As Avince stepped through the portal and into the next dungeon, he immediately felt something was wrong. The air was thick and heavy, carrying a foul stench of death and decay. He blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the scene before him. What he saw sent a chill down his spine.

The land stretched out in front of him like a wasteland. The trees were twisted and withered, their bark peeling off like decaying skin. The ground was cracked, dry, and littered with the remnants of long-forgotten battles. Dark stains on the earth hinted at spilled blood, now dried up and blending with the parched dirt. There were bones—human or otherwise—scattered across the ground, half-buried in the cracked earth. This place felt devoid of life, except for the occasional gust of wind that seemed to carry whispers of anguish and suffering.

Avince swallowed hard, trying to steady his nerves. This wasn’t what he had expected at all. His thoughts raced as he struggled to make sense of it.

“This doesn’t look like a goblin dungeon… at all,” he murmured.

He had studied dungeons extensively in his classes. Goblin dungeons were typically crude but straightforward, often resembling primitive cave systems or forests with makeshift camps. But this? This place felt like a war zone that had been abandoned for centuries. Something was horribly wrong.

Avince quickly focused his mind, activating his ability to try and assess the dungeon. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mana, trying to get a sense of the creatures that inhabited this desolate place. When the image finally came to him, his heart skipped a beat, and his eyes shot open in horror.

Orcs.

“No… No, this can’t be right!” he muttered, panic rising in his chest. “This was supposed to be a goblin dungeon!”

Orcs were nothing like goblins. In his studies, Avince had read old literary works written before the emergence of dungeons, where goblins and orcs were sometimes considered the same—a race of brutish, unintelligent monsters. But dungeons had shattered those misconceptions. While goblins were indeed small, weak, and not particularly intelligent, orcs were a different story entirely.

“Orcs are… war machines,” Avince whispered to himself, dread creeping in. “They’re bigger, stronger, smarter… They’re built for battle, for war.”

His mind flashed back to his training sessions at school, where instructors had warned students about orc dungeons. Even the most experienced adventurers often approached these dungeons with caution. Orcs were organized, using tactics and strategies in combat. They were ruthless and brutal, often attacking in groups, overwhelming their opponents with sheer strength and coordination.

What have I done? Avince thought, the weight of his mistake sinking in.

His attempt to influence the dungeon’s type had backfired spectacularly. It was his first time using this new ability, and he had been too hasty, too reckless. He thought he had nudged the dungeon toward a goblin theme, but something had gone wrong. Some of the mana he had intended to use to shift the dungeon must have been improperly allocated, resulting in this horrifying mix-up.

And now, instead of facing a group of low-level monster, he was standing in the middle of an orc-infested wasteland. The disparity in strength was immense. He wasn’t prepared for this.

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At least I can’t die for real, he thought, trying to cling to that small shred of hope. After all, during his first dungeon run, his consciousness had been severed from his physical body, but his real body had remained safe, even if it left him comatose for weeks. Even if I die here… I’ll just be knocked out, right?

But then another realization hit him—one that sent a fresh wave of fear through him.

Mana exhaustion.

Dying in this dungeon would result in the same fate he experienced before: severe mana exhaustion. The first time it had happened, his family had been there to find him and rush him to the hospital. But now? His family had no idea he was using his ability again. If he collapsed here, there would be no one to save him. He would be left alone, his body wasting away, his consciousness trapped in the void of mana depletion.

I might as well be dead…

Avince’s hands trembled as he took a few unsteady steps forward. His first instinct was to run, to get out of the dungeon as quickly as possible. He tried to summon his ability to leave, but a sinking realization stopped him in his tracks: while his body in the real world could sense its surroundings, it couldn’t move unless his consciousness was fully back. In other words, he was stuck here.

Panic surged through him, but he quickly forced himself to breathe, closing his eyes and willing his heart to slow down. Panicking won’t solve anything, he reminded himself. He had to keep calm, think rationally. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t survive this.

“Okay, okay,” he muttered to himself, trying to regain control of his thoughts. “I’m not completely helpless here. I need to scout ahead, figure out exactly what I’m dealing with. I can’t fight these things blindly.”

With a deep breath, Avince activated his mana once again, this time carefully controlling the flow to heighten his senses. The landscape stretched out before him, and through his ability, he caught the faint flicker of mana signatures in the distance. Moving cautiously, he began making his way across the desolate landscape, keeping low and trying to remain unnoticed.

The smell of death hung in the air like a suffocating blanket, and the further he walked, the stronger it became. He had no idea how many orcs might be in this dungeon, but the thought of encountering a full horde made his stomach turn. His instincts told him to flee, but there was no escape—at least not yet. He needed to understand what he was up against before making any rash decisions.

After what felt like an eternity of creeping through the dead landscape, Avince froze. His ears picked up a faint noise, a low grunt followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. He pressed himself against a nearby rock, holding his breath as he strained to listen.

There!

A pair of hulking figures appeared on the horizon, moving slowly through the barren terrain. Even from a distance, Avince could tell they were massive, easily twice the size of a human. Their skin was a sickly green, their muscles bulging under thick armor made of bone and leather. They carried heavy weapons—one had a spiked club, the other an axe that looked like it could cleave a person in two.

Orcs.

They were hunting, sniffing the air and scanning their surroundings with keen, calculating eyes. Despite their brutish appearance, Avince could tell they weren’t mindless. They moved with purpose, searching for something—perhaps food or intruders. He felt his heart hammering in his chest as he watched them, barely daring to breathe.

How the hell am I supposed to deal with them?

The realization of how outmatched he was hit him like a tidal wave. These weren’t low-level monsters he could pick off with a few well-placed spells. Orcs were built for war, and even though he could handle two of them, more would overwhelm him if they spotted him.

Avince gritted his teeth, his mind racing. He had to think of something. He couldn’t afford to fight recklessly. But for now, all he could do was watch, observe, and hope that they didn’t notice him.