CHAPTER 10 — “What I Become” #4
The dungeon seems different on the way out.
Not physically—the floors are the same, the paths are the same, the cleared areas remain cleared. But there’s something in the air. A change in the way the mana flows. A sense of… recognition.
The dungeon knows I’m here. Really knows. Not just the seal-verification kind of knowing, but something deeper.
It’s responding to you, Johnson says. The more floors you clear, the more it connects to your signature. By the time you reach Floor 10…
“It’ll be like it was designed for me.”
It WAS designed for you. You’re just… remembering the relationship.
Weird way to put it. But accurate.
I emerge from the dungeon entrance into evening light—I’ve been underground for nearly ten hours, which feels both shorter and longer than it should. The farm is quiet, peaceful. Smoke rises from the cottage chimney.
Mariella.
She’s standing on the porch before I’m halfway across the yard, her expression shifting from worry to relief to exasperation as she takes in my appearance.
“You look like you fought a war.”
“Two wars. Maybe three. I lost count.”
“You were gone all day. No word, no message, nothing.”
“The dungeon doesn’t have great cell service.”
She’s not amused. But she’s also not yelling, which is probably a good sign. Instead, she comes down from the porch, wraps an arm around my waist, and helps me toward the cottage.
“You’re bleeding.”
“Only a little.”
“You’re covered in crystal dust.”
“It’s aesthetic.”
“You smell like wet dog and explosions.”
“That’s… actually accurate.”
She guides me through the door, deposits me in a chair, and starts heating water.
Her movements are quick, efficient, practiced—she’s done this before.
Taken care of wounded people. I wonder what her life was like, in the palace, surrounded by people who might need emergency treatment at any moment.
“Mira stopped by,” she says while she works. “Wanted to show you a new flower she found. I told her you were busy.”
“What kind of flower?”
“Purple. Very purple. She said it reminded her of your eyes when you’re thinking about something serious.”
“My eyes are brown.”
“I know. I didn’t have the heart to correct her.”
She brings a wet cloth, starts cleaning the worst of the wounds. I should protest—should insist I can take care of myself—but the warmth is nice and her hands are gentle and I’m too tired to pretend I don’t need help.
“How deep did you go?” she asks quietly.
“Floor 5. Cleared it.”
Her hands pause.
“Floor 5. You cleared five floors in one day.”
“Technically it was two days. I started yesterday.”
“Velthar.”
“I know. I know it was stupid. I know I should have been more careful. But—” I try to find the words. “The scouts. Aldric. They’re going to come back. And I need to be stronger before they do.”
“So you almost killed yourself.”
“I almost killed myself efficiently. There’s a difference.”
She doesn’t laugh. But something in her expression softens.
“You’re Level 15 now,” she says. “I can see it in your status.”
“You can see my status?”
“Only the parts you share publicly. Level, class, basic condition.” She finishes cleaning a cut on my arm, moves to the next one. “You’ve tripled your level in less than two months. That’s… that’s not normal, Velthar.”
“Normal left my life about two hundred years ago.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
She’s quiet for a while, working in silence. I let her, too tired to talk, too comfortable to move.
“The villagers are talking,” she says eventually. “About you. About the dungeon. About how the monster attacks have basically stopped since you started clearing floors.”
“That’s good.”
“They’re calling you a hero.”
I laugh. It hurts.
“I’m not a hero.”
“I know. But they don’t.” She sets down the cloth, meets my eyes. “You’re becoming something to them. A symbol. A reason to hope.”
“That’s dangerous.”
“Yes. But it’s also necessary.” She touches my face—just briefly, just a brush of fingers against my cheek. “This village was dying when you arrived. Now it’s not. Whatever you are, whatever you’re planning, that matters.”
I don’t know what to say.
So I don’t say anything. I just sit there, letting her take care of me, feeling something warm and complicated in my chest that I don’t have the energy to name.
Johnson hops through the door, looking equally exhausted.
I’m going to sleep for three days, he announces. Don’t wake me unless something is actively on fire.
“What if something is passively on fire?”
Then let it burn.
He curls up by the hearth and is asleep within seconds.
Mariella looks at him, then at me.
“You should sleep too.”
“I should evolve my class first.”
“Tomorrow.”
“But—”
“Tomorrow.” Her voice is firm. “You’ve done enough for today. More than enough. The class evolution will still be there in the morning.”
She’s right. I know she’s right.
“Okay,” I say. “Tomorrow.”
She helps me to my feet, guides me toward the bed. The mattress is lumpy and the blankets smell like dust, but it’s the most comfortable thing I’ve ever felt.
I’m asleep before my head hits the pillow.
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