The attack comes without warning.
Three goblins are running coming at you , shrieking and brandishing crude weapons. You barely have time to draw your knife before they're on you.
The first goblin swings a jagged stone club at your head.
You raise your arm to block it , pain explodes through your forearm . The impact reverberates up to your shoulder, and for a moment you think the bone has cracked.
The second goblin doesn't give you time to rest . It slams into you from the side, all wiry muscle and momentum, driving you backward into the rough tunnel wall. Your skull cracks against stone. Stars burst across your vision. And the world tilting to one side
Through the blur, you see the third goblin raising a rusted dagger, its jagged edge catching the blue glow of the Dungeon.
Going for your throat.
This is it. You're going to die here.
Then something clicks.
Your Outsider's Instinct flares to life . Suddenly the world sharpens into crystal clarity. You can see it—the trajectory of the dagger and the angle of the strike.
Time doesn't actually slow down. You know this intellectually. But your perception accelerates, your mind processing information faster than your conscious thoughts can keep up.
You twist your body to the side.
The dagger misses your throat by inches, sparking against the stone wall where your head was a heartbeat ago. The goblin stumbles forward, overbalanced, its momentum carrying it past you.
Your body moves on pure instinct.
You drive your knife up into its chest.
The blade punches through leather and flesh with surprising ease. The goblin shrieks—a high, keening sound that echoes off the tunnel walls—and convulses. Hot blood spills over your hand.
You pull the knife free with a wet sound that makes your stomach lurch. The goblin collapses, and even as it hits the ground, it's already starting to disintegrate. Flesh turns to ash, bones to dust, until nothing remains but a small purple crystal on the stone floor. " magic stone "
The other two goblins freeze, staring at their fallen companion. Then their red eyes snap to you, and whatever passes for fear in their tiny brains wars with rage.
They attack together this time.
The club-wielder swings from the left, a wild overhead arc. The one that tackled you lunges from the right, clawed hands reaching for your face. Your danger perception kicks in again, You can see both attacks coming—the precise paths they'll take, the points of impact, the half-second window where both goblins will be vulnerable.
You drop low, knees hiting stone .
The club whistles over your head, close enough that you feel it breath . The claws sink into the empty space where you were standing a moment before, and the goblin's momentum carries it forward, off-balance.
While they're both overworked , you lash out.
Your knife catches the club-wielder across the throat. It goes down gurgling, hands clutching at the wound as dark blood pumps between its fingers. The sight should horrify you—probably will horrify you later—but right now there's no room for anything except survival.
The last goblin backs away, It turns to run.
You don't let it.
You're faster than the goblin, your longer legs eating up the distance. Your knife finds its back between the shoulder blades, and the creature falls without a sound.
Then it's over.
You stand there, breathing hard, surrounded by disintegrating goblin corpses and the faint smell of ash. Three small purple crystals lie on the ground where the bodies were—the only proof the fight ever happened.
Your hands are shaking. Your head aches where you hit the wall. But you're alive.
You're alive.
You pick up the magic stones with trembling fingers and stare at them. They're warm, pulsing faintly with some inner light. Yeah these three small crystals represent your victory.
But you almost didn't survive.
The realization hits you like a physical blow. If it wasn't for that skill—Outsider's Instinct—you'd be dead. That first attack would have killed you. The dagger would have opened your throat and you'd be bleeding out on this tunnel floor.
You couldn't even see the attack coming until the skill activated.
Is it worth your life?
The question surfaces unbidden. You came here because you need to survive in this world. Because Hestia needs support.
But is it worth dying for?
You stand there in the dim blue glow of the Dungeon, the question echoing in your mind with no good answer. Then you shake your head and start walking. Thinking about it too much won't help. You're here now. You made the choice. All you can do is keep moving forward.
You continue deeper into the tunnel network, and the pattern repeats.
A solo goblin scratching at the wall. Your danger sense alerts you before it notices you're there. One quick strike and it's ash. One more magic stone in your pouch.
Two kobolds fighting over something in a side passage. They turn at your approach, dog-faces snarling. You take the first one in the chest, the second in the throat. Two more stones.
The fights are easier now that you know what to expect.
After what feels like hours—though it could be minutes or days for all you know in this timeless blue darkness—you decide it's time to head back. Your pouch is half-full of magic stones. Your body aches from multiple impacts, bruises blooming across your ribs and back. Exhaustion is starting to set in, making your movements sluggish.
You make your way back toward the entrance, following the tunnels you remember. Left at the fork with the cracked wall. Straight through the chamber with the high ceiling. Right where the blue glow pulses brighter.
The path should be clear from here. Just a few more minutes and you'll be out, into the sunlight, collecting your earnings.
Then you hear it.
A sound like thunder. Heavy footsteps approaching fast, shaking the ground with each impact.
Something is coming. Something big.
You turn just as it start to curve , and your blood turns to ice.
A Minotaur.
It's massive—easily seven feet tall, heavily muscled, with the head of a bull and burning red eyes. It carries a huge battle axe that looks like it could split you in half.
What is a Minotaur doing on the first floor?
The thought flashes through your mind as panic takes over. This thing shouldn't be on the first ,The first floor is supposed to be safe.
The Minotaur roars and charges.
You run.
You dive to the side as the Minotaur's axe comes down, smashing into the ground where you were standing. The impact sends cracks through the stone.
You scramble to your feet and keep running. The Minotaur is right behind you, each footstep shaking the ground.
It attacks again. This time you see the swing coming through your skill Outsider's Instinct , but your body can't move fast enough. The trajectory is too fast, the arc too wide.
The flat of the axe catches you in the side.
Pain explodes through your ribs. You're lifted off your feet and thrown across the tunnel. Your back slams into the wall and you crumple to the ground.
You can't breathe. Can't move. Everything hurts.
The Minotaur approaches, raising its axe for the final blow.
Then a golden blur flashes past you.
There's a sound like wind cutting through air. The Minotaur's head separates from its body.
It happens so quickly that for a moment the creature's body doesn't seem to realize it's dead. It stands there, headless, axe still raised. Then it topples backward like a felled tree, and before it even hits the ground, it's already starting to disintegrate.
Within seconds, nothing remains but a large purple crystal bigger than your fist.
Standing where it was is a girl with golden hair and golden eyes, holding a thin rapier that gleams in the blue light.
She's beautiful in a way that seems almost unreal, like something out of a painting or a dream. Her armor is light, designed for speed rather than protection. The rapier in her hand gleams in the blue light of the Dungeon, its edge so fine it looks like it could cut through air itself.
She looks at the dissolving Minotaur with an expression that's calm. Then those golden eyes shift to you.
"Are you alright?" she asks.
Her voice is soft , with no trace of concern or urgency. She might as well be asking about the weather.
You try to answer but only manage a wheeze. Your ribs feel like broken glass grinding together with each attempted breath. The pain is so intense that black spots dance at the edges of your vision.
The girl sheathes her rapier in one fluid motion and kneels beside you, examining your injuries with practiced efficiency. "Nothing life-threatening. You'll only need some healing."
"Thank... you..." you say
She helps you sit up against the wall, and the movement sends fresh waves of agony through your side. You bite down hard on your lip, tasting blood.
Now that you can see her properly you realize she's probably around your age, maybe slightly younger. But there's something in her eyes that seems older. is it experience?!. The kind of experience that comes from seeing people die.
"This situation feels familiar," she says quietly, almost to herself. Her gaze is distant, like she's looking at something you can't see. Then she focuses on you again. "What's your name?"
"Wakanabe," you say, still trying to catch your breath. "Wakanabe Tanaki. Hestia Familia."
Something flickers in her eyes. "Hestia Familia? So you're from the same Familia as Bell."
Bell.
The name hits you like another blow. Bell. The protagonist of this world, according to your friend's enthusiastic rambling. He is the main character.
"Where is Bell?" you ask, confused. " is he-"
"Bell is dead," the girl says simply.
The words hang in the air.
For a moment, you can't process what she's said. It doesn't make sense. How can the protagonist die? That's not how stories work. The main character is supposed to be special, protected by narrative causality, an destined to greatnest.
You stare at her. "What happened?"
"I don't know the details." Her expression doesn't change. Her voice remains calm. "He died a few weeks ago in the Dungeon. an i only heard about it from others." "
Your mind is reeling. The protagonist is dead.
If the protagonist can die, what does that mean for you?
The girl studies you, her golden eyes sharp. "What are you doing here?" she asks suddenly.
"What do you mean?"
"In the Dungeon." She gestures at you with one hand, taking in your battered armor, your white-knuckled grip on your knife, the way you're still shaking. "Looking at you, I can tell you haven't received proper training. You move like someone who just picked up a weapon for the first time. So why are you here?"
You hesitate. How do you explain this? That you're from another world? That you're just trying to survive long enough to find a way home?
"I... I need to grow stronger," you say finally. "To be able to go home. And I need money to help grow my Familia."
The girl's expression doesn't change, but something shifts in her eyes. Something cold.
"Compared to other adventurers who desire to grow stronger, or those who want money—compared to them, when I look in your eyes, I see nothing."
The words hit harder than the Minotaur's axe.
"The only thing I can see right now in your eyes is hesitation," she continues, her voice calm but firm. "With that type of mentality, you won't survive in the Dungeon."
You want to argue. You want to tell her she's wrong, that she doesn't understand you.
But the words won't come.
Because she's right.
The realization crashes over you like a wave. When you fought those goblins, when you questioned whether it was worth your life—you already knew. Going home, gathering money for Hestia, growing stronger—they were all just excuses. False desires you told yourself from the start so that you wouldn't have to think too much about your real situation.
About being stranded in a world you don't understand. About being alone in this world even if there is someone supporting and cheering for you.
You haven't been moving forward with purpose. You've been running away from thinking about it at all.
A tear rolls down your cheek before you can stop it. Then another.
The girl watches this quietly.
"I should get you to the surface," she says, standing.
"Thank you. For saving me."
"Can you walk?" she asks.
"I think so."
With her help, you manage to stand. Every movement sends pain shooting through your side, but you can at least put weight on your legs. That's something.
She supports you as you limp toward the entrance tunnel, one arm around your shoulders, taking most of your weight. She's surprisingly strong for someone so slender.
"What's your name?" you ask as you climb the spiral stairs, each step an agony.
"Aiz," she says. "Aiz Wallenstein."
The name sounds familiar. Another character from your friend's explanation , probably. Or she migth be an important character .
She helps you up the stairs and to the Dungeon entrance. Once you're in the open air of Babel Tower's ground floor, she steps back.
"You should see a healer," Aiz says. "And stay out of the Dungeon until you're recovered."
"Thank you," you say again."For saving me."
She nods once, then turns and walks back toward the Dungeon entrance, disappearing into the crowd.
You need to talk to Hestia. You need to understand what happened. Because if Bell is deed then this world migth be runing to it end .