The entrance to the Dungeon loomed beneath Babel Tower, an open maw leading into the depths of the unknown. Countless adventurers passed through it daily—some in high spirits, eager to test their strength, others with practiced caution, knowing the dangers that lurked below.
Among them was a lone figure clad in dull armor, his steps steady as he entered the underground labyrinth for the first time.
Orcbolg.
He had no party. No supporter. No hesitation.
His task was the same as it had always been.
Find them. Hunt them. Kill them.
First Floor – Dungeon Entrance
The air was damp, filled with the scent of earth and stone. The walls pulsed faintly, the Dungeon itself alive, regenerating and shifting when no one was looking.
Orcbolg scanned his surroundings, sword already in hand.
He had fought in dark caves before. He had tracked monsters through underground tunnels, knowing that death could lurk behind any corner. The only difference was that this Dungeon was orderly—not a natural cavern, but something designed.
Then, he heard it.
A growl.
A moment later, a goblin emerged from the shadows.
Orcbolg's grip tightened.
No.
Not a goblin. Not the kind he knew.
This one was different—taller, leaner, standing upright without the crude, twisted posture he was used to. Its yellow eyes gleamed with hostility, but not malice. It wasn't laughing, mocking him. It was simply an obstacle, a creature spawned by the Dungeon to be slain.
A monster, but not a demon.
The realization didn't slow his blade.
In an instant, he closed the distance, sidestepping the goblin's clawed swipe and driving his sword into its throat. The monster barely had time to react before it shattered into dust, leaving behind a small purple crystal.
Orcbolg stared at where its body had been.
No corpse. No blood. No lingering stench of filth and rot.
Only silence.
Slowly, he reached down, picking up the crystal. The magic stone, the Dungeon's way of sustaining itself.
They're not the same.
He already knew that. He had read about it in the Guild's records. But experiencing it firsthand was different.
The goblins of this world did not raid villages.
They did not steal, torture, or defile.
They did not leave ruins in their wake.
They were merely beasts.
It was a difference so vast, so absolute, that it should have shaken him.
But it didn't.
Because he was still hunting.
Even if they weren't the same, they were still monsters. And he was still an adventurer.
That was enough.
For now.
Deeper into the First Floor
Orcbolg advanced with practiced efficiency.
He had no magic, no divine techniques. He had only his instincts, his sword, and his Relentless Pursuer skill, which sharpened his senses the longer he chased his prey.
He fought goblins, kobolds, and even a single dungeon lizard without pause.
Strike. Kill. Move on.
Other adventurers—mostly newcomers—gave him wary glances as he passed. Some whispered about his armor, his lack of a party. Some watched in awe as he dismantled enemies with brutal precision.
But none approached him.
That suited him just fine.
At one point, he came across a small group of adventurers struggling against three kobolds. One of them—a boy with a wooden shield—had already been knocked to the ground, his teammates barely holding the monsters back.
Orcbolg observed for a moment. The boy's stance was weak. His movements were sloppy.
But they were not doomed.
Not yet.
He turned away.
This was not his battle.
This was not his war.
He pressed onward.
Guild Headquarters – That Evening
Eina Tulle adjusted her glasses, scanning the report in front of her. It was standard procedure—tracking new adventurers, ensuring they weren't taking unnecessary risks.
But one report in particular caught her eye.
A rookie adventurer, delving solo, surviving multiple encounters on his first day.
Her brow furrowed. That was reckless. Most new adventurers struggled with just one or two fights. Going alone was practically suicide.
She flipped to the name.
Orcbolg – Hestia Familia.
Eina frowned. Hestia had a member now? And he was already diving into the Dungeon alone?
She sighed, rubbing her temples.
She needed to talk to him.
Hestia's Shrine – That Night
Orcbolg returned just as the lanterns outside the shrine flickered to life.
Hestia was waiting for him.
Her expression was a mix of relief and frustration.
"You're back!" she said, crossing her arms. "And still in one piece, somehow."
He nodded, stepping inside. "No injuries."
"That's not the point!" She pouted. "I told you to be careful! I thought you'd at least take it slow!"
"I hunted at a steady pace," he replied.
Hestia groaned, flopping onto the couch. "You really don't waste time, do you?"
Orcbolg shook his head.
She sighed. "...At least tell me how it went. Did you learn anything?"
He hesitated. Then, he spoke.
"The goblins are different."
Hestia tilted her head. "Huh?"
"They are not like the ones I know," he said simply.
He did not elaborate.
Hestia stared at him for a moment, then sighed. "...Well, if you're saying that much, then I guess it must be important to you."
She stretched, then gave him a small smile. "Alright, I'll stop nagging. Just… take care of yourself, okay? You're my first adventurer. I don't want you to be the first one I lose."
Orcbolg nodded. "Understood."
She sighed again, but there was a small warmth in her eyes.
"Welcome home," she said softly.
He paused.
"...I see."
He didn't say the words back.
But for the first time since arriving in this world, he allowed himself to breathe.
Even if only for a moment.