A Taste of Another World

"Pardon?"

Startled, Marco jerked his head up to ask for clarification. But the only reply he received was—

BZZZZT!

"Aaaagh!"

A violent surge of electricity tore through his flesh.

"I asked you," Fredrik clicked his tongue, glaring down at Marco as the scholar lay trembling violently on the floor, "why you're pretending not to hear me."

"I truly didn't hear you! Please, just say it once more...!"

With an irritated sigh, Fredrik snapped his fingers. The mercenaries flanking him grabbed Marco by the shoulders and hoisted him ruthlessly to his feet.

"Open the cell doors. Release every single zombie trapped inside—except for the sector we're standing in, of course."

"U-Understood."

Hauled by the mercenaries, Marco was spun around to face the console of the facility's security apparatus. His fingers shook uncontrollably as he reached for the controls.

Lines of Dungeon Language flashed across the monitor—characters that would look like indecipherable gibberish to an ordinary person. But Marco was an intellectual who had spent his life studying the ancient tongue. Though far from fluent, he could decipher enough to operate the peculiar contraptions native to the dungeons.

Realizing the horrific catastrophe about to unfold, Marco squeezed his eyes shut. Right now, the vast majority of the undead and monsters remained locked behind heavy bars. The moment this command went through, every last one would pour into the corridors. Anyone scavenging inside the Blocked Prison would stand virtually no chance of survival.

Terrified, Marco tried to pull his trembling hand away, but a callous hand lunged from the side and slammed down on the key for him.

"Splendid. Now we won't have to waste time worrying about the competition."

It was Fredrik, the raid leader, who had finalized the command. A symphony of grinding metal and shrieking hinges echoed through the facility as thousands of prison gates unlocked at once, disgorging waves of ravenous undead into the open halls.

Fredrik watched the monitor with quiet satisfaction, then shifted his icy gaze down toward Marco.

"Worthless vermin."

"...!"

"Have you forgotten your place? You are a debtor. You can barely pay off the price on your own head, yet you dare waste pity on strangers?"

CRACKLE!

Another punishing jolt of lightning arced through the slave collar fastened tightly around Marco's throat. This time, no scream left his lips. He simply collapsed like a rag doll, convulsing on the floor as his bladder gave out in absolute agony.

"Tsk, tsk. A grown man making such a shameful spectacle of himself. Clean."

Fredrik flicked his fingers casually, casting a minor spell that vaporized the puddle on the floor without leaving a single trace. Dusting off his robes, he stepped out of the central control room. Outside, the waiting mercenaries bowed their heads in unison.

"Nora."

"Yes, Master."

A woman draped in a deep black hood stepped forward. Long strands of hair peeked from beneath her cowl, and a polished staff rested firmly in her grip.

"I'll be taking the scholar with me inside," Fredrik whispered, keeping his voice low as he cast a wary side-glance at the hirelings. "You will remain here and hold the entrance with these dogs. I'd rather take you along, but... frankly, I cannot trust these cutthroats out of my sight. I need you to stay and keep them in line."

"Understood, Master."

"If anything goes awry, pull yourself out immediately. They are expendable. You are not."

Nora bowed respectfully. Pleased by her obedience, Fredrik patted her shoulder.

"We're heading in. Take point!"

"Yes, sir!"

Flanked by a handpicked vanguard of swordsmen, Fredrik marched deeper ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠into the compound.

Peering through the narrow glass slit set into a heavy iron door, Kyle breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"It looks like they've finally passed, Bennett-nim."

"Good."

Bennett shuddered slightly as another strange wave of warmth surged through his veins. That had been far too close for comfort. If he hadn't spotted the concealed maintenance hatch tucked away in the corner, they would have slammed straight into the teeth of that horde. The rotting fiends had pursued them down the corridor, but the reinforced hatch held firm against their frenzied battering. After slamming their decayed bodies into the steel until their bones cracked, the mob had finally lost interest and drifted off.

"Let's move."

"Yes, sir."

The passage they now entered had an entirely different atmosphere compared to the bleak corridors and open cell blocks. It was an airtight, windowless tunnel, considerably narrower than the walkways above. Fortunately, with the facility's auxiliary power restored, overhead lamps hummed with steady illumination, staving off the oppressive darkness.

"Bennett-nim, there's a door over here."

A placard next to the doorway displayed text in the strange Dungeon Language: [Staff Lounge].

Edgar gave the handle a cautious tug and nodded. The latch slid back without a sound. But as Kyle leaned past Edgar's shoulder to survey the interior, his eyes blew wide.

CRASH!

The door exploded outward in a storm of splintered wood and mangled steel. The concussive blast hurled both Kyle and Edgar backward. Edgar, who had only been loosely gripping the handle, caught the brunt on his shield and staggered back several paces; Kyle, however, took the full force of the impact chest-on, flying into the air before slamming hard against the far concrete wall.

A grotesque zombie—its muscular arms swollen to unnatural, horrific proportions—tore through the doorway, letting out a guttural roar as it lunged straight toward the dazed Kyle—

Thwack! Thwack!

The creature stumbled mid-stride, its knee buckling violently into the floor. Steel bolts fired from Bennett's crossbow were buried deep into its ankle and knee joints, severing vital tendons with surgical precision.

SKREEECH!

Snarling in fury, the monster wrenched its bloated torso toward Bennett, bracing its arms to spring forward. But Bennett was already one step ahead.

THWIP!

A third bolt hammered through its forehead, vanishing so deep into its skull that only the fletching remained visible. Its head snapped violently backward, and the hulking corpse collapsed like a sack of stones, dead before it hit the ground.

'So that's how traits level up,' Bennett noted inwardly. 'Repeated, effective application.'

"Kyle?" With the monster neutralized, Bennett rushed over to Kyle, who was groaning against the wall. "Are you alright?"

"I'm... I'm fine, Bennett-nim. It just... hurts like hell. Haha."

"Let me see."

Bennett had Kyle pull off his tunic to inspect the damage. While dark bruises were already blossoming across his chest and ribs, there were no fractured bones or signs of internal bleeding. The thick rucksack strapped to his back had acted as a makeshift cushion when ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠he slammed into the wall, absorbing the worst of the impact.

"I'm completely fine too, by the way. Truly touched by all the concern," Edgar grumbled with a pout, thoroughly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠disgruntled at being left out. Bennett merely rolled his eyes; he had known from the start that the mountain of a vanguard hadn't suffered so much as a scratch.

"That must be what they call a Variant Zombie," Kyle murmured, pulling his gear back on.

In dungeons ranked [Hard] or above, altered undead frequently made an appearance. Some possessed freakish brute strength like the one they had just dispatched, while others moved with lightning agility. A rare few even manifested inexplicable, hazardous powers. Underestimating them based on the sluggish shamblers from [Easy] dungeons was a surefire way to end up dead.

Having cleared the danger without severe casualties, Bennett stepped into the staff lounge to investigate. Plush synthetic sofas, cot beds, and several bizarre pieces of furniture filled the room. Suddenly, Kyle called out from the corner.

"Bennett-nim, look at this."

Kyle was pointing at a small metal cabinet fitted with a transparent glass door. As he tugged the handle, a crisp wave of cool air spilled out. Inside sat rows of smooth, cylindrical metal canisters, chilled thoroughly by the icy draft. A pull-ring was attached to the top of each container.

"These look like dungeon beverages. I've heard they come in quite a wide variety of—Edgar, stop!"

Kyle reached out in panic, but Edgar had already cracked one open and was chugging down a brightly colored drink adorned with a picture of an orange.

"What if it's spoiled or poisonous?!" Kyle scolded. Even someone as polite and mild-mannered as Kyle couldn't hold back his frustration, slapping Edgar's armored shoulder. Edgar, however, only wiped his mouth with a blissful grin.

"It's damn good, though! Tastes pretty different from the oranges back home, but wow."

"..."

Meanwhile, Bennett crouched down to examine the machine generating the cold air—a refrigerator. Spotting a thick black cord snaking into a wall socket, he pulled the plug. Instantly, the interior light vanished, and the gentle hum of artificial cooling died down.

"It clearly runs on a power source other than mana," Bennett mused. It reminded him of some of the peculiar contraptions they had dragged out to barricade the roof access during their run in the LT Department Store. "The dungeon scholars would probably pay a fortune for something like this, but..."

"Carrying it out might be a bit problematic," Kyle agreed.

They could haul it if they were desperate—it was only a mini-fridge, after all. But despite its compact size, it was surprisingly dense and heavy. Carrying such an awkward metal cube through an active dungeon made little practical sense.

"Let's just take the drinks. Dungeon delicacies fetch quite a high price on the market anyway."

As Kyle began packing the cans, he froze. Bennett was already cracking open a can of his own.

"Might as well sample them first. There's plenty to go around."

"...If you say so, sir."

Pssh-crack!

A crisp hiss echoed through the lounge as bubbles fizzed to the rim. Unlike the citrus scent of Edgar's drink, this one released a sharp, sweet aroma that carried a frosty, invigorating bite. Bennett tipped the can back and took a mouthful—

'Wait, what is this?!'

His eyes widened in shock as thousands of tiny, prickling bubbles erupted across his tongue.

"Whoa..."

Kyle, who had cautiously taken a sip from another can, looked just as bewildered. Experiencing carbonation for the first time in their lives was an absolute shock to the senses. Before they knew it, both men had drained their cans dry in long, eager gulps.

A pair of synchronized, unrestrained burps echoed off the metal walls.

BUUUURP—

"...I can certainly see why people buy these," Kyle coughed, his cheeks flushing slightly. "It has an intensely stimulating, electrifying taste."

"Pack every can we can carry," Bennett commanded.

"Hey, look! There's another whole carton stashed back here!" Edgar called out from the back corner.

Thanks to Edgar's keen scavenging instincts, they managed to haul an entire cardboard crate of assorted canned sodas before slipping back into the hallway.

"Hold."

At the head of the group, Bennett suddenly raised a clenched fist, freezing everyone in their tracks.

"...Someone's coming."

A few yards ahead lay a multi-way junction. From one of the converging passages, the distinct, heavy rhythm of metal clashing against metal was echoing louder by the second.

Clank. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Clank.

Bennett pointed toward the corridor in question. Kyle and Edgar smoothly fell into combat formation without making a sound: Edgar stepped into the lead with his reinforced shield raised, Kyle took up position right behind him with his blade half-drawn, and Bennett anchored the rear, leveling Shooting Star straight down the corridor.

As the shadowy silhouette emerged into the light, Bennett's eyes narrowed.

'A knight?'

Draped in plate armor drenched head-to-toe in crimson gore, the knight froze, staring right back at them.