Shortcut
They say that starting is half the battle.
Whatever the task, the first step is always the one that makes you hesitate most—and once you push past it, you somehow keep going.
Miss Ariella was right there at that stage.
She’s doing well.
For the first five days or so I had stayed with her. It was all completely new to her, and she showed every sign of struggling. She would shriek whenever a bug appeared, and if I slipped out of her line of sight she would keep calling out to me, voice tight with anxiety.
But she no longer needed that.
“Eee—eeugh!”
Wearing riding gloves, she squeezed her eyes shut and swatted away a nearby insect. Then, with practiced motions, she lit the insect-repelling herbs. In a mere three days her hands had grown quite sure of themselves.
Flap!
She pulled a soft-looking blanket from her pack and began stuffing it into the pit trap I had dug. “Huu…” When the work was done she carefully lowered herself into the hole. With the blanket lining the once-round pit, only her waist remained buried—easy enough to climb out of alone, and far more comfortable for breathing.
Yeah. That’ll do.
In the game you could never fuss over details like this. You just threw yourself into the pit and mimicked nature through the gestures Grandier taught you. But this was reality, not a game—the same way I had ground proficiency by taking full advantage of the fact that this world was real. Now she, too, had stepped onto the path of proficiency grinding that went by the name of a secret art, in her own way.
There was nothing left for me to do.
Hang in there, Miss Ariella.
I put careful distance between us so I wouldn’t disturb her training, moving without a sound. Once I was far enough away, a faint song drifted to me on the wind. It was probably one of the Remington family’s secret arts—a melody whose cadence the spirits loved. It felt like warm spring sunlight seeping through a window: pleasant and gentle.
The relatively quiet Count Remington household had grown noisy. Thankfully it had nothing to do with a rumor that wild roses had bloomed in a secluded corner of the garden reserved for blood relatives. The knight tournament—an event meant to bury the issue of Miss Ariella’s social debut—was approaching. Its preliminaries were only four weeks away.
“Inspection begins now!”
At the deputy commander’s declaration the knights who would guide the knight trainees began to move. Their task was to check the trainees’ gear.
That’s one hell of a load.
A backpack of maybe seventy-five liters sat there, and on the blanket in front of it lay at least four weeks’ worth of rations. Matching that quantity were spare weapons, changes of underclothes and outer garments, lanterns and oil for exploration, torches, and rope. Anyone packing that much clearly intended to hole up in a dungeon for four solid weeks and level efficiently.
Which is the right call, honestly.
Honing technique mattered a great deal—but only after you had reached a certain level of competence. This knight tournament was for fledglings who had received their blessing less than two years ago. Here, the weight class called “level” was king. No matter how refined your technique, a flyweight practically never beats a heavyweight. Even though I already far outstripped anyone of my own level, I still could not defeat my brother, who sat in the mid-thirties.
“Edwin.”
“What?”
“There are only four weeks left until the tournament.”
“Right.”
“So why are you so calm? You could still join that group. Pack your gear. We’re short on time.”
I narrowed my eyes at my brother’s words.
“Why?”
“What do you mean, why? When an opportunity comes, you grab it.”
For the scion of a modest house like ours, the knight tournament was an unmatched chance. The prize money was solid, and you walked away with the secure post of knight. I understood his reaction.
“Still, not that way.”
I gave a small shake of my head. His brow furrowed.
“If you find it awkward to speak up, I’ll raise the matter for you.”
He really doesn’t get it…
“Even if I went with them, I’d clear maybe three trials in four weeks. What’s the point?”
Going from level 15 to 18 in four weeks was blisteringly fast by this world’s standards. To someone with game knowledge, though, it was yawn-inducing.
Inverse correction stacked on inverse correction.
Experience split among the party, plus the reverse penalty that came from high-level knights joining the hunt. Even if that group farmed diligently for four weeks, it wouldn’t amount to much.
“Then what do you plan to do?”
“What I told you still stands.”
I held up three fingers for him.
“You were serious?”
“Brother, I’m always serious.”
If you’re that curious, just come along. I nodded to convey exactly that.
The place we visited this time was the dungeon known as Dungeon: Dry Paradise’s Abyss. Its recommended level was 15–25, and it also dropped the essential item needed to encounter the hidden boss of Dungeon: Aria’s Forgotten Paradise.
“All right. What’s the plan now?”
My brother pulled out the map he had received from the count’s household and asked. This was an underground-labyrinth dungeon that stretched down five floors. On a first visit, taking out a map the way he had was only common sense.
“We take the most efficient route.”
“Then you should have followed behind the knight order that already knows the way.”
“That’s the least efficient way, like I keep saying.”
I walked past him while he still held the map and took the lead.
“…Have you already memorized the whole map?”
“Hardly.”
Path of Guardians contained a truly absurd number of dungeons. Memorizing every single layout was something beyond even the most rotten of veterans. Naturally I had no information on this place either. But one crucial piece of knowledge was burned into my mind: the direct route that shot straight down to the fifth-floor boss room.
Always left.
“Then what are you trusting to walk like that? Ah—right turn there.”
I ignored him and stepped left.
“That’s a trap zone!”
His shout came at the same moment something clicked underfoot, like a switch.
Fweee!
Fweeee!
The trap activated and a volley of arrows streaked toward us. I had known it was coming, so I simply raised my shield.
“Just step where I stepped, Brother.”
“…Fine.”
He looked as though he had a great deal to say, but he kept it behind his teeth. He had followed me after hearing I would teach him the secret that would let him close a three-year gap in three months; for now he intended to watch what I did.
Crunch!
The floor gave way and something wet and squelching was crushed. A pit full of insects, larvae, and venomous snakes welcomed me.
“Edwin!!!”
My brother startled and yanked rope from his pack, but I merely shook my head as if it were nothing and slowly climbed out.
Sssssss!
A snake thrashed its tail and made threatening noises, yet ordinary viper venom could not harm me at all.
“No big deal.”
The next stretch featured sharp spikes shooting from the walls.
Kiiing!
Against a man fully armored in heavy plate and shield, the trap was meaningless.
Splash!
Oil poured over my head. And then, as if it were the most natural thing in the world—
Fweeeee!
Flaming arrows streaked toward me. A trap steeped in killing intent. I still swatted the fire arrows aside with bland indifference.
Ting!
I could not, however, stop the oil coating my body from catching fire. Even though my resistances had risen with level 15, the Burn status still hurt like hell. To snuff the flames quickly I dropped and rolled across the floor. As if the dungeon had been waiting for exactly that, every sort of trap in the vicinity went off at once.
“…Are you actually all right?!”
Even my brother, who had been composed at first, now shouted and stuck close behind me. Because the classic dungeon special had activated: the rolling boulder.
Rrrrrumble!
“It’s a dead end, Edwin!!!”
His voice was urgent. I answered,
“Ah, it’s fine, it’s fine.”
Thud.
I casually blocked a boulder that could have flattened a person without effort.
“Ah… aah… a magic trap, was it…?”
My brother exhaled, face sheened with cold sweat. It was an illusion trap that made the rock look uselessly enormous.
“What the hell is this path?”
It was a route so full of malice that it seemed determined never to let a living soul through. Something valuable ought to be waiting at the end. He swept the surroundings with an irritated gaze. There was nothing of the sort. There was, however, the single most important mechanism.
What else? A shortcut.
This place held a pit trap that dropped you clean through to the fifth underground floor. If a player had the Fly spell they survived; without it, stepping on the trap meant an instant fall-death judgment. It was a vicious dead-end designed to mock anyone who thought a treasure must be hidden wherever traps clustered thickly.
But this was reality, not a game. If you used rope to climb down the pit—
Ta-da. Fifth floor in a single day, no Fly required.
Even at their fastest, the knight order needed at least a week to reach the fifth floor. We made the trip in one hour, not even a day. A genuine shortcut.
Dungeon: Dry Paradise’s Abyss was enormous, as befit an underground labyrinth. Even with the knight order—who had memorized every path through repeated visits—leading the way, reaching the target fifth floor still consumed a full eight days. The original goal had been six; the trainees’ inexperience was the cause. No one blamed them for it. You were called a trainee precisely because you were still green.
“Hoo… hoo… hoo…”
The trainees flopped onto the floor using their packs as pillows. Proper hunting had not even begun, yet fatigue already pressed down on them.
“Don’t beat yourselves up too much. You’re still pretty decent.”
“Yeah. For chicks who’ve been getting smacked around by shields, you actually held up okay.”
Puhahaha!
The knights charged with escorting them laughed, shoulders shaking. The trainees themselves did not laugh. Edwin Revan was not a man you made a joke of. You only understood that after experiencing him with your own body.
“All right, rest and listen up! From the fifth floor onward you’ll face enemies you can’t handle alone.”
It was a zone where level-25 monsters appeared—extremely dangerous for trainees still in the level 10s.
“There’s a place here called the Abyssal Spawning Pool. Monsters pour out of it endlessly. You don’t have to wait the full week for the dungeon to reset.”
The trainees swallowed dryly. Endlessly spawning monsters, and level-25 ones at that. Tension was inevitable.
“I’ll work you until you drop. But I won’t let you die. That is all!”
After that, the squad leaders assigned to each group of three or four trainees repeated the precautions. They had already heard the information outside, yet re-emphasizing it was the only way to prevent accidents. An hour of rest mixed with explanation later, they finally began exploring the fifth-floor dungeon.
And before long—
“What… what in the world…?”
They saw it. Near the fifth-floor Abyssal Spawning Pool, corpses were piled so thick you could trip over them. A dungeon reset took one week. The fact that the bodies still remained meant—
someone had been here first.
It was impossible to believe. This dungeon could be entered only by those who had Count Remington’s permission!
Everyone scanned the surroundings, nerves stretched taut by the anomaly.
“Hey! There’s something over there!”
— Edwin Revan was here ↑
— Leaving this behind for you.
A marker had been left for the count’s knights, just in case they grew tense over any unexpected situation. A rope dangled limply in midair. One of the knights who saw it let out a hollow laugh.
“Heh… heh-heh…”
They had thought about it before. The time spent simply descending to the fifth floor was far too long. Wasn’t there a way to drop straight down? They had tried this and that, doing their best within the limits of safety. And still they had never found the path…
It was enough to make one believe in ghosts.