I knew nothing about secret classes.

Actually, no one did—neither their purpose, nor how many there were, nor their conditions.

I had arrived in Hell, leveled up, made a few mistakes, but always managed to get back on my feet.

I was careful to pay my debt in full.

The debt, it was my priority.

I saw people who hadn't paid theirs for a while; it wasn't a pretty sight.

I was rather slow.

Others I encountered already had a class even though we had spawned at the same time, and yet I hadn't reached level 10.

Level 10… It seemed so important.

It not only granted you a class and a unique ability but also a bunch of additional talent points.

The difference between a level 9 and a level 10 was as significant as that between a level 10 and a level 15.

Despite this, I eventually found a small group of players who were willing to include me.

I stayed with them for a long time.

But they weren't generous. Whenever we looted another player, they gave me just enough PP to pay my debt, but not enough to level up.

I had joined them at level 5, and after several years, I had only managed to reach level 9.

The group consisted of five other players, all slightly under level 20.

I felt honored to be accepted despite my low level.

In hindsight, I should've suspected something fishy about wanting someone as weak as me in their group.

But at that moment, I just wanted to belong somewhere, to feel useful.

I managed to convince myself that nothing could go wrong with such strong allies by my side.

One day, they announced they had found a seemingly foolproof plan.

'The heist of the century,' they called it.

Of course, I was intrigued. If it could help me get rid of my single-digit level.

They were quite vague about the mission.

They mentioned looting a Merchant.

A Merchant, that sounded easy. It was the weakest class, ill-suited for combat.

So, naturally, I agreed. I didn't have much of a choice, anyway.

Once they explained everything, we headed towards the cave hosting the Merchant's dungeon.

Apparently, Merchants could create dungeons to protect their goods. That was a rather cool ability.

My role was straightforward—follow them and ensure we weren't ambushed from behind.

It was a simple and low-risk role.

The problem arose when we got there—the plan changed.

They threatened to kill me if I didn't do exactly what they instructed, which was to be in the front as a scout.

Apparently, once this mission finished, they wouldn’t need me anymore.

I went from being in the safest position to the most dangerous one in an instant.

Progressing a bit into the dungeon, we noticed there were no traps, only numerous corridors.

Eventually, we realized the dungeon was a maze.

So, convinced they'd kill me anyway, I took advantage of this and bolted deeper into the maze.

They didn't even have time to stop me—I was too far ahead and they were too scared of possibly triggering a trap.

In the end, it was because I had nothing to lose that I had a chance to survive.

Sure, I had shaken them off, but that didn't mean I was in a great situation.

I was deep inside the dungeon with no idea how to exit.

I pressed forward in the dark, hoping not to encounter a trap.

It's hard to keep track of time when enveloped in darkness.

I must've spent several days there.

Wandering these identical corridors, I had no way of marking where I'd been.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

I was trapped in what seemed like an endless loop.

I could've checked the time on my screen, but I didn't. Not once.

I believe if I'd seen I'd been there for just a few hours, I would've lost it.

And if I'd discovered I'd been there for days, I would've snapped as well.

It was also useless to use it to find my way, since I was underground.

The map would have just shown that I was somewhere in the mountain.

In the end, I preferred the ignorance.

To see nothing, to hear nothing, to know nothing.

I felt non-existent, as if I'd lost myself.

.

I needed to get out as fast as I could before I lost my mind.

A part of me at that time preferred death over continued aimless wandering.

So, I started to run with all my might, choosing a passage randomly.

I ran like a madman, and it felt good.

At least, it felt good until an unpleasant sensation rapidly escalated into unbearable pain.

Yeah, I had, of course, stumbled upon a trap.

On one hand, it was a change.

But a painfully unwelcome one.

My foot had triggered a stone that was actually a button, activating small traps that opened from the walls on both sides.

Out came two metal rods adorned with spikes, blocking the way.

I had charged at them at full speed, tearing off a part of my legs.

Then, I fell heavily to the ground.

I remember touching my shin bone exposed outside my leg, the flesh that normally covered it was gone.

I almost blacked out.

Seriously, who sets up such sadistic traps?

That Merchant was totally insane.

Ah, but the worst was yet to come.

I was on the ground, mourning the innocent flesh of my legs, when I heard a metallic noise.

Something was approaching.

My first instinct was to anticipate one of my former comrades. I had even readied myself to offer an excuse, hoping they would forgive my solitary escape.

The noise came from the corridor just ahead of me, which turned to the right.

I saw light, growing brighter as the metallic sound approached.

Then, I saw the tip of a boot.

Then the end of a lantern that seemed to shine brighter than the sun.

And there, just under this lantern that seemed attached to a suit of armor, several human heads swayed. I easily recognized these faces - they belonged to my comrades.

I didn't have time to be horrified, as soon after I saw the owner of this grim appearance.

A Drifter. A huge armored Drifter.

The lantern hanging in front of his armor lit his face from below.

His white skin, his crevices, his white eyes, his soundless breathing.

He turned his head and lowered it slightly. He was looking at me.

I felt as if my former comrades' heads were also watching me. Perhaps they were relieved to know that I was finally joining them.

With my legs in tatters, and a huge Drifter before me, it felt like the end of the game. But I had no desire to die, a realization that hit me as I stared at the severed heads in front of me.

I started to crawl, just managing to get past the barbed wire blocking the passage behind me.

The Drifter resumed his march towards me.

My breath was short, I was crawling with my legs to the side to keep my shins from touching the ground. I couldn't fight because my comrades had taken my weapons when we entered the dungeon, I couldn't flee because of my legs, and I was so dehydrated that I wasn't even sure I could cry.

Looking back, I was truly in the worst possible situation.

I kept crawling, further and with more effort.

Then the Drifter stepped on my calves. He was heavy for a walking corpse, and it hurt tremendously.

But I continued to try to crawl.

My elbows were scraped, and my hands were bleeding everywhere.

My entire body was in pain, and I had a metallic, as well as acidic taste in my mouth, possibly bile.

Then I felt an intense pain pierce my rib cage.

Then I felt nothing.

And strangely, I could see my screen.

It indicated that I had earned XP by dying and had leveled up.

And to my surprise, I had also unlocked a secret class.

Me, ever so naive, I thought it was something good. But I soon realized that it was the worst possible class.

It was called ‘Apparition’.

To sum it up, I had become a ghost.

I could do nothing, I had to wait around where I had died.

The silver lining was that I had no more debts to pay, and I was invulnerable and immortal.

I no longer felt hunger, thirst, or pain. But boredom, that I felt acutely.

There was only one way to escape this labyrinth - 'haunting' another player. That is, to stay attached to someone else of the same level as mine.

But for that, they had to manage to reach where I was wandering.

Over the years, I realized that it was quite the feat to have come this far in this dungeon.

I only met a few players, all too high-level to haunt. And anyway, the other condition to haunt a player was to have their consent.

Needless to say, this class was a condemnation to eternal boredom.

I have no idea how many years I spent in this dungeon.

The rare amusing moments were reduced to seeing Drifters chase a player from afar, or seeing the merchant's men resetting the traps.

Besides that, nothing happened.

Nothing, until I crossed paths with another player of my level.

I saw him running towards me; he was about to step on a trap.

"He can't die!" I thought.

I positioned myself right in front of him; he couldn't touch me, but at least he could see me.

Suddenly he stopped and fell backward.

It was now or never.

I had to scare him, I had to pressure him to agree to be haunted.

I saw no other way to finally get out of here.

I told him he needed to act fast, to agree to be haunted.

He looked terrified, as if someone was chasing him, possibly a Drifter.

Fear was my ally.

The words I told him had been carefully prepared over years in my mind.

"What? No! What are you?" he asked.

"Damn." I thought.

My perfect plan had just failed. I had replayed the scene thousands of times in my head, and I never thought to imagine a situation where someone said no.

But why?

Probably because my fantasies were my only escape, my only way out of this dungeon.

I had always refused to let them be tainted by the cold reality.

"So, what do I do now that he has refused? " I thought.

I was perplexed, defeated.

He started to get up.

Panicked, I looked again at my screen, reading the information my perception provided about this other player.

"Oko... Okovani! Is that it? Do you also have a secret class?" I asked.

I knew nothing about these secret classes.

I think nobody did.

But I knew that a name displayed in place of a player number was the mark of a secret class.

That was enough to try a new approach.

I had to propose something he couldn't refuse.

I had to live, no matter the cost.

Even if it meant lying.

Even if it meant killing.