It’s so painful…

  Faust clutched his neck with one hand and his chest with the other. His chest burned from air deprivation, and his neck was harmed, a purple ring forming around it from ruptured blood vessels beneath the skin.

  Glancing at the ruptured rope, he slowly began to ground himself in reality. Still, his eyes held a confused look, as if he was still trying to comprehend what had unfolded in the past few seconds.

  Gradually, the pain began to subside—or perhaps his body was simply getting used to it. Unable to think clearly, he simply kept staring at the sky.

  Rang! Rang! Rang!

  The bells continued to ring, their sound seeming even louder now.

  Faust clutched his ears with both hands, his eyes darting around. For some reason, the sound was overwhelming.

  Rang! Rang! Rang!

  It kept ringing as his mind took a minute to finally understand the situation, and then another to allow him to sit up. He stared emptily toward the origin of the sound.

  The village was lit with many torches; people were running through the streets toward the bell near the central area. In a way, it was almost funny, if not tragic, how even in his own near death he couldn't be his own focus, distracted by the damn bell.

  Still sweating profusely, he made the difficult decision to stand. He removed the rope from his neck and threw it on the grass, looking at it unfocusedly for a couple of seconds.

  Rang! Rang! Rang!

  Again, the noise captured his attention unwillingly. For the village bell to be rung, something serious must have happened. Another fire? But he saw no flames.

  His thoughts still hazy, he suddenly decided to go to the village center to see what the commotion was about. With erratic steps, he went down the small mound and walked confusedly through the dirt streets; his sense of direction was affected, so he had to follow another villager to the center.

  The bell had clearly affected the villagers. Their expressions showed confusion at being awakened in the middle of the night, mixed with a fear deep enough to make them ignore their beliefs about going out at such an hour.

  Rang! Rang! Rang!

  Eventually, Faust reached the bell and the wooden platform. More than a hundred villagers had gathered around it, forcing him to stay on the outskirts of the crowd. Their eyes were fixed on the people atop the slightly raised wooden platform.

  On it stood three men. One was a guard wearing a gambeson and kettle helmet, with a sword at his waist. He was the one responsible for pulling the cord and ringing the bell.

  The second was an injured man in his forties, dressed in black clothing with a bow on his back and a quiver. His arm seemed broken from the way he held it, and his face had multiple small cuts, as if he had scratched it on branches while running.

  He looked as if he had seen his worst nightmare and failed to process it, his face a mask of pure terror—pupils wide and mouth slightly agape.

  Finally, the last man was someone everyone in the village, including Faust, could recognize at a glance. He wore full plate armor except for the helmet, revealing a perfectly chiseled face with smooth white skin, raven-black hair, and light blue eyes.

  His body was large, his height nearly two meters. The man stood tall like the epicenter of the village. Though his name was Hal, it was rare for anyone to call him that; he was mostly known as the Village Leader.

  Once he deemed enough people had gathered, he lost no time and spoke firmly:

  “Fellow brothers and sisters, I could attempt to fool you, beat around the bush, or use pointless words to reduce the impact of what I’m about to say. But that won’t do.”

  Faust, already recovering from the confusion of his failed suicide, couldn't help but stress at the leader.

  Isn’t that already beating around the bush? Just say what you want to say.

  Obviously, his thoughts couldn't be read, but it didn’t matter as the leader continued:

  “Hunters from our village found something…”

  Great job not beating around the bush…

  “The dungeon that was supposed to open two years from now… has already opened.”

  What?

  Faust took an inadvertent step back, his mind recalling the great catastrophe it had been for the village years ago. For them to wake people in the middle of the night, he worried the problem was deeper than that.

  The villagers reacted similarly, but more intensely. Screams of panic instantly rose from the crowd, people muttering words of fear and confusion, while others already spoke of leaving the village for safety. Most people here were survivors of the monster’s rise eight years ago; they knew how bad it could be.

  Trying to control the panic, the Village Leader raised his hand and created a glowing ball of mana above it, instantly catching the crowd's eyes. Since someone who could use mana was a rare sight, their curiosity was piqued. Quickly, he added, “One of the hunters who found it will tell you of his discovery.”

  Taking a step forward, the injured hunter opened his mouth, then closed it as if searching for the right words. After a couple of seconds, letting the crowd's silence settle heavily, he spoke:

  “I… I was hunting with my group… we were camped deep in the forest, as usual and then we noticed the animals acting more aggressive. The wolves, they would usually avoid us, but… they didn’t…” He spoke with strange pauses, then continued, “…We ignored it and went deeper… and… and we saw it, the entrance to the dungeon. It was there, floating in the air… It… it tried to kill us! I’m sure of it!” His voice rose suddenly. “A bear appeared from nowhere and attacked us! Lou... Seit... We had to leave them. We ran for two days and managed to escape and return…”

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  His voice dropped near the end of his story, a sudden sadness lacing it like poison. Though he wasn't the best speaker, his story was clear enough, at least to Faust.

  Hunters usually camped in the forest to accumulate meat and leather before returning; it was common practice. In this case, they noticed the monsters becoming more aggressive but kept hunting in the area, eventually found the dungeon entrance, and were attacked by a bear—which they claimed the dungeon had sent?

  That last part sounds more like a coincidence… It doesn’t make sense for the dungeon to only attack when they were close, at least not from what I’ve heard.

  Faust’s mind had shifted from its confused state to paying close attention to the situation. A rough idea began to stir within him.

  For now, he kept listening as the leader spoke again:

  “Judging by this, we should still have a few months to close the dungeon. But herein lies the issue: that is the time we have before a Monster's Rise begins. Waiting for adventurers won't do; it would take them that long just to reach us.

  “Because of that, I have made a decision. We will clear that dungeon ourselves. Every man and woman is allowed to partake; we won’t force anyone, but I guarantee a reward in coin for those who join. I have already sent envoys to inform both Black-Star Village and Yellow-Star Village of the situation, as the Monster's Rise affects the whole forest. They should contribute.

  “Some soldiers have gone to the capital to post notices for mercenaries. Yet for now, our only hope is ourselves. The dungeon is about three days away. We will leave in a week. Equipment will be given for free to anyone joining the attack force. Any questions?”

  Many people had questions—how could they not? It was such a sudden announcement it seemed like a bad joke. The leader was remarkably calm, perhaps because he could use mana, but the other villagers could not, and they were terrified.

  “Sir!” a man called out. “What is the reward?”

  The stirring crowd quieted, everyone curious to hear the answer. After a moment, the Village Leader replied:

  “Besides survival, one gold coin.”

  Once more, the crowd broke into multiple conversations. Understandably so; one gold coin was an immense amount. A normal family might gather that sum in roughly half a year. If unforeseen problems occurred... which they often did, it could take even longer.

  So for a person to accumulate a full gold coin, would take a ridiculous amount of time, and that required enough luck that no problems arose.

  Even Faust, who had no access to money and didn’t understand it well, knew such an amount was absurd. However, even with every reason to be shocked, he wasn't.

  What was the payment in the face of the core announcement? The dungeon had opened two years early, and they had to close it themselves. Insanity was the word for it. And yet…

  An idle thought bubbled in his mind.

  Since I failed to kill myself… could it be destiny… fate? I don’t know.

  Faust didn’t truly believe in such things, but part of him did—in the sense that he believed death to be the final end for all things, without escape. Every story ended the same way.

  If I’m to die anyway… then maybe I could at least see a bit more of the world before I do. Maybe the dungeon could remedy this boredom and allow me an interesting death…

  He shook his head but couldn’t disperse the thought. For about half an hour, the Village Leader answered a few more questions, but nothing of great note. Eventually, he dismissed the crowd and returned to his residence in the central building.

  Faust walked back as well, the purple hematoma on his neck hidden by the darkness. From a distance, he glanced at the mound where he had attempted his life… He didn’t want to return there. Not yet.

  Instead, he went home. There, his uncle had already managed to get to his own room and was sleeping soundly, snoring loudly enough for Faust to hear from the entrance.

  Going to his own room and laying down in the bed didn’t help in reaching sleep, his mind was all over the place trying to process what had happened. Instead, he spent the entire night thinking about everything… even his supposedly last day, which apparently wasn't over after all.

  …

  The night passed. Sunlight entered Faust’s room through the window, illuminating it brightly and making the dust particles in the air semi-visible.

  During his reflections, he had reached a conclusion, trying to put everything in order, or at least organize it as much as he could.

  Though somewhat young, Faust was a logical person in some aspects. With heavy dark bags under his eyes, he simply observed the wooden ceiling, finalizing his nocturnal thoughts.

  I failed to kill myself, so why not use the chance to go to that dungeon? If I die, then so be it—that was the purpose to begin with… ‘If I die’… I will die there. I can’t survive inside a dungeon.

  Right… that’s it. I’ve decided. I will go there and die inside. Even if the end is the same and what I do before doesn’t really matter, at least I want to see something interesting before I die. Yes, I just need to go there and die inside!

  With the decision made, he rolled out of bed and left the room.

  I should at least tell Uncle, so he won’t wait for me to keep bringing him food. Yes, that would be fair. He gave me a place to live all these years; that’s the least I can do.

  His uncle was sitting at the table, his breakfast consisting of more alcohol. The room reeked of poor wine, but Faust had long grown used to the smell.

  Pulling out the free chair and sitting opposite his uncle, Faust spoke softly:

  “Hey, Uncle.” He paused for a moment, noticing his uncle’s unfocused gaze. “It seems the dungeon has opened early, and… I will go there. I’m joining the group that will attack it.”

  In a tone that failed to convey the danger and urgency of the situation, Faust delivered his message.

  For a few seconds, his uncle, a man named Rust, did nothing. Then, gradually, he set the wine bottle down on the table and slowly opened his green eyes.

  A moment later, he furtively glanced at Faust’s neck, piecing together what had probably happened, but he kept quiet about the matter. Instead, he simply said:

  “Huh?”

  Absolute silence filled the house for long seconds. Scratching his head, Faust tried to repeat himself.

  “The dungeon opened earlier than it should, and I’m going there. I just wanted to let you know.”

  Rust ran a hand through his messy hair and pulled it back, his expression unreadable. For some strange reason, even drunk, he seemed to be thinking deeply.

  It was difficult to accept such information easily; at first, it seemed Faust was playing a strange joke or lying through his teeth. Yet Rust accepted it just as calmly as Faust had delivered it.

  Then he spoke dryly.

  “I see…” He paused. “Then I will go as well.”

  “What?” Faust said, confused. “Why?”

  “Do I need a reason?” the drunk man said, not looking so drunk anymore. “I will go because I want to.”

  “…Alright.”

  Pushing the bottle aside, Rust calmly left the table and went to his room. Before entering, he told Faust, “Wait here.”

  Rust took a while inside, then emerged carrying something in his hand: a sword. Its blade was curved and made of black metal, the handle strapped in leather that looked well-worn. It was a saber, which the drunkard swung in the air as if reconnecting with an old friend.

  Without even turning his head, he said to Faust:

  “Remove your shirt.”

  “What?”

  “Do it already.”

  His face was confused, but Faust complied, taking off his shirt and revealing his body. He was scrawny to the extreme, the outlines of his bones visible beneath the skin. Though he was sixteen, he had the physique of a child.

  Observing it with judgmental eyes, his uncle shook his head.

  “No can do. That’s…” He burped mid-sentence. “That’s very bad… If you want to have a chance in that dungeon, we have to fix that.”

  “I… I don’t care about dying—”

  “Shut up, boy. You know nothing about…” He burped again. “…life. You just think you want to die. If you truly did, why didn’t you let the rope finish the job?”

  Faust had forgotten about the marks on his neck and passively touched the area. Avoiding eye contact, he said, “Instincts, I think… but I was out of my mind… and…”

  “And nothing. You’re right, instincts saved you. Everyone wants to live. Forcing your death is unnatural and against the gods’ will.” Rust paused for a moment, seeing Faust idly retreating. Sighing, he added, “It doesn’t matter. If you want to go there, then let me train you for… how much time before they leave?”

  “…A week,” Faust replied weakly.

  “A week… That’s not much time, so we’ll focus on the basics. Come with me.”

  “Now?”

  “Of course it’s now. Time is already short; I can’t waste any of it. Come to the backyard.”

  Watching his uncle leave the house, Faust stared at his back, frozen in place. Many questions assaulted his mind.

  Why in the heavens had his uncle changed so much after a single sentence? The way he calmly accepted it, claimed he would go too, and instantly let go of the alcohol to focus on another matter… It was as if another man had been reborn in a matter of minutes.

  Pushing his confusion aside, Faust followed his uncle to the backyard.