Chapter 13

All levels of the basics have come to a halt, but fishing keeps soaring elegantly.

Alone, I’ve reached Intermediate Level 6, heralding an intense morning filled with heat.

New information awakens my brain.

The sensation of fishing—its peculiar, indescribable feel.

With each step upward in Intermediate, the rewards grow larger.

—

I start the morning with a refreshing glass of water.

Stepping outside, vibrant fields greet me, heavy with crops ready for harvest.

If I just gather them, it’s all money—but without reaching Intermediate farming level, I suppress that desire. Not until I find painkillers can I proceed.

I sprinkle water over the crops not yet fully grown.

Carefully planting garlic from a dream onto the floor, I kneel low to sow seeds. Though it looks messy and my knees sting slightly, there’s the big advantage of sparing my back—which is precious.

—

Morning duties are done.

Next up: heading into the dungeon.

What was once a vague intention has become today’s immediate reality.

A sticky tension beads sweat on my forehead.

—

The dungeon lies north, beyond the mine, near the village border. No need to search for the way—I’ve scouted it before.

—

Before departure, I check my gear: potions, food, sword, armor, shoes, ring, and a hastily crafted wooden shield. Though too crude to count as proper equipment, it doesn’t consume an equipment slot when equipped. Its protection isn’t reliable, but “better than nothing” was the thought behind crafting it.

—

In the crisp early-morning air, I traverse the warming earth toward the north.

—

The dungeon.

The stench of alcohol and decay hits me hard. A sinister purple portal hums ominously, surrounded by a sickly red membrane.

—

Without hesitation, I step through what clearly screams, “Enter at your own peril.” Determination forged overnight sustains me.

A strange sensation of crossing something viscous overtakes me as darkness claims my vision. Then my light ring flares, illuminating the space.

—

The dungeon is tiered, descending underground like the mine. Every ten floors, monster difficulty increases, and each floor’s inhabitants are randomly determined. I recall Red Spiders appearing between Floors 10-19. To obtain poison, I’ll need to descend at least this far.

—

The first creature on Floor 1 is a giant rat. About the size of a mid-sized dog, its pink-twitching tail feels unsettlingly alien.

—

Before I can process its bizarre proportions, instinct kicks in, lowering my body and raising my sword into readiness. The rat lunges straight at me, drooling disgustingly.

—

It shouldn’t be able to move through the air…

—

But it leaps! I sidestep its trajectory, angling my sword upward. A long gash slices across its side, leaving no room for evasion mid-air due to my jump.

—

*Keeeeeek!*

Its shriek echoes in the stuffy chamber as blood pools grotesquely on the floor. With no strength left, the rat collapses. Death by excessive bleeding.

—

Surprisingly easy. One swing of my sword ended the fight. Conversely, one scratch from those sharp claws could mean my end. Never let your guard down. Remember: battle is walking on the edge of a blade. My meager Level 3 combat knowledge warns me sharply.

—

Nothing remains after the rat. Dungeons often work like this: loot directly from corpses or hope for rare drops with slim chances. Rewards are sparse, akin to lottery tickets—usually bland but occasionally delicious.

—

Rats intermittently appeared on Floor 1. Combat remained monotonous.

Wait for the rat’s charge, bait its jump, slash mid-air, then wait for it to bleed out. If it lingers, poke it with the sword while keeping distance. Fight over.

—

With tactics set, battles flowed smoothly without major risks. Being constantly prepared boosted my reaction speed significantly, helping mitigate danger during jumps or charges.

—

Will my sword’s edge dull from blood? Thankfully, no signs yet. The durability of this Level 21 short sword exceeds real-world expectations. No need to wipe it clean with cloth; dried blood absorbs harmlessly, preserving its sharpness.

—

Shields unused, battles proceeded peacefully to Floor 2. Rats continued to appear.

—

Occasionally, two rats came together, requiring careful spacing adjustments. For dual charges, I’d slice one with my sword and block another with the shield, maintaining 1v1 tactics—or manage both separately using precise positioning. Rats were truly insignificant foes.

—

Trouble began around Floor 7.

—

Skeletons on Floor 3, zombies on Floor 4, foul-smelling bats and insects on Floor 5, large toads on Floor 6…

And goblins on Floor 7.

—

Up until now, fights were straightforward, mostly 1v1 engagements. Even with two enemies, narrow corridors or luring maintained manageable conditions. Armor and ring protections absorbed blows effectively, allowing progress unscathed. That streak broke at Floor 7.

—

At least four goblins formed groups, introducing dangerous variables. This made Floor 7 particularly challenging.

—

Praying for luck to bypass goblins wasn’t feasible; sooner or later, they had to be faced. Confidence surged despite the odds. Judging myself capable, I pressed forward.

—

“Alright.”

Slowly approaching where four goblins waited…

Previously, I might’ve retreated to try again tomorrow, but something had changed. Experiences, memories, newfound confidence, and honed abilities emboldened me.

Fishing’s unique sense and reflexes, logging’s striking power, mining’s precision—all synergized beautifully here, fueling my self-assurance.

—

Gripping tightly, I relish the solid feeling in my hand.

—

Listening to the goblins’ guttural grunts, I approach. Starting the fight by throwing a rock found on the ground—a great tactic when rocks litter the area. Fortunately, Floor 7 had plenty scattered about. Engaging these small, dagger-wielding foes from range created favorable conditions.

*Bam!*

Green blood splatters as a goblin’s head shatters, collapsing lifelessly. Seizing the moment, I rush forward.

Unlike previous defensive battles, this time I charged aggressively.

—

Swinging left to right, my sharp short sword meets immense physical strength, cleaving a goblin cleanly in half.

Two remaining goblins struggle to react, awkwardly pointing their weapons at me. I strike again, swinging wide to include both in my arc. Unfortunately, one dodges by rolling, leaving only the stunned goblin sliced.

—

“Keeaaaah!”

One left.

The dripping green blood staining my sword seems almost gratuitous now. The trembling hands of the final goblin betray his fear.

—

Breathing deeply, I charge again. Pathetically attempting to block my swing with his tiny dagger, he proves no match for my overwhelming force.

—

The goblin’s weapon shatters, and he flies backward, ending the skirmish within seconds. Four goblins eliminated in under ten. Holding my breath during combat left me gasping for fresh oxygen afterward.

—

“This works.”

Savoring the lingering tension as adrenaline fades, I survey the scattered remnants of the goblins. Scenes once shocking now barely faze me. Through Levels 3 experiences and memories, I’ve grown desensitized.

—

Dungeons being dungeons, rewards remain pitiful. Moving forward without complaint, I press ahead.

Combat patterns repeat similarly until encountering six to seven goblins at once.

—

Why not just throw rocks at them?

Because these guys think strategically too—they throw rocks and sharp objects alike. They excel at ranged attacks, complicating matters.

Thus, I opted for aggressive close-range chaos instead, minimizing variables inherent in ranged exchanges. Close-quarters may seem harder, but thanks to fishing’s heightened spatial awareness, it felt easier. When battles end swiftly, range becomes irrelevant.

—

Handling six to seven goblins this way proved difficult.

If the initial charge didn’t finish them quickly, they’d scatter, pelting me from all sides. This forced prolonged, intricate battles.

Here, having brought the shield proved invaluable. Using it to deflect incoming projectiles while reducing their stockpile helped immensely. Luring them into narrow passages allowed me to eliminate them one by one. Combining advantageous terrain with patience secured victory on Floor 7.

—

Wishing for zero injuries proved naïve.

Armor bore scratches, the shield battered nearly beyond recognition, and my arm carried various deep cuts and dried blood stains.

—

Even with healing potions, wounds don’t vanish instantly. Clutching my crimson-streaked arm, I ascended to Floor 8.

Giant rats and bats awaited on Floor 8, skeletons on Floor 9.

—

Having found goblins most challenging, Floors 8 and 9 passed smoothly, bringing me to Floor 10—the domain of Red Spiders.

Hoping for success, I stepped into Floor 10.

—

Three enormous wolves greeted me, larger than any large dogs, glowing menacingly with green and yellow eyes in the dark. Thick saliva dripped from their fangs as they glared hostilely at me.

—

Known as Dire Wolves, these massive beasts measuring up to 1.8 meters posed the greatest threat on Floors 10+.

—

“Hmm.”

Ever cautious, I avoid reckless bravado. Knowing when to retreat defines true grace.

—

As the wolves growled low, I backed away decisively. Monsters unable to traverse floors made escape effortless, especially since we met right before the stairs. A simple turn led me back upstairs.

—

Curiously, I felt no sense of defeat. Victory seemed plausible, albeit costly.

—

Returning wounded would complicate both retreat and advancement. Fighting uphill through previously cleared floors with injuries risked disaster. No reason justified risking such misfortune against these foes. Perhaps Red Spiders would appear next time.

—

With regret and pride in reaching Floor 10, my first dungeon expedition concluded. Long battles interspersed with rests meant emerging into deep night.

—

Only then did I notice widespread soreness spreading through my body. Adrenaline masked countless minor pains until now.

—

Each step sends waves of discomfort through my aching limbs. My injured arm burns incessantly.

—

After a successful run, I return home. Showering reveals numerous unnoticed minor cuts protesting loudly. Swallowing tears, I douse my entire body in expensive potion—worth it since I bought it for use. The itching sensation accompanying healing adds further torment. Potions aren’t painkillers.

—

Collapsing onto my bed despite throbbing muscles, involuntary groans escape me. Exhaustion pulls me swiftly into sleep.

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