Disdain for Tattoos
I used to think negatively about tattoos. Tattoos were like clothes you couldn't take off—so why wear them? In 21st-century Earth, tattoos were relics of a bygone era, their usefulness long gone and only drawbacks remaining. That's what I'd believed with ironclad conviction before reincarnating into a fantasy world.
Dorne was reading a pamphlet for novice explorers at the Labyrinth Guild in East Labyrinth City, the labyrinth city east of the Capital. The modern-day South Korean netizens of the 21st century wouldn't realize there were three things to marvel at in that last sentence.
First, a commoner reincarnated into a fantasy world of bloody monster battles had grown into adulthood without parents—and without losing so much as a fingertip. Second, an orphan born on the outskirts of human territory had somehow made it to a labyrinth city, the heart of human civilization. And third, along the way, he'd learned to read, becoming an adult who could handle full sentences in print.
If this were put into a book? Nah, not even worth it. It'd be boring as hell.
Anyway, Dorne—looking far too polished for an orphan, decked out in padded leather armor with a club and round shield slung at his waist—was studying up on this thing called the labyrinth, which he'd only heard about through rumors and hearsay.
Shortly after opening his eyes in the temple orphanage, when he realized he'd reincarnated into a fantasy world, Dorne had dreamed of becoming a human tank "knight," a human mortar "mage," or a human hospital "priest."
But what do you know? The knights who came back splattered in monster blood were one thing, and the mages blasting fire from afar were another—but even the priests at the orphanage, who lovingly cared for parentless kids, were covered head to toe in tattoos? Every time he asked about it, the endlessly busy priests would just say, "Got 'em in the labyrinth."
Now, at last, Dorne could finally unravel the mystery from his childhood.
Feeling the pamphlet in his hand was thicker than expected, Dorne headed to a nearby table—one set out for fresh arrivals to the city, just like him, embarking as rookie labyrinth explorers. He sat but didn't lean back, instead hunching forward to flip through the pages.
"Hmm..."
He stroked his fairly dark stubble, organizing his thoughts.
So, the tattoos on knights, mages, and priests... those are Supernatural Abilities you get from the labyrinth, right?
On his homeworld Earth, tattoos had been nothing but unremovable clothes. But here, in his new home, they were actual functional powers.
Dorne read about how killing monsters in the labyrinth granted you a Supernatural Ability; how the East Labyrinth specialized in "warrior" abilities; how to enter and exit the labyrinth; and how the first layer was surprisingly manageable. Then he closed the pamphlet and stood.
Alright. My path is 'warrior.' Time to dive in.
It might seem reckless—uncharacteristic of a 21st-century guy—but Dorne had his reasons. The pamphlet's surprisingly detailed info had chased away his ignorance-fueled fears. He'd traveled from the distant fringes of human territory to the labyrinth city, even taken down a goblin or two along the way. And thanks to snatching food from the tight-lipped orphanage kids, he had a better build than most, boosting his confidence.
All he needed now was supplies for a few days in the labyrinth, and he could jump right in.
Dorne mentally tallied his remaining coin and checked his gear: the shield and padded armor on his body, a leather cap (too flimsy for a helmet), club. In his crude bag: a multi-tool dagger, bedroll, flint and steel, waterskin, a bit of preserved rations (jerky and rock-hard bread).
What he still needed: torches, more waterskins, more rations.
Things didn't go exactly as planned. He didn't want to haul woodcutter-style torches that lasted only two hours, so he splurged on a semi-permanent lantern powered by magic stones. That left no room for extra waterskins or rations. So, like a modern man, he prioritized the waterskins.
Rookies typically spent 3-5 days on Layer 1 before exiting, according to the pamphlet. The labyrinth was vast, but if you weren't aiming for the fixed portal to lower layers, stumbling on a randomly generated exit portal wasn't hard.
Now he didn't even have cash for cheap stew from a nearby shop. If he didn't want to end up a washed-out errand boy scurrying around, he had to enter the labyrinth now, bash goblins, collect magic stones, and get out before starving.
Payback time.
Dorne double-checked his bag straps and slung it on. No turning back now.
Stepping through the portal at the labyrinth entrance—guarded by soldiers—Dorne was greeted by a dark maze. Without hesitation, he activated his lantern, angling it to shine only one way, first sweeping the ground at his feet.
According to the Labyrinth Guild's rookie pamphlet, Layer 1 goblins usually roamed solo or in small groups of three to five. They set traps on the floor smeared with their shit to mess with explorers. Stepping in goblin-shit traps was disgusting, and if you didn't treat it fast, you might need to amputate. Dorne had no fancy, luxurious detox potions—he'd die first—so checking his footing was priority one for this expedition.
He checked underfoot, ahead, left, right, then spun to cover his rear.
"Good. Didn't drop into anything dangerous..."
Adjusting his barely-there leather cap, Dorne took a deep breath to steel himself.
"Don't die. Don't get hurt. Borrow and repay..."
It wasn't hard. Everyone had a first time.
Dorne didn't agonize over direction—just headed straight forward. If you were hunting the fixed portal to lower layers, you'd need a veteran who'd memorized the maze-like Layer 1 or hire a pro party with scouting abilities from a specialized labyrinth. But for a casual exit like Dorne wanted, blundering around until you lucked into an exit portal worked fine.
Muffling his footsteps, he reached a fork and hugged one wall, peeking with his head and lantern.
"Kerruk!"
A lone goblin on the left spotted the lantern light and charged.
Beginner's luck—he'd run into a solo one.
Dorne didn't blunder onto unchecked ground. He backed up a few steps, set down his bag and lantern, and waited for the goblin to round the corner. It had seen the light; it'd come.
Scraaaape.
His heart pounded as the goblin scraped its right-hand claws on the stone wall, bursting around the bend.
"Hup!"
Dorne didn't swing his thin club at the flailing goblin's head. Instead, he stepped forward with his left foot, shoving his left-hand shield into the goblin's upper body.
Thud.
The goblin, smashed by the man-sized wooden shield right out of the gate, tumbled backward.
"Kek!"
With its half-rolled eyes, huge hooked nose, and sharp claws, the goblin tried to roll and rise instantly. But Dorne wasn't idle. He rushed in, stomped its chest with his left foot, pinned its right arm with his shield, and smashed the palm-sized head with his right-hand club.
Crack!
The goblin's skull rebounded off the club and stone floor for double impact. Dorne didn't let up, bashing the half-conscious thing a few more times to finish it.
Thud! Thud... Thud!
Judging it dead after careful observation, Dorne lifted his foot from its chest, backed up to rummage in his bag—still not fully turning his back, even with the goblin's cracked skull oozing blood. One hand held the lantern to check his rear.
Rustle rustle.
"Hoo... Whew! Piece of cake. One-on-one's a breeze."
Releasing the tension, Dorne gripped his dagger and sliced open the dead goblin's chest. The hot blood smell and warmth made him grimace and pull his face back. Scraping with the blade tip split the skin, revealing a dark blue stone embedded in the ribcage.
With his gloved hand, Dorne pried out the magic stone and pocketed it. Magic stones were the byproduct of slain monsters, the main income for countless explorers. Dorne needed more fights, more stones, before exiting.
He tucked the fingernail-sized rock into his emptied leather pouch. Then shouldered his bag, hooked the shield to his belt, lantern in left hand, club in right. He wiped goblin blood off the club on its unbloodied body and turned the corner to the goblin-free right, shining ahead at his feet as he walked.
The labyrinth's gloom, stark stone walls, and alien space felt a bit more familiar.
"Nice. Real nice... How much per magic stone, though?"
He'd charged in with solid initiative, but without knowing stone prices, he couldn't gauge when to bail.
"Screw it. Haven't even found an exit portal yet—too early to worry."
Still minding his step, Dorne rounded a corner into an open clearing.
"Kerrruk."
A goblin stood with its back to him. Shining the lantern on its chunky nape, it whirled—a huge one, hobgoblin-sized, as tall as an adult man. And it clutched a wooden club in one hand.
"No way—skipping the small fry?"
The hobgoblin charged. Dorne flung his bag aside and carefully set the lantern facing it.
Advancing to meet it, shield gripped tight. Just before collision, he quickly strategized. He'd planned for goblin packs, but this threw it out. Time for a new approach.
Hobgoblins were way bigger, heavier, armed. Treat it like a slightly dumb human. In scrubs like this, size was king—and they matched.
No room for cockiness.
The charging hobgoblin closed in. Dorne planted his feet, bracing the inside of his shield with his club hand and thrusting it out. He angled to deflect the downward club swing, then pivoted sharply half a turn on his left foot.
"Hup!"
With the hobgoblin's balance wrecked, Dorne shoved hard!
"Kerruk! Keruk!"
Unable to handle its momentum plus Dorne's side slam, the hobgoblin flailed and crashed down, dropping its club.
Success on the takedown—but Dorne stayed sharp. You couldn't handle a man-sized hobgoblin like a puny goblin. Matching his size, it could shrug off a stomp, rise, and rake his torso with filthy claws. That'd turn into a mud-wrestle.
(Sure, Dorne would win—but it'd shift genres to infection-management time attack.)
So instead of straightforward pinning, Dorne dodged limbs, circled to the head, and hammered down relentlessly.
Thud! Thump thud! Thud thump thump thud!
His club alternated between hobgoblin skull and stone floor, splattering blood. It couldn't rise, arms shielding its head—you needed hands on the ground for that, and that'd just invite a skull-smashing barrage.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
"Hup! Hup! Hah, hup!"
Spinning like a game of red light green light in a trance, Dorne finally paused, gasping for breath.