Chapter 19
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Translator: MJK
Chapter: 19
Chapter Title: 3. Baridegi's Domain (2)
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The interior was a dungeon devoid of any murderous intent.
No stench of blood, no hint of enemies lurking.
Visibility was clear, yet the sense of distance felt distorted, and sounds reached my ears a beat too late.
The floor was firm, the walls rough-hewn.
It resembled a mining dungeon, but no glowing veins of ore had appeared yet.
I pressed on, biting my lip to keep my wish firmly in mind.
Every so often, I took small sips from the mental strength potion.
The effect was faint, but it was enough.
How far had I walked?
“Ah.”
The rope tied around my waist suddenly felt light.
I halted and glanced back.
The rope had snapped.
The link to the outside world was severed in that instant.
Yet, oddly enough, no wave of terror washed over me.
A strange place.
My mind felt a touch hazy, but not the foggy daze of cold medicine—more like the serene blankness of half-sleep.
It dulled my senses just enough.
I dropped the rope and continued onward.
I paid it no mind.
In this dungeon, retracing my steps wasn’t the priority.
The only goal was finding the exit while holding fast to my wish.
My dream of becoming a great potion maker anchored my every step.
Whenever the soft mist brushed against me, that wish sharpened in my thoughts.
Just a few days’ familiarity, the fact they were mere kids and cherished figures from the original story—that alone let me cling to such a hope. I knew most of them would gladly trade their lives to save others.
I gazed ahead, into the pitch-black depths. The first corridor of Baridegi Dungeon lay shrouded in twilight.
The twilight beckoned me silently from its vigil.
I stepped deeper without hesitation.
The depths of the Twilight Dungeon were quieter than I’d imagined.
No oppressive aura repelled intruders, no testing pressure bore down.
That didn’t mean it was safe, though.
The illusion of danger’s absence was this dungeon’s first deception.
I steadied my breath and advanced.
Each footfall solidly met the ground, yet the sensation in my soles grew ever fainter.
Soft mist flowed past my calves like a gentle caress, constricting lightly without siphoning my warmth. Like the touch of something alive, willful, bearing its own heat and vitality.
Which meant I had to stay sharper than ever.
Become a great potion maker.
I repeated the wish in my mind.
No need to move my lips; the thought rang crystal clear.
If my focus wavered, the dungeon would slip through the crack.
So I synced it to my walking rhythm.
Once on the inhale.
Once on the exhale.
That kept stray images from crowding my head.
The path forked repeatedly.
Left glowed with gentle light; right plunged into thicker shadow.
Clashing metal echoed from the lit side, rustling fabric from the dark.
I paused, recalling the dungeon’s essence.
Here, light wasn’t salvation, nor darkness a snare.
The trap lay in the why of choosing.
I questioned my own urge: Safety? Quicker end?
Whispers tugged at my ear, tuning my will like a puppeteer. The moment those voices surfaced, the path turned false.
So I shunned paths born of reason.
I let the wish guide me alone.
I picked the way that seemed irrelevant to becoming a great potion maker.
Another sip of mental strength potion.
Not potent, but the bitter tang on my tongue tethered me to reality.
I knew discomfort melted first in this enveloping coziness.
Lose discomfort, lose your guard.
So I clung to a deliberate edge of unease.
No telling how long I’d walked.
Time dissolved in this place.
A faint flute melody drifted from afar at times; other moments, a voice seemed to call my name.
I never turned.
I didn’t feign ignorance.
I simply passed.
Deny their existence, and the dungeon quakes harder.
Acknowledge, but ignore—that’s the surest path.
Suddenly, the way widened.
Mist thinned; the floor’s texture shifted.
No longer rough stone, but smooth slate.
A door stood upon it.
The exit.
Or so it appeared.
I stopped before it.
A thought flickered: Just leave now.
A voice within urged: Survival trumps reward, right?
Logical. Kind.
Deadly.
Become a great potion maker.
I seized my wish anew.
This dungeon demanded you seek the true exit through your wish alone to reach the reward chamber.
Not by chasing illusions of escape, but by wish-guided choice.
My hand stayed from the door.
Instead, I glanced beside it.
A dim fissure, unseen until now.
I stepped into it.
The door vanished without a sound.
Mist parted; space bloomed.
And I entered the reward room.
It wasn’t vast.
Nor lavish.
High ceiling, black stone floor.
A lone chair at the center.
The figure seated there was unmistakable.
King Yeomra, straight from legend.
Black official robes, trimmed beard.
Dignified, yet unthreatening.
The being gazed down and spoke softly.
“You’ve made it here alive.”
I bowed my head.
My knees quivered, but held.
This wasn’t a foe to battle.
Nor a judge to appease.
More a warden at the threshold.
“You’re not here for the Thread of Rewind, are you?”
I lifted my gaze.
King Yeomra’s expression said he knew already.
“Another has claimed it.”
I exhaled briefly.
Expected that; no shock there.
My aim was never that anyway.
King Yeomra regarded me a moment longer, then asked.
“Do you seek another treasure?”
I nodded without pause.
My desire was set.
Wavering here, and the dungeon would bar my return.
Items lined one wall.
One drew my eye sharply.
A fan etched with tiger motifs.
Unadorned. Unimposing.
Yet reaching for it, certainty flooded me—this was mine to take.
I claimed the fan.
King Yeomra said nothing.
Merely nodded.
The room blurred; vision contracted like folding paper.
Next breath, I stood outside the dungeon.
Cold air slapped my face.
Moonlight still hazy, clearing untouched.
And there, Hyeon I-seo gripped the rope with shaking hands.
“Hey!”
“Yeah?”
“You... ha! No, ugh, seriously.”
“What, what?”
His face was ashen.
“You actually came out.”
His voice trembled faintly.
“Rope snapped halfway—I was torn on calling for backup.”
“Oh! Yeah, that must’ve freaked you out!”
I clapped my free hand against the one holding the fan and called out.
“Sorry for making you worry.”
He sighed shortly.
“If you’re sorry, don’t pull this stunt next time.”
Gruff words, laced with clear relief.
We lingered there, steadying our breaths.
Tension ebbed from his shoulders bit by bit.
I didn’t rush him.
This dungeon frayed the waiter’s nerves worse than the explorer’s.
On the trek back to the dorms, he eyed the fan in my grip.
“That your reward?”
I nodded.
“What’s it do?”
“Localized temperature control.”
He halted, then scoffed.
“You braved that for this? Hah.”
I laughed.
“Means I can craft potions with finer precision now.”
Hyeon I-seo froze mid-step.
He shot me a strange look, then looked away.
“You’re one of a kind. Catch you later.”
Sour-faced farewell, then off to the guys’ dorm.
I clasped the fan once more.
The lingering warmth in my palm felt oddly comforting.