I lay flat on my back next to a torch, letting its warmth chase away the lingering chill. The flickering fire casts moving shadows across the stone ceiling, dancing in rhythm with the soft crackling of the flames.

I exhale, watching the breath leave my lips in the cold air.

"My life was a total mess, huh?" I say jokingly to myself.

Memories drift back, pulling me into the past.

---

Years ago.

"Elysia! Elysia!"

I hear my mother calling my name, but I press myself deeper into the bushes, holding back a giggle. She turns away for just a second—

I dash out and tackle her from behind. "Got you!"

She stumbles slightly, then sighs, crossing her arms in fake annoyance. But there’s warmth in her eyes, the kind that only a mother can have.

"Heh, yes, you got me…" She ruffles my hair before pointing toward our small house. "Now come on, dinner is ready."

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

We sit at the tiny wooden table, a single candle flickering between us.

"Ugh, potatoes again?" I whine, staring at my plate.

Mashed potatoes. Again. Most people avoid them because they’re considered poor food, but we don’t have much of a choice. We’re broke.

Still, I dig in.

I live with my mother. She’s a doctor—one of the few that don’t work for raiding parties. And my dad?

I never met him.

In this world, survival isn’t a given. Everything revolves around raids—massive, dangerous dungeon explorations meant to keep the world safe. The government barely provides for civilians, and if you don’t contribute to raids, you either starve or get killed by monsters.

There’s a saying.

Fight or die.

It wasn’t just words. It was reality.

And that’s how I started raiding at a young age.

At first, I only healed the wounded—warriors, tanks, frontliners. I wasn’t strong, and to be honest, I was barely useful most of the time. But at least they paid me enough to keep food on our table.

Day after day, I trained as a healer. I followed every lesson, memorized every spell, learned every technique.

But I hated it.

I didn’t want to spend my life hiding behind others. I didn’t want to be protected.

So, I started training by myself.

At first, people laughed. A healer training to fight? Swinging a staff like a sword? Dodging, running, practicing combat moves?

They thought I was an idiot.

"A kid looking for an early grave."

"A wannabe fighter with no real talent."

A healer’s job was to support others. That was the rule. But I refused to accept it.

I refused to be useless.

I had two motivations.

The Abyssal Spire, my life’s goal.

If I could clear even half the floors, I’d earn enough money to support my mother for life. But if I cleared all one hundred, I’d become a legend. The first healer to prove the impossible.

Both reasons burned inside me, pushing me forward.

---

The memory fades.

I blink and sit up, rubbing my eyes. The warmth of the torch is comforting, but I can’t rest forever. My body aches, my staff is slightly cracked, and my wounds still sting despite my healing magic.

But none of that matters.

Because now…

It’s time.

I stand up, dust myself off, and tighten my grip on my dagger.

Then, without hesitation, I walk toward the next floor.