How a Poor Prisoner Survives in a Dark Fantasy Dungeon

The moment I opened my eyes, the first thing that hit me was the damp, rotten smell of mold and the cold touch of stone against my cheek.

I blinked slowly. My head throbbed like it had been split open with an axe. The world around me was blurry, dark, and suffocating. This wasn't my room. This wasn't even Earth.

What the hell...?

I tried to sit up, but my body felt heavy, like it was weighed down by invisible chains. My wrists were raw and stinging. When I looked down, I saw iron manacles biting into my skin.

Prisoner.

The word floated up from somewhere deep in my mind, carrying with it a flood of memories that weren't mine.

I had transmigrated.

Into the game How a Poor Prisoner Survives in a Dark Fantasy Dungeon.

And not as some cool knight or cunning mage. No, I was the lowest of the low. A Prisoner with no skills, no background, and a mountain of debuffs that basically screamed "please die quickly."

"...You've got to be kidding me."

My voice came out hoarse and cracked. Even speaking hurt. I looked around the dim cell. Rusty bars, filthy straw on the floor, a bucket in the corner that I didn't want to think about. The only light came from a flickering torch somewhere down the corridor.

This was the tutorial stage. The very beginning of that infamous game known for its brutal difficulty. A dark fantasy world where the last human kingdom, Apraphel, clung desperately to survival while the surrounding Dungeon devoured everything.

And here I was, thrown straight into the meat grinder.

A blue window suddenly materialized in front of my eyes.

I stared at the floating text, my stomach twisting. Survive? With what? I didn't even have a rusty spoon, let alone a weapon.

As if reading my thoughts, another window popped up.

The system was as merciless as I remembered from the game forums. No tutorial, no mercy, no safety net. Just pure survival against impossible odds.

I clenched my fists. The manacles clinked loudly in the silence.

Think. You read every strategy post about this game. You know how the early game works.

The Prisoner class started with three major debuffs: Malnutrition, Shackled Will, and Brand of the Condemned. The last one was the worst. It made every guard and NPC hostile by default. Even if I somehow escaped the prison, the kingdom would hunt me down like a rabid dog.

But ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠there was one hidden advantage to being a Prisoner.

Black Magic.

The game called it Forbidden Power. A double-edged sword that could let a weakling like me grow stronger at a terrifying rate. The only problem was that using it would accelerate the Brand of the Condemned, making the authorities more aggressive the stronger I became.

I had to hide it. Completely. If anyone found out I could wield black magic, I'd be executed on the spot. Or worse, used as a lab rat by the kingdom's inquisitors.

Heavy footsteps echoed down the corridor. I quickly lay back down on the filthy straw, pretending to be unconscious. The iron gate creaked open.

"Get up, you filth. It's your lucky day. The kingdom needs more meat for the Dungeon."

A rough hand grabbed my hair and yanked me upright. I kept my eyes half-lidded, playing the part of a dazed prisoner. The guard — a burly man with a scarred face — sneered down at me.

"Don't even think about running. The last guy who tried got his legs eaten by goblins while we watched. Consider this community service."

He unlocked my manacles but immediately replaced them with lighter wrist bindings. Then he shoved a torn cloth sack into my hands.

"Inside is your 'equipment.' Try not to die too fast. The nobles have bets running on how long the new batch lasts."

I looked inside the sack. A single piece of hard bread, a waterskin that was already half empty, and a wooden club that looked like it would break after one swing.

This is it? This is the kingdom's idea of arming people?

The guard dragged me out of the cell and down a long line of other prisoners. Most of them looked even worse than I did. Sunken eyes, trembling hands, the smell of fear thick in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the air. A few had the same dead look in their eyes that said they'd already given up.

We were herded into a large courtyard where thick fog rolled beyond the massive iron gates. The Dungeon. Even from here, I could feel it. The oppressive aura, the distant screams of monsters, the faint metallic scent of blood that never quite went away.

A knight in gleaming armor stood on a raised platform, looking down at us like we were insects.

"Listen well, convicts! Today you have been given a chance to redeem yourselves in the eyes of the kingdom. Enter the Dungeon, gather resources, and return alive. Those who bring back valuable materials will have their sentences reduced."

He didn't mention that the survival rate for the first expedition was less than ten percent. Everyone here already knew.

The knight raised his hand, and the iron gates began to groan open. The fog swirled thicker, revealing twisted trees and the faint glow of unnatural lights in the distance.

"Move out!"

We were pushed forward like cattle. My heart hammered against my ribs as I crossed the threshold. The moment I stepped into the Dungeon, a new notification appeared.

The air grew colder. The other prisoners scattered in different directions, some forming small groups, others running blindly into the fog. I stayed near the entrance for a moment, trying to recall the early-game map from my memories.

There's a small cave to the east. If I can reach it before the goblins spawn, I might ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠be able to...

A scream tore through the fog behind me. Someone had already been caught. The wet sound of tearing flesh followed shortly after.

I didn't look back. I started running.

My body was weak. Every step sent pain shooting through my malnourished limbs. But fear was a hell of a motivator. I clutched the pathetic wooden club like it was Excalibur and pushed deeper into the fog.

This was it. My new life.

No second chances. No save files. Just me, a broken body, and a world that wanted me dead.

But I wasn't going to die here. Not on the first day.

I'd survive. I'd grow stronger. I'd hide my black magic until the day I could burn this entire rotten kingdom to the ground if I wanted to.

That was the only way a poor prisoner could survive in this dark fantasy dungeon.