First Floor (1)

Lv.1 human warrior Duncan had sorted out his goals.

1. Survival. 2. Identity laundering. 3. Find my brother.

'Survival.'

This was obviously number one. Nothing mattered more than staying alive. With the knowledge I had and some quick thinking by comparing notes with the other possessors in the community, I could definitely make it.

'As long as I don't get screwed over...'

Number two was 'identity laundering.' Fractal's plan to join the Oath Corps and wipe my sentence had failed. I couldn't stick around as a criminal forever, though, so I needed a new approach. Not exactly legal, but I was thinking of laundering my identity.

'Ditch the name Duncan and start fresh.'

It wasn't a name I had any attachment to anyway. It hadn't been mine from the start. If needed, I'd change my face too. Wouldn't be hard in this world. Medieval fantasy setting—no proper census, most folks illiterate. If I really committed to it, no one could track me down. There had to be brokers who specialized in this. I could use the inheritance Fractal left me to buy a new identity. Everything fit together neatly.

If even that was too tough, there was always the absolute last resort: kill someone else and steal their identity. I didn't want to go there, but...

'The immediate problem is getting out of here.'

Slightly tricky situation. Normally, adventurers exit the dungeon through the same portal they entered. Meaning if I left now, a bunch of pissed-off soldiers would be waiting to welcome me. But I couldn't stay in the dungeon forever either. It ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wasn't some easy, cozy spot to live—especially solo.

Solutions... a few came to mind, but it'd be best to play it by ear depending on the situation.

'First things first, I need to get stronger.'

Power was the ultimate constant. Overwhelming force meant I could neutralize most variables. I knew exactly how to grow strong. I had the build memorized, and I could fill in the gaps from the community.

Now I had a rough direction for survival-related stuff. Last was 'find my brother.'

If my brother was a possessor—and still alive—he'd probably be checking this community. Once he saw I'd possessed too, he'd reach out for sure. To make sure my post didn't get buried, I'd post the same thing three times a day from now on.

Then, finally, a somewhat useful comment popped up.

Right. If he'd possessed a Barbarian, the fastest way was for me to go to a tribe and search myself.

'Won't be quick.'

Looked like no existing Barbarian possessor would help. Even if one saw my post, they'd probably stay hidden. Most possessors hated revealing personal info. Anonymity was both sword and shield. Hell, I was nervous just posting after breaking out—worried someone might guess ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠who I was. Unless it was life-or-death, I wasn't spilling either.

I paused the brother search on the community for now. No point pushing it further.

Time to stand up and scout around.

'Hmm, pretty fucked, huh?'

I calmly assessed. Food? None. Torch? None. Companions? None. Jack shit in my pockets. Armor was just the prison sackcloth. No shoes. Defense? Zero. Only thing I had was the hand axe snatched from that soldier, and without it, I'd probably have followed Fractal...

'Damn.'

My shoulder from the sword cut had stopped bleeding but still stung. Lost blood or just the cold, body felt shivery. I slung the blood-crusted axe over my shoulder and posted one more to the community.

'Raiders...'

I didn't flinch preemptively. I'd already killed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠two people, right? If I had to do it again, I could. I had to. Ethics aside, I needed to survive first.

Info gathering was done.

'Time to move.'

I stared into the dungeon's darkness. Hands shook a bit. I knew damn well how dangerous and easy to die in this place. But I shook off the hesitation and ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠stepped forward. Goals were clear. Head toward them, nothing else.

I wet my finger with spit and held it up to the air. Some survival manga from childhood—think it was a survival genre. Guy found the exit by feeling wind direction. Labyrinth was half cave, so maybe it'd work.

'Nope.'

No breeze. Finger just got cold and gross. No path. Couldn't see shit anyway. Thought it was dark adaptation at first, so I waited while posting on the community, figuring my pupils would dilate and I'd see fuzzy shapes. Nope. Darker than night training in the army on a moonless night. At least there I could see stars. Here? Fuck all.

No convenient torches or glowy shit on Layer 1.

'Dangerous...'

Visibility under 1m. My own hands and feet were blurry shapes. Basically blind. Layer 1 background was 'sewer.' Twisty maze paths, varied terrain. One wrong step into 'deep water' or off a 'cliff' with rushing water below, and I'd die without a fight. Monsters? They lived in this dark every day. Could I even battle them like this? No waiting for rescue either.

'Wish I could learn magic.'

Magic meant my own light. In Dwarf Stone, magic was easy to pick up. No circles like in fantasy novels or spiritual roots like in xianxia. Just aptitude, and humans had aptitude for everything. Magic's floor was high.

'Community?'

Maybe a post on learning magic. Game needed spellbooks, but reality? Just study. And there it was.