Chapter 33: Beware of the Merchant in the Dungeon, Part 1

The Hermia Exploration Team, while not widely renowned, was a respected group of adventurers in Ravakion.

While they primarily focused on smaller, less challenging dungeons, their consistent ability to return without casualties was a rare feat in this city.

And after five years of successful expeditions, they’d established a reputation and secured a reliable trading partner. While they might not achieve legendary status, they had more than enough to comfortably make a living.

However, human nature dictated that a sense of security often led to risky endeavors. And these adventurers, raised on tales of the Barufus Labyrinth and the legendary thief who’d hidden treasures within, harbored a deep fascination with the unknown.

“…I don’t think… this is right…”

The blonde priest, sitting quietly among them, spoke, and their descent into recklessness began.

“Yeah… this isn’t… what adventurers do…”

While most adventurers were essentially unemployed individuals seeking an escape from societal pressures, the majority were also thrill-seekers drawn to danger.

And these adventurers, who’d romanticized the profession since childhood, were no exception.

“Should we try an intermediate-level labyrinth next?”

“Hmm… why not aim higher? Let’s prepare properly and tackle a high-intermediate level one.”

“Then…”

“In that case…”

Their discussion, initially aimed at breaking free from their current stagnation, spiraled into increasingly risky propositions, the proposed labyrinth’s difficulty escalating with each suggestion.

Like a novice adventurer’s recommended gear evolving from a basic sword to a high-grade longsword, their ambitions grew, until finally…

“How about… we challenge the Barufus?”

“Dude… are you a genius?”

They’d finally reached the inevitable conclusion: challenging the legendary labyrinth they’d heard about since childhood.

A sane person would have intervened, but these adventurers, blinded by the thrill of a new challenge, ignored all reason.

Without further discussion, they scattered, each preparing for the expedition according to their specialties, leaving the tavern hall empty, except for one.

Anyone familiar with the Hermia Exploration Team would have been surprised by their impulsiveness, questioning how they’d managed to resist the allure of the Barufus Labyrinth for so long.

“Ah… ugh… this is a bad idea…”

The black-haired girl, who had always been the voice of reason, sighed, alone in the tavern, dreading the inevitable consequences.

“Behind… you…!”

“Kyaaa!”

KABOOM!

“Asera! Where’s Asera?!”

“I-I don’t know…! She vanished… after the lich’s spell… Kyaaa!”

BOOM!

“I… I knew this would happen…!”

Deep within the Barufus Labyrinth, the Hermia Exploration Team was in disarray.

They’d navigated the middle levels with relative ease, their individual skills exceeding the challenges posed by the familiar terrain. Handwritten guides detailing the labyrinth’s layout were also readily available.

But the deeper levels were a different story.

While the survival rate in the depths was abysmal, some adventurers had returned over the centuries, and their accounts, however unreliable, fetched high prices, creating a wealth of information, albeit mostly misinformation.

As usual, most of the circulating guides were fabricated by con artists preying on hopeful adventurers, with only a handful containing genuine information.

There was a running joke among adventurers that the legends of the ancient thief were more reliable than the commercially available guides.

Apparently, some traps described in the legends had actually been encountered, aiding some survivors, though the veracity of these claims remained uncertain.

Having ventured this deep, they should have been armed with meticulously cross-referenced information, but the shocking reality was that their trusted sources were all false.

They’d managed to survive this far thanks to the scraps of information gleaned from the recent surge of survivors, but with their healer gone, their time was running out.

The labyrinth’s unique properties significantly weakened healing magic, making potions a temporary solution at best, unless they were Elixirs.

But as the party leader, Hermia had to maintain morale, regardless of the grim situation.

She bit back her tears and tried to issue orders.

“Everyone…! We can make it out alive…! Stay calm and maintain form—”

She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat.

Her vision darkened.

Not like extinguishing a candle, but more like… stepping into a cloud of black smoke.

Was she dying?

But her heart pounded in her chest, louder than ever.

Thoughts raced through her mind, fueling her growing fear.

The encroaching darkness threatened to consume her, but her necklace glowed faintly, dispelling the shadows.

And she remembered.

A story her parents, former adventurers in Ravakion, had told her when she was a child, the legend of the great thief, Argen.

[Deep within the labyrinth… dwells a child who loves nightmares… If you encounter this child… your body will freeze… and dark thoughts will fill your mind…]

It was a terrifying story for a child, but the fear she’d felt had etched the details into her memory.

Nightmare, a monster that plagued intruders with dark visions. That was what was attacking her.

Fortunately, she’d recently learned of a countermeasure from a returning exploration team. It was similar to the solution mentioned in the legends, lending it credibility.

Positive thoughts. Nightmares abhorred positivity.

Hermia took a deep breath and recalled a happy memory: her parents stroking her hair as they recounted the tale.

Back then, she’d been obsessed with “The Adventures of Argen,” the stories that sparked her dreams of becoming an adventurer. It was a cherished memory, one of the most significant in her life.

While it was a bittersweet memory, a reminder of a time she could never return to, it was filled with happiness.

Tsk… tsk…

As she focused on the memory, the surrounding fog began to dissipate.

Thud.

“Haah… ugh…”

Hermia’s legs gave way, and she knelt on the ground, gasping for air.

Just two encounters, an army of undead and Nightmare’s dark visions, had drained her more than all her previous adventures combined.

But escaping Nightmare’s grasp was a significant advantage.

The nightmares targeted everyone indiscriminately, so the surrounding monsters were also trapped in their own dark visions.

And nightmares were easier to break with external stimuli. If she could wake her companions, their chances of survival would increase dramatically.

Of course, escaping the labyrinth was another matter, but this was a start.

Hermia dragged herself towards her unconscious companions, reaching out to wake them.

“Wake—”

Clink. Clink.

A metallic sound echoed through the dungeon.

Not the clash of weapons, but something smaller, lighter.

The clinking of coins.

The sound slowly grew louder, approaching from somewhere deep within the labyrinth.

Steady, constant.

“What… what is that…?”

Her heightened senses, or perhaps her paranoia, made it feel like the sound was closing in.

Was it another group of adventurers? But no one would be foolish enough to carry a coin purse into a dungeon where they risked losing everything.

Then what? A new monster?

But she’d never heard of a monster that made the sound of clinking coins.

Not in the legends, not in the countless adventurer accounts.

The unknown, the greatest fear for humanity, a species that had always relied on information and knowledge to gain an advantage in battle.

A primal fear, etched into their very being since the dawn of time.

Hermia’s hand trembled as she raised her torch, peering into the darkness.

Slowly… slowly… a pair of shoes came into view.

Step. Step.

Clink. Clink.

With every step, the metallic sound grew louder, echoing off the dungeon walls, assaulting her senses.

“Who… who’s there…”

The torchlight illuminated a figure standing silently in the darkness, staring at her.

“Huff… haah…”

The figure’s silhouette, clearly feminine, was the only discernible information.

The woman in the white half-mask stood there, her presence strangely ethereal, like a ghost.

She didn’t answer Hermia’s question. Instead, she removed her mask with a click and smiled.

“You seem to be in a difficult situation. Need anything?”

She placed the mask in a bag at her waist and walked towards Hermia.

“I sell… everything.”

“Hngh… stay… back…”

Hermia suddenly remembered the words of the adventurer who’d returned from the depths, seemingly delirious:

“Beware the merchant in the dungeon.”

She’d dismissed it as the ramblings of a madman driven insane by a mind-altering monster.

A common saying among adventurers further reinforced this belief:

“Beware the old, the women, and the children in the dungeon.”

It wasn’t a literal warning, but rather a reminder that anyone surviving in such a dangerous environment, especially those perceived as weaker, were likely incredibly dangerous and best left undisturbed.

There were stories of adventurers succumbing to their baser instincts, attempting to assault women in the dungeon, only to be brutally murdered. The existence of holy stigmata further added to the credibility of such tales.

Knowing this, Hermia had initially dismissed the returning adventurer’s warning, but now, she recalled it with a chilling clarity.

Deep within the labyrinth, where even veteran adventurers struggled to survive…

A merchant, with no visible weapons or stigmata, appearing unharmed and pristine…

What could such a being be?

And now, facing this unimaginable reality, Hermia’s fear was palpable.

Did the woman carry any weapons?

No.

Did she bear a holy stigmata?

No. She didn’t even exude any mana.

Were there any injuries, any tears or signs of wear on her clothes?

No. She looked immaculate, as if freshly crafted.

A primal fear, amplified by her still-functioning rational mind, gripped Hermia.

And the woman’s expression…

A smiling mouth, narrowed eyes that seemed to assess her, and the unsettling glint of red within those eyes.

But… but…

Those eyes…

Unlike her smiling lips…

…weren’t smiling at all.