They say that life begins at 40, but Ignacio wasn’t expecting a literal beginning of his life in another world on his birthday. But why am I writing about him, the newly minted Lord Administrator of this dungeon? I lost to a wager. As a consequence, I became the designated scribe of Dungeon 2420. As keeper of the lore, my duty includes keeping a log of the events happening in this enclave.

It’s a non-Herculean task but certainly intended to humor the former administrator — from his grave that is. We gambled, and I lost.

Allow me to preface this chronicle with a short about me page. This will be the only instance where you, the reader, will come to know me, for I have decided to live in recluse and anonymity. That’s how I lived back in our world until a cataclysmic incident disrupted the course of that “pale blue dot”.

Just like the Lord Administrator, I was transported into this world. However, our isekaid fate branched off differently. While he retained his physical form, I didn’t. I woke up and realized that I transmigrated into the most hated villainess of the Crown. 

Once I became accustomed to the new world, I saw no purpose in embracing the identity of the villainess noblewoman. The people had chanted ‘death to the villainess’. She was scorned and beyond redemption as though the only path before me was that of a villainess. Their deep-seated hatred left an indelible rope burn around my neck. I was lucky to have survived the People’s Judgment. 

I was desperate to live because I’d rather die of my own volition than at the hands of those wolves in sheep’s clothing. The dungeon, I was advised, was the safest place to lay low. Alas, my infamy traveled faster than the Royal Investigator’s horse!

As the dungeon’s official scribe, I’m the keeper of its library known as the Arcanuseum. It’s nestled in one of the many hidden, labyrinthine levels. It served as my office and residence. And eventually, my resting place.

If Lady Rose were here, she would finally be shocked at my derring-do, a word she would often refer to my bold exploits and rebellious streak. It’s my peak stunt, as of record. But she dared not call me a villainess even behind my back. She was the only person who was kind to me to the very end. Seeing her face contort out of shock would be a sight to behold! Witnessing that she has expressions other than a reflexive, submissive smile she wore regardless of the situation she was in…

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

But I have digressed. The past is past.

The Arcanuseum is a graveyard of arcane books, a repository of infernal scrolls, and a cabinet of curiosities. From the looks of it, it’s more like a hoarder’s domain for it contains a plethora of bric-a-brac. I can’t deny the neat freak in me is rejoicing. The library is truly the heart of the dungeon; even if the rest of its inhabitants say otherwise! Only I have access to this unlisted floor, besides Lord Administrator, of course.

I’ll spend the rest of my life here, fulfilling my end of the bargain and away from everything.

Even though the only window to the outside is through the Archivist’s Desk, a specialized table imbued with a Spatial Magic capable of projecting three-dimensional interactive images, I can live with that. The desk can be used to keep tabs on the events inside this enclave. It’s equipped with visual displays of maps, dungeon blueprints, known routes, and a summarized dossier of adventurers and monsters. The active markers represent the inhabitants of the dungeon and the adventurers as they venture into the subterranean depths and serpentine levels.

Here, I’m truly safe from persecution by the tyrannical magistrate, ostracization of my peers, and elders playing arbiters of etiquette. I would rather be confined of my own volition here than live free among the familial backstabbers, political gluttons, murderous usurpers, fickle peers, and docile subjects of the Crown.

I’m done playing the role of the villainess. From here on, I’ll live on my terms. 

I’m not good at self-introduction. I dreaded baring my soul to another person, so I just rambled on. My self-insert ends on this very page.

Call me ΘNΞ, the first scribe of Dungeon 2420. Since it’s my duty to assign an official title to this dungeon’s chronicle, I proudly named it DUNGΞΘN RΞVIVΛL.

***EOL

EOL stands for End of Log, indicating the conclusion of a documentation, journal, or record.