Chapter 23

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Translator: Ace

Chapter: 23

Chapter Title: 3rd Floor - Lv.18 Gamer (1)

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The pre-kingdom section from my gaming days was a place that strictly functioned as a tutorial.

For newbies, unless they suffered some freak stroke of terrible luck, it served as a low-difficulty zone where they could learn the controls and game systems.

For veterans, it was a segment to cleverly take down hidden bosses or scrape together experience points in preparation for what came after the kingdom.

Since we hadn't reached the main dungeon known as the 'kingdom' yet, there weren't any particularly complex interactions.

And important NPCs were few and far between.

It mostly felt like a quick jaunt to gauge how lucky this run would be.

Back when I was tapping away at keyboard and mouse, even if things got a bit tangled, it was a section you could wrap up in about 30 minutes.

The NPCs back then were just code blobs without any sense of self.

"What? Someone's finally coming down? How many years have you been in here?"

A red-haired female archer who looked refreshingly cool approached.

Her bow seemed hand-carved, strung with monster sinew.

Her outfit was skimpy leather armor that suited her toned, muscular build a bit too well.

If it screamed Amazoness vibes, you'd be spot on.

The moment we hit the 3rd floor, humidity clung to our skin like a damp blanket.

The climate felt subtropical.

I countered her question with one of my own without answering.

"How long have you been camped here?"

The female archer smirked familiarly and replied.

"About a month, I think."

"Then why are you so settled in? Can't use the next stairs or something?"

"Yeah."

Huh.

I instinctively glanced back at the Girl.

Her innocent eyes stared right back at me, utterly clueless about what was going on.

As I held her gaze, her cheeks flushed slightly, and she looked away.

No matter how I racked my brain, she was the only one in this run I had no read on.

I'd thought it only messed with even floors, but it was hitting odd ones too?

I let out a sigh and finally ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠answered her original question.

"15th-year Exile, Assassin class specialist."

"What? No, sir—15th-year? You're a VIP."

The female archer's speech flipped to full respect mode on the spot.

For Exiles, years in was rank.

In a labyrinth where you could only learn through brutal trial and error, the number and types of deaths were invaluable.

That experience made a huge difference, even on lower floors.

Thus, higher-year Exiles commanded automatic respect.

Of course, you had to prove your chops to keep it.

'No, Goddess. Am I supposed to just blurt out 97 years straight?'

'That's exactly why I'm not.'

That's the problem.

In a place where folks trembled at the sight of a mere 30th-year Exile, dropping 97th-year?

Whether they bought it or not, if they did, it'd be a massive headache.

Tributes would start rolling in, and boom—a new cult with me at the center.

Not real 'faith' in the labyrinth sense, but some sketchy knockoff religion.

I'd tried it around the 70th-year mark, thinking it'd be useful, but it was exhausting.

Running a mega-guild as master was way different from playing cult leader.

'Anyway, Goddess of Chaos. Can't you stick to text messages or voice chat? Pick one?'

It's annoying getting both.

'Sigh.'

'When you need them, I'll toss one in occasionally.'

She seemed pissed, but I just let it flow in one ear and out the other.

This goddess couldn't afford to ditch me anyway.

At her level, she knew exactly what a 97th-year, 2975th-run meant.

Deep down, she had to be thrilled.

Better to focus on the foes ahead.

Well, technically not foes.

Pre-kingdom, there was no way to verify years in.

If they shared a god, the deity could vouch, but did such a god exist?

Managing post-kingdom believers was headache enough.

Only an idle goddess like ours might bother.

Oh right, she had no other followers besides me. Ha ha ha ha ha.

"Just come at me all at once."

I held a single dagger.

They were a standard four-man party, red-haired archer included.

"Uh, even so, can you really?"

The archer, who seemed like the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠leader, looked puzzled.

I just thrust my arm forward with the haughtiest expression I could muster, beckoning with my fingers.

"I won't use [Stealth]."

They all shut up. These guys were proper in their own way.

Archer at 9th-year, others all 5th-year or higher.

Ideal low-floor party. Prime time for dreaming of knocking on the kingdom's gates.

So they couldn't hide their fury.

How much effort, how much grinding had they put in?

Labyrinth life was denser than the outside world. Their years were priceless ordeals.

Their anger was justified.

I really didn't use [Stealth].

I slipped between the charging pair of warriors.

Shedding fear of death was an Exile's duty.

They reacted to my boldness without flinching.

But they were slow.

I struck their wrists a beat faster, nullifying the first attacks.

At the same time, I hooked one leg to throw him off balance.

I lunged fist-first, slamming it into one's gut.

Duck low, and an arrow whizzed past.

A faint surge of mana rippled through.

Telekinesis on a 3rd-floor scrub?

I summoned a touch of my own mana.

My dagger was Abyss mountain junk—no inherent enchantments.

But its mana-infused edge sliced through the spell's flow.

The mage panicked, trying to cast again.

"Hey, kiddo. Magic's dangerous if you use it like that."

She probably never saw my [Blink Dagger] fly.

Seeing the blade gleam at her throat, the mage dropped her hands, trembling.

"Whoa."

The archer let out a short gasp of admiration.

Her bowstring was severed.

As a fellow Exile, she knew losing her main weapon rendered backups pointless.

"Done?"

They all got it.

I strolled over and retrieved my dagger from the tree trunk.

"When did you even throw it? I didn't see a thing."

The archer asked about the timing when I'd sniped her bowstring.

"Right after blinking."

She furrowed her brow, totally lost.

The throne of the Goddess of Chaos was perfect for brooding.

With just one follower, there wasn't much to oversee.

All she saw was the pantheon landscape and her sole devotee.

Sitting alone in lonely solitude, the Goddess of Chaos pondered.

'What the hell is this guy's deal?'

97 years.

Fair enough.

She herself was a specter who'd filled a full century without escaping the labyrinth.

Not common, but plenty of Exiles challenged to the bitter end.

What truly blew her mind was something else.

'How many runs did I go through?'

Exile life was intense, dense.

Way more vivid than her time as a god.

Yet even weathered memories couldn't tally her runs.

'Over 10,000? Yeah, somewhere around there.'

No outside-world morals lingered after a century-plus.

No common sense either.

Death was a tool, not an end.

How many times had she died? Out of necessity, frustration, or just because.

Not a mental fortitude issue.

Veteran Exiles were built that way.

They stayed sane knowing they could bail into death anytime.

'2975th run?'

97 years in the labyrinth, and not even 3,000 runs?

Did that even make sense?

What longing or madness drove this unassuming guy?

If he'd just holed up wasting time, sure.

But a god's eyes could glimpse a follower's life.

This one's soul bore stunning layers of repeated challenges and failures over long years.

She rubbed her eyes at that thought.

Not entirely ordinary, though.

Pretty handsome, actually.

And whatever else, he showed godlike cunning.

No annihilation worries for a while—bliss.

The Abyss was a close call. How many ever reached it on floor 2?

What had he even done?

Anyway, near-total dodge of oblivion.

Time for a treat.

She rose from her throne, pulling out her last hoarded stick candy.

No offerings in forever.

'Goddess of Chaos.'

'Eat quietly. Why send it to me as divine speech?'

"Any pantheon on this floor?"

"There was one early on, they say. Picking your faith is crucial."

The female archer was all deference now.

No room for doubt after I'd crushed their 4v1 in a blink.

I pegged the Hunter at true 12th-year, Girl at 10th-year.

And it became fact.

First, I demanded a rest spot.

The Abyss was safe, but no place for mental ease.

Especially the Girl, jumping at shadows—her condition was shot.

The Hunter showed fatigue from uncharted extremes too.

This camp was masterfully built. Carpenter Exile among them?

I left the two to rest and asked the archer.

"So, spill it. Why's everyone stuck, can't head to 4?"

If it was some mission snag, luck was utter shit.

Low-floor crap again? Huh?

Then probably the Girl's fault.

If not...

"A party of veterans is holding the stairs. They took the Healing Spring too."

What a massive relief.

No 2nd-floor shitshow repeat.

Seemed the Girl only flipped scripts on even floors.

Even floors were instanced dungeons by design. Form a party, clear encounters.

Pre-kingdom, no major encounters ever.

Wiping a goblin village was decent challenge for floor 2.

Odd floors were Exile turf.

No key native NPCs spawned here, bar rare exceptions.

More like natives barely spawned at all.

Clear split between Exile chatter and native lore.

Didn't make odd floors peaceful, though.

Battle royale setups happened, plus predators everywhere preying on the weak.

This was likely the latter.

"Levels unknown, but one 20th-year..."

Her face darkened. 15-vs-20 gap was real.

3rd floor felt comfy.

2nd-floor hell seemed a lie—back to normal.

20th-year?

What a joke. Daring to block my path.

2nd floor dragged dirty, a month lost in Abyss.

Time to vent some rage.