The little light streaked forward with an air of bravado that far outstripped its size, darting ahead like it could shoulder the burden of his survival, hold back the tide of the dungeon’s suffocating darkness with nothing more than its feeble glow. Yet Robin stood there, as still as stone, rooted not by fear alone but by something deeper, something that refused to accept this gallant offer, refused to pass through that jagged crevice that loomed like the jaws of some beast ready to snap shut and crush him forever.

“What’s the matter? Have you gone senseless from fright too?” the light spat, its voice sharp, biting, cutting through the tension that filled the air.

Robin’s eyes narrowed, not in fear but in simmering frustration, the words that escaped his lips carrying the heat of something old and buried deep. “You didn’t even introduce yourself, princess.”

“The kind of logic running through your head must be all tangled up with madness!” the light shot back, flaring with an intensity that belied its size. “Humans—you’re all such fools! I’m Minona Devia, princess of Devia’s throne, and I command you to go!”

A command fit for a king’s ear, or at least a fool willing to take it. Robin’s lips twisted into something like a grin, something that danced on the edge of contempt, as if the words meant nothing, as if he’d heard such orders a thousand times before and found each one more hollow than the last. “Fine by me,” he muttered, but it wasn’t compliance that carried him forward.

No, it was something else, something raw and reckless as he charged toward the hulking shape that loomed ahead, the Hundstein, a beast that should have struck terror into the hearts of men. And yet here he was, sprinting straight into its maw with all the heedlessness of a man who had long since learned that life and death were not the ends of the road but the twists along it.

“Not that way, you brainless fool!” Minona shrieked, her voice crackling with fury, the light around her flickering like flame caught in a gale.

Robin heard Minona’s warning, but it was nothing more than an echo swallowed by the pulse of his own heartbeat. His body moved on instinct, indifferent to the danger the little light screamed about, eyes locked on the beast before him. The Hundstein—its name had been given, but it was nothing more than another opponent, one with fangs instead of blades, claws instead of fists, but still an opponent. The creature, no doubt, had sized him up as well, mistaking Robin’s brazen approach for either desperation or madness, the kind of foolhardy bravery that often came from men with nothing left to lose.

With a guttural roar, the Hundstein surged toward him, jaws wide, believing the fight already won, the human's flesh its next meal. But Robin’s fist cut through the air like a hammer, slamming into the monster's jaw with a force that shattered not just bone but the monster’s confidence, sending it reeling back in a stunned daze. It had expected a victim, but found a predator instead.

Robin’s breath came in short bursts, each exhale colder than the last, his body coiled tight with muscle memory. The beast, still stumbling, felt another strike—this time Robin’s elbow shot forward, catching the Hundstein in the throat with deadly precision. Its eyes bulged, its lungs failed to pull in air, and the realization hit—this human wasn’t prey, wasn’t sacrificial, wasn’t a meal, but something else, something that attacked with a lethal intent the Hundstein could hardly comprehend.

Robin’s gaze sharpened as the creature gasped for breath, his hand dropping to the rope tied around his waist. It wasn’t a weapon forged of steel or magic, but it was enough—just enough. The rope looped over the Hundstein’s thick neck, and Robin yanked, his movements swift and merciless, tightening the noose with every pull. The beast flailed, its claws raking the air, catching his skin, leaving streaks of blood across his face, but Robin barely registered the pain, his focus locked on one thing—finishing this.

His knuckles whitened from the strain, the rope biting into his hands, but he ignored the ache, pulling harder, twisting the rope as the Hundstein thrashed, its massive body buckling under the force. Robin felt it then, the cracking of bone beneath his feet, the gurgling sound as the monster’s last breaths were stolen, the life draining from it as surely as if he had driven a blade through its heart.

“Done,” he muttered through clenched teeth, his voice low, almost feral, as the beast’s body went limp, collapsing with a heavy thud.

From somewhere behind, Minona’s voice broke through the haze. “Oh ho! Golly, it’s dead! It’s dead for sure!”

If it weren’t for Minona’s shrill cry cutting through the haze of Robin’s focus, his hands might have kept tightening, his grip so fierce the rope would have become a blade, slicing through flesh, or worse, his own bones would have shattered beneath the strain. The beast had gone still, no longer thrashing, its breath stolen, its monstrous body finally surrendering to the cold stone floor with a thud that reverberated through the cavern. Robin stood there, hands still clenched around the rope, the skin raw and burning from the force he’d used.

“The eyes,” Robin murmured, his voice thick, distant, like he was speaking from some far-off place, “they’re still glaring. I broke its neck, didn’t even choke it. Snapped it clean.” His words were almost clinical, detached, but the weight of them pressed down on the air like a heavy fog.

Minona recoiled slightly, the light dimming as if she wanted to pull away, put some space between herself and this man who seemed to kill with such ease, such certainty. “You... you even know how it died?” Her voice wavered, a thin edge of fear threading through it. “I thought you just strangled it, but you—”

“I know how it died, Minona.” His tone was calm, but there was a hollowness beneath it, a weariness. “I always know. It’s not the first time I’ve watched the life drain out of something—someone. I’ve taken lives, more than you could count. I’m not your regular human. I wasn’t a soldier, not some knight serving a lord or a king. No one commanded me to do it, no one ordered me to stain my hands. It was my choice. And each one, each death, I knew it. Felt it. Watched it.” His voice thickened with bitterness, each word falling heavier than the last. “I didn’t kill out of duty or honor. I killed because it was the only thing I knew how to do. My hands have seen more blood than you can imagine. I don’t belong here. I belong in hell, burning alongside every one of those sins, but here I am, killing again.”

If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Silence wrapped around them like the dark walls of the dungeon itself, the echoes of his confession lingering long after the words had faded. Minona hovered in the air, her usual mischievous spark dimmed as if the weight of his past had seeped into the air between them, pressing against her light. For a moment, she didn’t speak, didn’t crack a joke or throw a quip his way. The silence grew, filling the space like a heavy, suffocating mist.

Then, as if grasping for something, anything to lift the crushing tension, she spoke, her voice lighter, but not without a strange, new respect. “Well... if there’s one good thing about all that, it’s that you’re good at killing, I guess.” Her tone held an odd mix of sarcasm and sincerity. “Most outlanders would’ve died just trying to kill a rat, but here you are, snapping necks like it’s second nature. Hah! Lucky me.”

Robin’s gaze didn’t shift, the weight of his confession still heavy in his chest, but there was a flicker—just a flicker—of something lighter in his eyes. He could see what Minona was trying to do, trying to pull them both out of the grim mire of his past with a jab, a joke. And maybe, just maybe, there was something to her words. Maybe his past, his hands, his skills could serve a purpose here, in this twisted place, if only to survive.

“Yeah,” he muttered, almost to himself, as if testing the words. “Lucky you.”

Minona’s light dimmed slightly, her glow softening just enough to stretch the shadows long across the dungeon walls, casting jagged shapes that seemed to flicker with menace. She floated nearer to Robin, her usual air of confidence laced with something more conspiratorial, as if she were about to whisper a secret no one else could know, something dark and ancient, something that might help them survive—if only just. Her voice dipped low, though the arrogance never fully left it. “Our luck aren’t going to be enough to keep you alive down here. That thing you just strangled to death? It was likely just a scout. Or maybe a young hunter.”

Robin’s eyes narrowed, his fists instinctively tightening, knuckles white against the dim light. The tension in his frame told Minona more than his words ever would, that readiness for another fight, for the next threat. “Scout?” he muttered. “So, what, there’s a group somewhere?”

“Yes, a group.” She let the words hang in the stale, musty air of the dungeon, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “They hunt in packs—three, five, more, who knows? Maybe you’ll get lucky and find only two. But I wouldn’t bet on it.” Her light flickered, dancing like a flame caught in a draft, her tone lifting, playful, sharp. “You might’ve just killed their weakest one, you know. The runt. The one they send to sniff out the idiots who rush into fights thinking they’re invincible.”

Robin’s jaw tightened, his resolve hardening, though a flicker of doubt crossed his mind. “Just how vast is this place?”

Minona floated closer still, hovering just at the edge of his vision, her light casting her usual arrogant grin across the stone. “What, did you think I’d tell you you’re safe? Ha! In this dungeon? There’s no such thing as ‘safe,’ Robin. There’s cautious, and then there’s stupid.” She twirled, a mocking little dance in the air. “And you, my dear human, you toe that line with grace.”

She paused, voice dropping into something more serious, more cutting, but never without that sharp edge of sarcasm. “Stay put for a moment and let me figure out something useful about you. After all, your killer instincts alone aren’t going to get us out of here.”

“What do you want to—"

“Omitaid.”

The strange panel materialized before them once again, hovering in the dim light like some ancient relic come to life, its surface marked by the same alien script Robin had seen before. Only this time, there were more symbols—more of that intricate, otherworldly writing that seemed to pulse with a quiet, mysterious power. Robin squinted, trying to make sense of it, the glowing letters shifting and twisting in ways that made his head spin. But Minona, drifting beside him, her light casting long shadows, took her time, as if savoring the moment, scanning the arcane script with an air of superiority that was becoming all too familiar.

He crossed his arms, his patience thinning. “What’s that, exactly?”

Minona perked up, her voice laced with that infuriatingly smug tone she often used when showing off. “An appraisal spell,” she said, her light brightening with a mischievous flicker. “Isn’t it marvelous? Oh, but of course, it must seem like magic beyond your wildest human dreams. Poor thing.” She tilted slightly, the faintest hint of a smirk audible in her words. “Anyway, this panel says you’ve got Dagger Mastery. Fancy, huh?”

Robin raised an eyebrow, his curiosity tempered by skepticism. “Dagger Mastery? Where do I even get a dagger?”

Minona muttered something under her breath, the sound barely reaching him, but Robin could sense that familiar, boastful edge in her tone. She floated closer, twirling lazily in the air, enjoying every moment of explaining something that, to her, seemed like common sense. “This is a dungeon, human,” she began, her voice dripping with that playful arrogance. “The deeper we go, the more we’ll find—dangers, yes—but also loot. You know, treasures left behind by other poor souls who dared to challenge this hellhole before you. Adventurers with more guts than brains. You’re not the first human to wander into this abyss, you know.” She paused, letting the weight of her words sink in, her light flickering with something akin to a mocking grin. “Must sting, huh? Knowing you’re just another follower, not the fearless trailblazer you thought you were.”

Robin's jaw tightened, his tolerance for her attitude thinning as well. There was a time when her arrogance was merely an annoyance, but now, it was beginning to gnaw at him. Still, he bit back his retort, reminding himself there were more pressing concerns than trading insults with a glowing ball of sass. “So long as I find a dagger,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

Minona hovered close, her light flickering with excitement as she eyed Robin. "Well, well, look at it again. Not just one, but three skills, you crafty little outsider. Dagger Mastery, Night Beholder, and Dungeon Walker."

Robin frowned. “What do they do, aside from Dagger Mastery?”

“Oh, Dagger Mastery self-explanatory, huh?” she teased, her tone playful, mocking. “Night Beholder? It lets you see in the dark. That’s why you’re not stumbling around like a blind mouse in here.”

Robin blinked, realizing the truth of it. “Makes sense. And Dungeon Walker?”

Minona’s light dimmed, as if savoring the suspense. “That one’s a bit tricky,” she mused, floating closer, her voice low. “You grow stronger by killing monsters. And if you, uh, eat them…” She paused, giggling as Robin recoiled. “Oh, come now. Eating them boosts your power even more. Some people consider monster meat a delicacy here—roasted hundstein, anyone?”

Robin shot a disgusted glance at the fallen beast, wrinkling his nose. “I’m not eating that.”

Minona fluttered playfully, unfazed. “Suit yourself, but don’t knock it ‘til you try. Hundstein flesh grants any kind of weapon masteries, you know. This one you’ve killed has one for sword—a longer blade, in other word. Eat a piece, and you’ll wield a sword like you’ve trained for seasons.”

He scowled, torn between revulsion and curiosity. “Sword Mastery? By just eating it?”

“Yep!” Minona chirped, perching on his shoulder, her voice a whisper in his ear. One little push, and she convinced him to finally taste his first meat in Lucia. “Just a bite. Roast, baked, however you like it, even raw too. But it’ll sting your stomach a bit from the magic. Come on, Robin, a little taste won’t kill you.” Her giggle held a mischievous edge, daring him.

Robin shook his head firmly. “I’ll pass. Swords are too clumsy for an assassin.”

Minona sighed, retreating with a dramatic huff. “Fine, fine. But don’t say I didn’t warn you about missing out on the finer points of dungeon cuisine.” Her light flickered with amusement, still teasing as they pressed on. “Alright, let’s move. I’ll lead the way, oh stubborn one.”