The walk through the meadows was peaceful, which was a problem. My brain, left unattended, had chewed on something truly cursed—skill descriptions.

Specifically, the nonsense poetry the system insisted on using instead of just telling me what the damn skill does.

“Observe as the very ground conspires to halt your enemies’ advance.”

Oh, fantastic. What does that mean? Quick sand? Vines? Spontaneous sinkholes? Maybe the grass itself would rise in rebellion against my foes.

That’d be fun.

I sighed, rubbing my temples as I trudged along. Thanks, system. Really helpful. You could just tell me, but no—gotta keep the naughty exploiter in suspense.

Not that I was actually surprised. There had always been skills and items like this, even in the future. The kind of mechanics that required trial, error, and a little bit of blind faith to figure out.

So, you know—my forte.

Hehe.

The trek stretched on, nothing but rolling hills and lazy wildlife in the distance. Occasionally, I spotted something—wasps, birds as large as me, the occasional oversized lizard—but they all kept their distance. Just as well. I wasn’t in the mood for unnecessary fights.

Yet.

Instead, I walked in relative quiet, rereading skill descriptions and grumbling to myself about system who thought vague, dramatic phrasing was more fun than actual information.

I wasn’t going in completely blind—I had done my homework. Last night, before watching Katherine’s stream, I had scrolled through Riker’s Collection Of Guides, or as I liked to call it, Riker Does Literally Everything. Seriously, if it is somethin Rimelion based, he was doing it.

According to an explorer, NightSwallow, Ngoc Dungeon was set in some sort of swamp—maybe a bog. Honestly, I didn’t know the difference. All I needed to know was that it was wet, muddy, and full of things I could freeze solid. At least, according to her. She even put that behind a paywall, and Riker’s were insisting I couldn’t go wrong, so I sent a few credits her way.

We’ll see.

When I finally reached the outskirts, the land shifted beneath my feet.

What had once been rolling green hills flattened out, the grass giving way to twisted reeds and thick, gnarled roots half-submerged in pools of stagnant water. The air turned humid, thick with the scent of wet earth and decaying plant matter.

A constant orchestra of croaking frogs and buzzing insects filled the air, an ever-present reminder that nature was absolutely thriving in this damp hellscape.

The ground squelched beneath my heels.

Wait.

It should have. Instead, my [Glacial Tread Heels] whispered over the terrain, untouched by the mud. I smirked, and giddiness was filling my heart.

Ahead, the water grew darker, murky depths shifting with unseen movement. Large patches of floating moss disguised what was probably deep water, and ancient trees jutted out at odd angles, their roots twisting in a chaotic mess above and below the surface. Mist clung low to the ground, swirling around as if trying to hide the dangers lurking beneath.

This was definitely a bog. Or a swamp. Whatever, it’s gross, and I hate it.

Let’s freeze it.

But there—past the fog, past the gnarled trees, half-buried in the sludge—was the entrance to Ngoc Dungeon.

Small-ish weathered stone archway, its carvings long worn by time and the relentless swamp. It looked as if it had been swallowed by the landscape, vines creeping up its surface, moss clinging like it had claimed the place as its own.

I took a breath, grinning. Finally.

I strode in.

[You found ‘Ngoc Dungeon,’ entering instance #3]

It was an instanced dungeon? Take that, Riker! This was a game, not reality. No fighting sweaty tryhards for boss kills! Just me, my dungeon, and whatever horrors were about to crawl out of this bog.

The moment I stepped through the crumbling archway, a wave of thick, stifling heat rolled over me. The temperature had to have jumped by at least ten degrees. My skin prickled, and a sheen of sweat started forming immediately.

This is disgusting.

Even with my amazing, flawless, legendary heels, I wasn’t walking on solid ground anymore. The moment my foot touched the surface, it sank into lukewarm, murky water.

Ugh. I was wrong. So very wrong.

Something gurgled.

So was NightSwallow!

A deep, wet sound, like thick mud sucking at boots after heavy rain. I glanced at my side at the notification that had popped up.

[??? Lv.10]

Type: 2-uncommon | HP: 199/199

The bubbling got louder.

The water churned, ripples spreading outward as something shifted beneath the surface. Thick clumps of mud began rising, forming a vaguely humanoid shape—but it wasn’t solid. It was oozing, constantly shifting, as if the very swamp itself was vomiting up a creature from its depths.

Riker! Refund! The girl said it was interesting!

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Its skin—if I could call it that—was a dripping mass of dark, swampy sludge, flecked with rotting plant matter and bits of unidentifiable bones tangled within. Pockets of gas trapped inside the gunk burst with each sluggish movement, releasing the kind of foul stench that made me immediately regret inhaling.

Oh. That’s rancid.

Its arms stretched unnaturally long, tendrils of sticky, slimy mud sloughing off, only to be absorbed back into its shifting mass.

One glowing eye, yellow-green like festering water, blinked out from the mess of sludge making up its head. Its mouth—if that gaping hole could be called a mouth—gurgled again, dripping with some thicker, black tar-like substance.

Then it lurched forward, dragging itself toward me, leaving behind a trail of bubbling filth in the water.

I wrinkled my nose.

Okay, that’s just nasty.

The moment I reached for my mana, it answered instantly—as if it had been waiting, coiled just beneath my skin, anticipating my call. It wasn’t just magic; it was a presence, a force woven into my will.

And I needed it badly.

With a flick of my wrist, a wave of frost surged, curving around my fingers like a living thing, hungry to be unleashed. My magic flowed steadier than I expected, smoother, more refined. A portion of my mana—tiny compared to the spell itself—was siphoned toward my cape, so casting became easier, like my magic was reinforcing itself, sharpening, perfecting.

My fingers snapped forward, releasing the cone of frost directly at the advancing creature. The air cracked, white mist curling from the sudden drop in temperature. But before I could watch the effect, a notification bloomed across my vision, its glow cutting into my focus.

[Battle attuning: Frostborne Regalia]

[Set Name: Frostborne Regalia]

[Description: A garment fit for a ruler who walks the line between ice and elegance, power and peril. Forged in the echoes of a lost kingdom, its beauty conceals the strength of a sovereign unbowed by time or fate.]

[Unlocked: Self-repair, ???]

A set bonus? Now?

The intrusive window snapped my attention for just a fraction of a second—long enough for the bog creature to lunge.

Damn.

I barely had time to react before a mass of rotting, sludgy filth collapsed toward me, its putrid form blotting out my view of the swamp. I swiped the notification away, muted the system notices entirely, and willed my mana into motion. To protect myself.

At the same time, my new automatic skill activated.

[Diamond Reflex activated]

Mana drained. The world shifted.

For a heartbeat, everything moved slower, each moment stretched out like a thread being pulled taut. I could see the mud-slicked tendrils, see the shimmering beads of water sliding off its dripping body, the gas pockets in its form pulsing, ready to burst.

Despite the reflex, I was too late.

The impact slammed into me like a boulder of sopping, putrid decay. The wet, clinging mass struck my chest, the force knocking the breath from my lungs, sending me skidding backward. My heels dragged through the mire, keeping me upright but doing nothing to stop the hot, slimy weight pressing against me.

It was disgusting.

Thick, viscous filth clung to my clothes, seeping into the fabric, oozing between openings. The stench—a revolting mix of swamp rot, stagnant water, and something too rancid to name—burned in my nostrils. I gasped, pushing against the mass, but the creature wasn’t done yet. Its form rippled, shifting, pulling itself tighter around me.

I willed my mana into action, surging it outward like a frozen tide.

Ice rippled from my core, spreading across my body, encasing me as the disgusting mass was suffocating me. My limbs locked up as frost engulfed my arms, legs—hell, even my chest, the cold searing into my skin as I forced the bog creature to share in my suffering.

It wasn’t letting go.

I wasn’t letting go.

We fell into a grueling tug-of-war, a grotesque dance of draining HP. My foot, my arm, my boobs—each time I froze a part of myself, the thing retaliated, leeching bits of my life force, sapping away slivers of my HP, dragging me into the same goddamn grave as before.

My bars were dropping fast. But I had one advantage.

My healing spell.

I forced a surge of healing into myself, ignoring the drain on my mana. The pain fell away, my body repairing itself, but my mana pool took the brunt of it—shrinking, dwindling, draining.

Wait.

No. No, no, no.

“No!” I yelled, not in despair, but in frustration. This was the Goolem Lab all over again. The realization ignited something sharp and seething in my chest.

I’m not a masochist!

With every ounce of power I could summon, I forced a pulse of freezing magic outward, snapping the wet, clinging filth off my body in a shockwave of ice. A sharp crack split the air, the creature snarling—or at least, making some horrible bubbling groan—as its mucky, gelatinous grip shattered into frozen shards.

And then I threw the damn thing off me.

It slammed into the swampy ground, landing with a sickening splatter, muddy chunks flying everywhere as it skidded across the bog, crashing through reeds and sinking halfway into the muck.

I wasn’t done yet.

I threw my hands forward, summoning twin jagged lances of ice, and hurled them like spears. They pierced straight through its shifting form, freezing deep inside its body—but the thing kept bubbling, trying to pull itself back together.

Fine.

I slammed my heel down, and a wave of frost surged forward, spiking through the ground, turning the soggy mud beneath it into a brittle sheet of ice.

So it helps me create a game ‘the floor is ice’.

The creature lurched, trying to move, shift, escape.

Not this time.

I lifted my hand, shaping an arc of razor-sharp ice, curving through the air like a crescent moon, slicing cleanly through its grotesque, shifting body.

The top half of the creature froze solid, then cracked apart, its gelatinous insides snapping into shards as it collapsed in a heap of frozen, muddy sludge. It twitched once, then burst into crystalline ice dust, melting into the ground, leaving behind nothing but a vaguely foul smell and a puddle of murky water.

Silence.

I exhaled sharply, my breath misting in the heated air, my arms aching from the raw force of my magic. I glanced at my mana bar, wincing slightly.

Worth it.

I nudged a remaining frozen chunk with my heel, watching as it cracked and crumbled.

The hubris… just because I had a fancy legendary skill and some enchanted clothes didn’t mean I was suddenly untouchable. The battle had just proven that. I’d fought stronger last month; I could waltz through mythic-tier monsters without flinching.

But that wasn’t me anymore.

I wasn’t John, the seasoned warrior who had exploited every system loophole to stand at the pinnacle of the tester server.

I was Charlie now—some weird mage-priest hybrid that shouldn’t have worked, but somehow did.

And it felt awesome.

My clothes had already begun repairing themselves, the frost-kissed fabric weaving itself back together. A shimmer ran through the cape, the stockings tightening as if they’d never been touched, my corset smoothing back into pristine perfection.

Self-repair.

I barely contained my grin as I finally glanced at the set notification hovering in my peripheral vision.

This was exactly what I wished for.

Exactly what I wanted.

I thought back to Grumpy—one of the old forum warlords. His actual username had been something about a grumpy animal, but everyone just called him Grumpy because of how he railed against the legendary gear progression.

He had stormed the forums, flooding thread after thread with complaints about how it took him an entire year just to get his legendary set attunement to 50%.

One year. For half attunement.

I smirked at the memory. Grumpy was a legend in his own right—commenting under any post about legendary items, but also one of the most dedicated grinders I’d ever seen. Hopefully, my set wouldn’t take that long, but even if it did, the first perk was already amazing.

Self-repair.

That alone made this the best.

I shook myself out of my nostalgia and turned my attention back to the swamp, scanning for movement. Enemies? None. Noise? Plenty.

The croaking of massive frogs, the incessant buzz of mosquitoes, the drone of unseen insects lurking in the muck. But no immediate threats.

Suspicious. It’s never this easy.

I exhaled, bracing myself, and took a step forward. “Let’s boldly go where—” My heels met the thick, sludgy water, sinking slightly before finding grip. A wet squelch echoed in the silence. My foot slid deeper into the bog, the mud sucking hungrily at my heel.

My stomach dropped. “…where I shouldn’t go. I want a refund, Riker.”