant.
What an expressive child.
“Let’s go.”
“Huh?”
Whether she followed or not, I took a step forward.
***
The first floor always had this ancient temple-like theme.
Its structure, floating above an abyss resembling the vastness of space, was quite mystical.
The only way out was the staircase leading to the next floor.
Most people experienced their first death here.
Numerous traps scattered throughout the area and veteran exiles who hunted humans provided ample causes for death.
The otherworldly atmosphere and the cycle of repeated deaths…
A stark reminder that this was nothing like the world they once knew.
The majority of newcomers would die without understanding anything.
And only after enduring dozens of deaths would they finally learn how to act.
If a seasoned exile happened to be nearby, and if that exile happened to be kind, one might consider themselves lucky.
I didn’t bother explaining that luck to the girl trailing behind me.
More precisely, I didn’t have the chance to.
A crushing mental fatigue washed over me, enough to make suicide seem tempting.
“So, I was thinking, should I help with your love life…?”
“Hey, kid, could you do me a favor and be quiet?”
The girl tilted her head, genuinely puzzled.
“I’m not a kid.”
“Why are you questioning that part and not watching the front? Kid.”
“High schoolers aren’t kids.”
What was this tiny thing saying?
“Fine, fine. Young lady, would you mind quieting down a bit?”
The girl responded with a bright smile.
“Oh, come on. If I keep my mouth shut in a place like this, the mood will get way too heavy.”
I gave up on persuading her.
I had never dealt with a high school girl before.
From the very beginning, she hadn’t stopped talking for even a moment.
They say three women together could break a plate with just their voices, but this one seemed capable of doing it alone.
Still, thanks to her chatter, I learned quite a bit.
Most of it was useless information—things like the dating lives of her classmates or complaints about her perverted older brother.
Not all of it was worthless, though.
“Wait, stop right there.”
“Why?”
I picked up a stone and tossed it.
With a soft click, arrows shot out from the wall.
The sound of them shattering against the wall was much louder.
A direct hit would be fatal.
“Wow, this is just like home.”
Obviously, normal high school girls didn’t have arrow traps installed in their houses.
Nor did they call their brothers ‘older brother’ in such a formal tone.
Every randomly generated NPC had a background setting to maintain coherence.
Back in the game, I could have simply hovered my mouse over them and right-clicked to see their information.
Now, I had to figure things out through conversation.
“Are you from Korea?”
I barely leaped over a trap that would have collapsed the floor beneath me.
The girl followed lightly, landing gracefully behind me.
I was panting, but she didn’t even look tired—her smile remained intact.
“Of course. Aren’t you speaking Korean right now?”
No.
In the labyrinth, all languages merged into one.
This must have been what it was like before the Tower of Babel fell.
“Is your surname Jung, by any chance?”
Even if I was struggling in this early stage due to my pathetic homebody stamina, this girl’s physical abilities were far too exceptional for a high schooler.
Experience told me what this suggested.
NPCs were merely the result of random combinations of existing settings.
There were countless possible configurations, but once you knew a few key traits, you could make educated guesses.
There were some NPCs who, when they appeared, were constants rather than variables.
One of them was the Jung family from Korea—who were always set as descendants of superhumans.
“How did you know?”
She looked bewildered.
Of course.
So, in this world, the Jung family had a daughter.
I chuckled.
The girl, watching me, gave a warning.
“Oh, mister, watch out there.”
“I know.”
I had already tilted my head to the side before she spoke.
A poisoned dart whizzed past.
This girl had been trained well enough to spot first-floor traps with ease.
How talented was she supposed to be?
“Have people in your family ever called you a genius?”
“Wow, do you know me?”
This time, she was genuinely surprised—though a hint of pride slipped through.
After spending 97 years here, the skill I had honed the most was reading people’s thoughts through their expressions and movements.
A real-life roguelike required even psychological warfare against NPCs.
And in my experience, a fleeting glimpse of confidence was almost always a good sign.
One thing was certain—I had to make sure this girl survived.
Deciding on her class could wait.
This wasn’t a bad start.
Though her endless chatter had mentally exhausted me, making me feel like I was on yet another reset marathon…
Somehow, the distance between us had narrowed.
***
The girl might not have realized it, but I was methodically searching my surroundings as I moved.
The labyrinth was randomly generated, but after spending enough time in it, one started to grasp certain patterns.
And with even more experience, it became possible to predict the spawn locations of others and the directions they were likely to move in.
Turning the corner, I saw exactly what I had expected—four people wandering aimlessly.
How many of them were facing a labyrinth for the first time?
One of them was already limping, likely having fallen victim to a trap.
A wounded individual, their face twisted in pain, being supported by another.
Two more, paralyzed by fear, unable to get their bearings.
Even without asking, I could tell—this was their first time here.
I called out to them, leading them forward as I disabled traps along the way.
At first, they followed hesitantly, but seeing me confidently advance, they seemed to gain some trust.
When I pointed toward the stairs, they descended without a second thought.
However, the girl from earlier had no intention of going down with them.
“You said you didn’t know where this was, but that was a total lie, wasn’t it?”
I responded casually.
“Of course, it was a lie. Just a habit.”
“Why?”
“There’s little to gain from pretending to know things in a place like this.”
A nail that sticks out gets hammered down—that was true in any society, but in extreme environments like this, the effect was even more pronounced.
If you were going to stand out, you had to become a leader.
Or remain completely hidden.
I had gotten sick of playing the leader in my previous runs, so it wasn’t part of my plan this time.
I was satisfied with gathering just a handful of reliable party members.
Not everyone I came across was entirely clueless.
Even without prior labyrinth experience, one quickly learned that deadly traps were scattered everywhere.
Of course, that knowledge often came at the cost of someone’s life.
And once people realized that, some would push weaker ones into the traps just to ensure their own survival.
It was an idea that required little conscience but only a bit of cunningness.
After all, an arrow that had already been fired wouldn’t magically reload itself.
In a way, it was a sound decision.
Adaptability was a valuable trait, but it didn’t make the sight any less disgusting.
There was a time when this kind of thing used to make me grimace.
Now, I felt nothing.
Still, reducing the number of survivors was something I couldn’t condone.
The fewer survivors, the lower the chances of success.
It had been a long, long time.
I had learned that I needed to keep potential future party members alive.
Threats too great to face alone were not uncommon.
With that in mind, I rushed forward and smacked the back of a bald man’s head.
“For god’s sake! Stop killing people on the first floor!”
If he wanted to kill, he should at least do it himself and gain experience points.
I couldn’t stand seeing people get shoved into traps.
The man turned around, cursing.
He was a muscular Hispanic man, his arm tattoos writhing as his muscles tensed.
Looked like he had come straight out of a South American drug cartel.
He glared fiercely, fists clenched.
It was unfortunate, but guys like him often had an edge when it came to physical survival in the labyrinth.
Which meant I had to keep him alive.
His punch flew at me.
I deftly deflected it, grabbed hold of his arm, and dislocated his joint.
No need to hold back.
As long as his legs were fine, he could still walk.
I had to make sure he understood his place.
Disabling both of his arms in quick succession, I watched as he recoiled in shock, hurling curses.
The others around us were visibly terrified.
Understandable.
First, they were intimidated by some thug.
Then, I showed up and took him down in an instant.
A much more normal reaction compared to the girl who had been following me.
Still, fear had its uses—it made people more obedient.
I kicked the man lightly, signaling him to start walking.
Even the cartel guy seemed to grasp the situation now.
Thugs who lived by violence were, in some ways, easy to manage.
Because they quieted down in the presence of a greater violence.
I herded his group toward the staircase and sent them down to the second floor.
More survivors meant more possibilities.
Yet, the girl still had no intention of leaving my side.
Instead, she asked a question, her voice full of curiosity.
“Are you some kind of hero or something?”
Given that I had just saved several people, it wasn’t an unreasonable assumption.
This time, I didn’t shake my head.
Instead, I joked.
“Of course. I’m the hero of this labyrinth.”
If I cleared this place and freed everyone, it would become the truth.
“Ahaha! You sound crazy, old man.”
The girl laughed, dumbfounded.
I laughed too.
I had lost count of how many NPCs had called me a hero, a savior, or even a god.
2975 runs in, not a single one of them remained.
I simply smiled at the laughing girl.
[Author’s Note]
The protagonist has died, on average, once every 12 days.
Since many readers have found the NPC mechanics confusing, I’m temporarily adding an explanation here.
This will be removed once the main text is revised.
Before the protagonist was reincarnated, the original roguelike game had NPCs called “Exiles,” randomly generated and placed throughout the labyrinth.
In the game’s lore, players were nothing more than “Exiles.”
All Exiles, including the player, were given a lifespan of 100 years.
After that time, death would mean permanent loss of their ability to revive.
From that moment onward, death became permanent.
Exiles in such a situation often referred to themselves bitterly as “residents of the labyrinth.”
Apart from them, there were also native “NPCs” who weren’t Exiles.
They did not view Exiles favorably, considering them as unpleasant intruders who appeared and disappeared in their homeland.
Over his many years in the labyrinth, the protagonist had pondered the nature of NPCs.
There were many possibilities.
In the worst case, he himself might be nothing more than a randomly generated NPC.
His memories of being reincarnated into a game might simply be part of his randomly assigned background.
An NPC created with 2975 cycles of experience.
So, in the end, the protagonist chose the most convenient way to think about it.
Everyone except himself was an NPC.
That was the simplest, most logical answer.
This is NOT a grimdark story. I swear…! It’s just that roguelikes naturally involve a lot of dying…