Dungeon Rampage (1)

I walked on, dazed. It wasn't a day for deep contemplation. The more I thought, the more my mood simply sank.

But my thoughts wouldn't obey my will. Old memories kept surfacing.

Atra's childhood hadn't exactly been peaceful. Her parents died when she was too young to remember well. The memory was hazy, like fog, but they were most likely killed by monsters.

Though it was called an era of peace, accidents involving monsters happened all the time. Atra and her parents had simply been caught up in one.

Atra had been lucky enough to survive, and from the moment death loomed, her memories grew vivid.

She still felt the monster lunging at her. A body several times larger than hers, drool stringing between wide jaws, and countless jagged teeth.

If a hero ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠hadn't dramatically rescued her, Atra would have been torn apart by those fangs.

A dramatic rescue. Having lost her parents and been left alone, she was deeply wounded.

The loss was absolute. Her parents hadn't been callous. Even in those fogged memories, they had cared for their child in their own way. At the very least, they had tried to fill a parent's role.

Of course she was devastated. Shuttled to a temporary shelter, she sobbed for days. Her parents, who had been like gods to her, had been devoured by a monster right before her eyes.

And at the same time, one realization simply settled in.

'If I'd had strength, this wouldn't have happened.'

She hadn't understood something so simple when she was young. The world had seemed endlessly bright, and she'd believed that brightness would last forever.

But the world wasn't that peaceful. She realized it too late.

Fortune and misfortune come in bundles, they say. Atra was a case that fit those words exactly.

She awakened mana. That was the fortune—a chance to become stronger. She hadn't manifested a Unique Ability, but having mana was still something, wasn't it?

From that young age, Atra threw herself into an elementary academy with blood, sweat, and tears.

She had awakened mana. She possessed a condition met by only a tiny minority of the whole population. In a sense, she could be seen as superior to most.

Once inside the elementary academy, Atra looked around.

Everyone had awakened mana. The cadets beside her, in front of her—all superhuman. Most of the professors were also superhumans who had awakened mana.

There were few weaker than her. Many had awakened earlier and were already seasoned through training.

Finding confidence was hopeless. She was surrounded by people who were better than her, and even they were said to die with a single misstep.

So she made an effort.

Did others not make an effort too? They did. Slackers existed, but most kids were striving to reach great heights in the future.

Everyone had the same hours. The environment didn't let only Atra work hard while the others played and ate.

So she pushed herself harder. She cut down on leisure and filled that time with training.

She cut back on sleep. The theory said recovery needed this and that, but maybe because she'd only just awakened, her recovery was perfectly fine.

Playtime? She didn't waste a single second on such nonsense. Whenever her eyes were open, she strove to become stronger.

Even while eating, she trained by circulating her mana. When she fell asleep, she always clutched a mana measuring device. After a short, shallow sleep, she would rise at dawn and head back to the training room.

Her soft palms tore and bled, and blisters formed on the soles of her feet.

Sometimes tears of blood flowed too. Her mana backfired, giving her minor internal injuries.

As time passed, Atra graduated from elementary academy with grades decently in the upper-middle tier.

The top ranks belonged to cadets who had manifested Unique Abilities, or to those who, with family backing, had guzzled elixirs from childhood and received top-tier early education.

In middle academy, she repeated an identical—or even harsher—schedule.

Atra graduated with top-tier grades. She still hadn't manifested a Unique Ability, but she could fight evenly with those who had.

Around that time, people began treating her like a promising prospect. She even received sponsorship offers.

In senior academy, she grew even more. She still wasn't good enough to operate on the actual field, but she reached a level where she could hold her own.

After graduating from senior academy, she applied to Siyoram. She was rejected.

She felt wronged, but she understood.

Atra had top-tier grades, but that was only within the academies she had attended.

Countless superhuman training institutions existed worldwide, and there were even more people far better than her.

Because no matter how good she was, Atra was still a superhuman who hadn't manifested a Unique Ability.

Atra wanted to grow even stronger. So after graduating from senior academy, she prepared herself and headed for the African Frontline.

That choice... honestly, it would be a lie to say she didn't regret it. Only then did she truly feel that until that moment she'd been inside the academy's protective fence.

She figured survival had depended on sheer luck from heaven before even basic skill could count.

Few people with clumsy skills like Atra's dared to come to the frontline, and most of those few died without leaving behind even a corpse.

Surviving with broken limbs several times over was a stroke of fortune all its own.

At the same time, strength began to accumulate. After experiencing real combat, Atra's skill curved steeply upward.

She didn't know if this was normal after real combat, or if Atra herself was simply suited for it. But she undoubtedly grew.

That was when her Unique Ability finally manifested. A Unique Ability born not from innate talent but from sheer, acquired effort.

It wasn't as if she'd lacked innate qualities entirely. Atra still belonged to the talented side, and her mana—always light-attributed—crystallized into her Unique Ability.

Whatever the reason, Atra grew stronger. Within a few years, she wasn't just at the level of an academy prospect—she had become a force capable of actively contributing on the field.

While operating in the Demon Realm with the title of upper-rank hero, she suffered a rather serious injury.

While subduing a horde of monsters attempting to cross the frontline, she was ambushed by a high-rank monster specialized in stealth.

She barely managed to react and land a counterattack, but it left a long gash across her side. She suppressed her spilling innards by channeling mana through the wound and finished the subjugation.

It wasn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a light injury. A simple wound could have been healed, but cursed mana had settled into the area.

She had no choice but to take a recovery period.

The world she returned to after years away seemed peaceful. Back in what was commonly called the Inland, Atra had nothing in particular to do.

Since childhood, she'd ignored every warning to find a hobby for the sake of her mental health and just trained. She'd rushed to the African Frontline as soon as she'd graduated from senior academy. There was nothing she could actually do in the Inland.

And in any case, the injury limited what she could do.

After killing time blankly for a few days, she received a call from a slight acquaintance.

It was an invitation to an alumni reunion at the senior academy she'd graduated from. The timing happened to match, and the message had reached Atra, who was in the Inland, purely by coincidence.

It was a complete bother, but after persistent persuasion, she had no choice but to head to the senior academy's grounds where the reunion was being held.

And then.

- Gyaaak! How am I supposed to implement this...!

She met that child.

.

.

.

I walked on, dazed. Each time my foot touched the ground, weeds were crushed beneath me. Weeds that weren't wild—they showed the clear signs of human care.

The scenery around me. As long as I had eyes, I couldn't help but see.

An open space sprawling like a plain in every direction, weeds trimmed to look pleasing, mounds of dark earth jutting up here and there, and tall, narrow stones standing before them...

A typical graveyard. A place to bury and honor the bodies of the dead.

I didn't want to come here. If it were up to me, I'd never visit. Once I do, I have to pass whole days with my heart twisted in knots.

But I visited every year without fail. Before being a lousy human, to be something better than a beast, I absolutely had to come.

By my own estimation, I was not a great adult. If I had a conscience, I couldn't think of myself that way.

If you calculated the average across all specimens in society, I might land in the upper tier.

I didn't beat people to death simply because I was annoyed, and I didn't flit in and out of the underworld to indulge in pleasures.

I didn't giggle while watching people kill each other, and I wasn't the type to sneer and trample someone dying right before my eyes.

But that was a shabby excuse. How could you put such filth into statistics? Those vermin shouldn't even be included in any statistic.

I recalculated the statistics using only those I deemed could be classified as normal.

I was a below-average adult.

I didn't beat people to death out of annoyance, but if someone crossed the line a little, I did beat them up. I didn't prowl the underworld like it was my own home, but when stress piled up, I often favored medicinal herbs like tobacco.

I helped someone dying right before my eyes. But even if I had the leeway, I wouldn't go out of my way to save someone far away.

Upper-rank hero.

Some people set that position as their lifelong goal. Others call it a noble post for a noble hero.

To me, it was nothing but a cumbersome title.

I hadn't climbed to this rank through a purely noble heart. I simply acted because I needed strength, and the role had been inadvertently handed to me.

'Haa...'

My legs, which had been wandering blankly among the graves, came to a halt.

I stopped breathing for a moment. My chest felt tight. An indescribable weight pressed down on it. If it were an external attack, I could shake it off, but there was nothing to be done about the ones that came from inside.

I'd been making this visit for several years now. I'd gotten used to it in my own way. I knelt down and took out the bottle of liquor I'd brought.

It was pricey liquor, but a price that barely registered given my means.

I placed it carefully beside the gravestone.

I didn't enjoy drinking. But my cheeky, unbefitting disciple had liked it.

Next I took out a cloth, wet it, and cleaned the gravestone. Then I dried the moisture with a dry cloth.

It was a routine I'd grown familiar with, repeated for years.

But my fluttering heart had never grown familiar with it.

After carefully wiping my parents' gravestones, which lay side by side next to it, I stared blankly down at my disciple's grave.

I wasn't a good adult, and I wasn't a good teacher.

When I took in a disciple, I was an upper-rank hero.

My skill then was nothing like now. I'd reached a level where I could puff out my chest anywhere, but from my own perspective, it was a time when I was hopelessly lacking.

I also had no talent for teaching. To be honest, talent, more than effort, had played a huge part in my becoming strong.

All the education I'd ever received was my academy experience. I'd almost never been taught on the frontline. I'd just watched, copied, and figured everything out on my own.

Because of that, there were plenty of twists ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠and turns when I taught my disciple.

I had neither talent nor experience in teaching. As a result, I had no confidence that I'd properly taught anything at all.

'......'

But they were definitely happy times. Ever since losing my parents, I'd lived always thinking of becoming stronger.

A life painted in dull, gloomy colors had taken on a slightly more vibrant hue after I met my disciple.

Because of that, I had a tendency to teach indulgently and leniently.

Sometimes I'd taken it easy, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠wondering how I could strike a child even during training.

I'd often gone along with the petulant whims she showed during training. Instead of keeping a tight rein, I'd accepted the playful antics.

I'd felt a baseless confidence that she would do well. Her talent was superior to mine, and her personality had no rough edges.

I believed she would become a greater person than her teacher.

Teacher and disciple... at the very least, it was the deepest bond I'd ever formed. A precious, precious bond.

That bond had been severed a few years ago. By an external interference, not by anyone involved.

A catastrophe called a dungeon. That damned thing had swept away not just my parents, but my disciple, who had become like family.

That child had also lost her parents to monsters when she was young. She'd awakened afterward and been attending academies.

Beside the grave, where no one ever came looking, I'd thought blankly.

She was not a child who should die like this. Absolutely not a child who could end like this.

She had more talent than me. Bright, lively—a kid who always spread laughter and warmth around her... she shouldn't have ended like this.

A mere Grade 4 Dungeon Rampage. With her skill, she should have been able to ensure her own safety.

But she had vanished, leaving nothing behind but a single arm and scattered bits of flesh.

I despaired... and regretted again.

I shouldn't have taught her that way.

I shouldn't have accepted her whims. I shouldn't have gone easy on her, telling myself I didn't want to hurt her, hoping she wouldn't be in pain.

So that she'd never die to such a catastrophe... I should have made sure she acquired the skill to preserve her own life, no matter the threat.

It was my fault. Whatever anyone else might blather, I blamed only myself.

A failure of a teacher, the worst of the worst. A goddamn bitch who got her disciple killed.

Unable to bear those thoughts, I fled back to the frontline. I vented the guilt and self-loathing that stabbed at me onto the monsters.

I didn't care about the concerns around me. I just wanted to burn through those gloomy emotions.

The Headmaster's request came a few years after that... a few months ago, from where I stand now.

'Lee Ha-yul...'

A subject I didn't want to have... someone to teach. I'd taught him because I had to, but those old memories wouldn't let me teach half-heartedly.

This time, I taught differently. I didn't go easy on him. It might have been tough even for a superhuman, let alone a child who'd barely awakened.

Sternly, to make him strong as quickly and as surely as possible.

While educating Lee Ha-yul... watching the child grimace in pain made my heart uneasy, but I didn't stop. I couldn't let the past repeat itself.

And I tried not to get attached. I would do my best to teach, but who knew what the future held? I didn't want to feel the pain of loss ever again.

- Ueek...

...Though, maybe I'd gotten a little attached after all.

"Hoo..."

I let out a deep sigh. In a place like this, my thoughts were bound to be a mess.

- Ding!

That was when my smartwatch alarm rang.

[Lee Ha-yul]

A message from the very child I'd just been thinking about. I opened the hologram with a complicated expression.

▶Lee Ha-yul: Profes− (now)

A message cut off awkwardly. Frowning, I opened Lee Ha-yul's profile.

[Connection Disrupted]

'...What?'

Connection Disrupted. Those words filled my vision.

This made no sense. A smartwatch connected by the Tower of Harmonization, disconnected.

The only places that phenomenon happened were dungeons and towers.

Lee Ha-yul had told me he was visiting a dungeon. I'd nodded after he'd carefully gauged my reaction, asking if it was all right for him to go.

A disconnection... that could happen.

But if he was already inside a dungeon, how could he even send a text? And why did the connection drop the exact moment the text arrived? Why was the text so awkwardly cut off?

Unease.

'...There's no way.'

Anxiety.

My eyes trembled slightly.

Today was the anniversary of my old disciple's death. The day she'd left the world.

On such a day, Lee Ha-yul said he was going to a dungeon. I'd nodded with complicated feelings, struck by the coincidence.

That on such a day—on the exact same date, fate's cruel joke—the exact same accident would happen to the child I now teach... it's absurd.

- Ding! Ding! Ding!

[At this time, an unpredicted dungeon rampage has occurred in Sipnaha, Scotland, and 2 other districts. Isolation of the area confirmed. Heroes tasked with defense duty near the area are requested to immediately head to the outbreak site.]

It's absurd.