CHAPTER 3: DUNGEON?

Rena

After calming down, I take a deep, depressive sigh. Even the air seems to be heavy, as it weighs both me and the mood down.

I’m not mad!

Okay? Okay? Okay.

The random downgrade was pretty inconvenient, but at least… I, uh… At least I have some form of weaponry and armour now! Right?

Heh. Right.

…Even if all of it is ranked F—just like me. Actually, if you put it that way, it seems balanced, doesn’t it?

Sure, I could’ve gotten something beautiful, but it's not like I actually lost anything. Like, say the lottery misread some numbers, and you thought you had won, but actually didn’t.

You’ll be mad—definitely. But it's not like there was actually anything to lose. In fact, you probably still ended up getting free money, even if it were just compensation cash for the misunderstanding. Maybe you could sue the lottery company for negligence?

Either way, you’d get money that you actually wouldn’t have gotten.

So, although I can’t say I’m in the brightest mood, I’m not down with the dogs yet. I’d say I’m neutral and in some sort of middle-ground.

It is better than nothing, after all.

Sort of like that old saying?

Umm, what was it again?

It went something along the lines of…

…

Oh, right!

You get what you get and you don’t get upset.

Yeah. Something like that.

So, I got what I got, and I’m not upset. Instead of being a pessimist, be an optimist! Being an optimist is tons better. You don’t get down and stuff like that.

I think there was one of those personality tests that showed if you were inherently optimistic or pessimistic?

Like, the examiner dude would show a glass half filled with water. They would then ask for the examinee to describe the glass. If they said it was half full, they would be optimistic. If they said it was half empty, they would be pessimistic.

Personally, I feel like that’s a pretty half-assed way to measure it, but if fancy guys do it, then what can I say?

From my perspective, it seems like a heretical cult full of devout followers, blinded by logicless faith and belief.

What good is there in such a stupid question anyways?

I’m done complaining for the day. Now, let’s check out what these super budget weapons can do. It might just be me, but I swear the feeling coursing through my body right now is the exact same feeling I get when I purchase cheap, very cheap items online.

Like, I could buy a new VR headset for 2000 yen. I’ll get so excited about purchasing the brand new model for such a steal. And what do I get?

A potato.

With the green shoots growing out from the corners.

Oddly specific?

Don’t ask why. Please. Just… a bit of advice—don’t trust shady online sites.

Well, without further ado…!

“Check item status?”

Yeah, I figured that wasn’t going to work. But, [Appraisal] should be able to work, right? I mean, I can clearly [Appraise] inanimate objects—I did [Appraise] the cave walls and get a response, no?

Okay, fingers crossed they can still be of some use.

Guess I’ll start with the… stick?

“…[Appraise]”

Damage: 5 Durability: 100 Resistance: 10

Specials: None>

Fwah…

This just might have been far worse than I could ever imagine. I mean, damn. What is with this junk! Talk about crappy equipment!

Five? Five? Five?!

I take back everything I mentioned before—I am upset! And mad!

What about the other items, huh?

Surely they can make up for the stick! It is a stick, after all! Nothing can get worse than that, can it?

Armour: 1 Durability: 150 Resistance: 5

Specials: None

Cloth Rank: F

Armour: 0 Durability: 50 Resistance: 1

Specials: None>

Sandals Rank: F

Armour: 10 Durability: 150 Resistance: 10

Specials: None>

…Y-yep. Not good at all. These stats are… copious, even precariously low, rendering all of it essentially useless. The cloth has an armour stat of zero! What good can that do?

Look visually pleasing?

Yeah. That’s it!

And the rags actually aren’t much better. What can an armour point of one do? For all I know, even a splinter could get through…

At least the sandals are better than the stick overall, since both its durability and armour exceed the latter.

Although, for the stick, it's damage, not armour.

It’s a relief that the stick turned out better than I thought, at least relatively. In comparison to my clothing, it sure seems heaps more useful.

Whether it’s the stick that’s good, or the clothing that’s bad… Well, that’s up for me to decide.

It does feel slightly weird that some straw shoes outrank my supposed ‘weapon’, the stick.

I mean, sure. From a practical viewpoint, I get that a bunch of compressed straw and sticks wrapped in a light coat of cheap leather would be stronger than a thick stick that could be snapped off any branch, but isn’t this a bit too much?

The average Asian household prefers reliable slippers over a brick—or in this case, stick. Not that I know from experience. My mum was pretty negligent, but what did I expect? I was pretty negligent as well. She simply reciprocated those emotions.

Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.

But here’s the thing that’s got me going. These sandals don’t have any damage stat. So… can they deal damage or not?

After leaning down and picking up one of the sandals, I experimentally slap myself with it.

Ow.

So, it does hurt after all. But… the sandals have no damage stat. The only way to test out my hypothesis is by hitting myself with the stick too.

Thwap!

I draw my hand backwards, flinching away in response to the sharp pain. Yowch! T-the stick hurt waay more than the sandal!

So, damage stat does get taken into accountability.

To put it in a way that would make more sense, I’m thinking that an item has to be used for its specified purpose, or there will be some sort of resistor.

What I’m tryna say is that either the stick increases its base damage because it’s an offensive item, or the sandals have their damage resisted—reduced—because they're not an offensive item.

Still a bit confusing?

Well, I suppose a better way to explain it is that either an item gets a buff if used for its intended purpose, or it gets a nerf if used against its intended purpose.

You get what I mean?

A gun is good for killing. For chopping cabbage? Not so much.

I guess if you fired a bunch of bullets in a linear line, you could in theory cut the cabbage or whatever, but then that would cause a bunch of other problems like –

Ah. Forget about it.

Putting it that way, the latter seems to be more liable. An item gets their stats reduced if used against their intended purpose. I mean, the damage stat exists for a reason. If armour and damage were to get constantly multiplied, well… that would sort of negate the original purpose of those numbers, wouldn’t it…?

My logic might be a bit flawed, but based on the scarce information I have access to, I feel like this is the best conclusion I can arrive at. I barely know anything about this world, after all.

It took me too many attempts testing out the system to even get here!

…What do I do now?

The only thing I can really do is clear the dungeon—but I don’t really feel like I’m up for the challenge. Can I really do it, being rank F and all?

Besides, I’m just your average uni student. Though… I actually dropped out of high school and never attended university. But, age-wise, that should be where I’m standing, right? Nothing wrong with that—I totally didn’t dump my life down the sewers.

…Right?

…

Psshhh! What are you talking about?

After strengthening my resolve and boosting my morale, I’ve decided on one thing for sure. It’s time to clear a dungeon!

Wah… hoo…?

Not the most enthusiastic group, huh?

Heh. This is no place for amateurs. If you’ve never gone dungeon diving, you shouldn’t even be hanging around here anymore. You need experience fighting and killing monsters. You have to remember the feeling of the blade piercing through flesh. And other adventure-ish stuff. I dunno.

And, no—I don’t mean killing virtual monsters online. I mean you need real, bona fide experience. If you haven’t even killed a single monster, you’re essentially pulling your life on auction.

…W-why are you looking at me?

I’m a deserter? I ran away from the first monsters I faced?

H-hey!

At least I’ve met real monsters, okay? I’m one leg above you, no matter what. It doesn’t if the monsters I met probably had rabies.

Kahahahaha!

I aimlessly wonder the dungeon, trudging through the rugged, uneven flooring. Magical lanterns illuminate the passageways, exhorting an ominous green light. The chambers here could have birthed the primal sins. All is still. Silent. Eerie. Immuring, and abysmal.

The walls—tainted with age—resemble ancient shrines. Every shattered crack; an engraving telling tales from oh so long ago. Musty, uncirculated air ripples, the thick stench enough to cause the face to wrinkle. Everything here seems wrong. An anachronism from the past. An oddity. Something illegal—unforsaken. An anomaly.

That is until an aloof figure steps down.

Well, whadda know? When I’m not goofing around, I become a literary talent, no? Mwahaha!, marvel at the power of improvisation and creative writing classes! At this rate, my adventure could get serialised or something!

Or maybe turned into a web-novel!

Hmm…?

…What’s a fourth wall..? Or two?

I’m breaking it?

How exactly?

Huh?

Wh-what do you mean a character can’t have a consciousness outside of their story?

Weeehhh…

This is all just… so… perplexing. This is the second time!

I’ve been walking adrift while pondering on these trivial thoughts for some time now. Striding past a rather large lump of stone on the ground, my inner soliloquy comes to an abrupt stop as I hear a distant rustling to the corner of a nearby passageway, hidden by a sharp intersection.

That’s got to be a monster, right?

Ignoring the sensible me (as if I have one, heh) screaming to get out of there, I stealthily tiptoe closer, careful not to make any noise.

They say curiosity killed the cat, but… oh well.

At first, I press my ear closer to the wall, but my patience runs out of steam soon enough. Furtively glancing past the turn, I dart my eyes around the bend as they fall upon…

“…EEK!!!”

An overgrown cockroach.

Alright, lemme quickly get the panic out of the way so I can get all rational again.

I take in a deep breath.

WHY IS THERE A HUGE ROACH LOOKING THING HEREEE?!?!

SHOULDN'T DUNGEONS BE FULL OF GOBLINS?!?

Oh wait. Goblins would actually be worse, but…

NOOOOOO!!

I HATE, HATE, HATE BUGS!!!!!

Although I had rats living with me in the basement…

WHYYYYYYYYY!!!

HOW CRUEL IS MY ANTI-PLOT ARMOUR????

MY NEMESIS IS STANDING TWO METRES AWAY FROM ME!!!

Whew!

Done.

Time to start thinking straight again.

I quickly [Appraise] the roach in an attempt to figure out its general ability.

Unnamed

Level: 7 Rank: D Class: None>

Hmmm…? Isn’t that roach heaps stronger than me then? So, if it sees me, I’m totally screwed, right?

Like getting the royal flush after going all in?

Weeeelp, shit.

You see, errr…

Well, let’s just say the roach noticed me after the first squeal.

Still jesting around in my head, my eyes don’t assess the situation fast enough, as the roach becomes nothing but a blur in my vision.

A searing pain scatters through my body, with unfathomable amounts of it condensed near my shoulder blade.

What? Nrrggg…? Ow, ow! Crap, this hurts! It really does!

Worse than the scalding water incident a few years back!

Still frozen in shock, I nudge weakly at the roach—a hopeless attempt to push it aside. Then, the roach begins to move.

Gyahh! W-why is it violently shaking its head?! Ngyaaah! Ow, ow, ow!!!

The roach, driven by nothing but the inborn nature in its blood, suddenly jerks its head backwards. A loud pop! reverberates the dungeon.

And my left arm snaps out of its sockets.

WHAT IS THIS BASTARD TRYING TO DOOO?!

Trying my best to mentally mitigate the pain, I latch onto the stick with my good hand. Vicing the branch, I bash at the roach’s hard, almost metallic exoskeleton.

Nothing happens. The roach didn’t even give a reaction.

Stop! Please, please, please! Stop tugging my aarm!

I thrash and trash again, hopelessly pounding the stick to no apparent avail. I try attacking through a thin membrane—the eyes—but my body is convulsing too much to get a steady grip. Let alone to aim.

D-damn it! I can’t die like this! I cannot! I won’t let some stupid, overgrown pest get the better of me! I-I wish this idiot would just die already…!!!

Gritting my teeth so hard I feel the bone scraping and my tongue crying, I try my best to ignore the overwhelming pain. And I strike once more.

A faint crack on the roach’s exoskeleton. Is what awards me.

I manage to break into a faint and fleeting grin amidst the agonising throbbing.

The roach seems to notice the crack too.

It suddenly flinches away, releasing its strapping grip on my arm.

The sudden lack of pressure sends a waterfall of blood flying, and the crimson splatters onto the walls, mingling to form incantations of gore.

I get sent hurtling, only to ram into the thick cavern walls. I feel cracks in several places, some bones shattered and fragmented.

But despite all that.

I-I can win this…!

Without much battle experience—or as a matter of fact; none at all, the best I can opt to is the cliché kicking up dust from the floor. Grabbing a handful of the withered sand, I shoot up, spraying the particles everywhere.

The roach gets momentarily stunned, as it freezes in place, and uses its grotesque limbs to rub at its eyes.

Utilising this window of opportunity as much as possible, I hold onto the stick again, and relentlessly jab at the afflicted area, stabbing as much as my shaking body lets me.

In an act of rebellious retaliation, the roach mirthlessly attempts to throw me off. I collide with the stone walls several times, and my vision begins to waver.

I ignore the slipping of my consciousness. Instead, I focus directly on the roach, without even the slightest allowance of leeway.

This is anyone’s game.

If I can manage to hold on for long enough, my victory should be assured. Yet, if this stupid bug lands another direct hit… well… I don’t think my tattered body will be strong enough to handle –

Oof!

I slam onto the wall. My main weapon—and only hope of victory; the stick—gets flung away as I gasp for air.

Slumping down on the ground once again, I try to stand up and retrieve it.

My body says otherwise.

I try to move a hand, but I don’t even budge a single inch.

Not… good…

I have to finish this quickly!

Arrgh!

I don’t even have enough power to smash the floor with a fist.

What can I possibly do? What could I do? Am I going to die? Will I?

However, one thought rings much louder than the others.

I don’t wanna die…

No… I REFUSE to die…!

Not to some dumb bug. Not to anyone. Anyone standing in my way is an enemy. Enemies should be eliminated.