The endless square spreading out from Babel Tower was paved with uniform white stone. The craftsmanship of master builders made them seem like one seamless surface.
At this time — peak hours for adventurers entering the dungeon — the entire plaza teemed with people.
Some moved alone, likely high-ranking adventurers confident in their strength.
Others moved in teams — some with three to five members, others with over a dozen.
Swept up in this grand sight, Fron's heart surged with excitement as he embarked on his very first exploration.
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The "Dungeon" lies directly beneath the labyrinth city of Orario.
Its structure is conical, expanding in area the deeper the floor.
The tip—also the entrance at the topmost level—is located on the first basement level of Babel Tower.
There, a large hole leads into the man-made "well"; descending the spiral staircase marks the official entrance into the first floor of the "Upper Levels."
Standing before the entrance, Fron gazed slightly ahead.
The cavern looked like a monster opening its gaping maw, darkness capable of devouring all extending into the depths, waiting for adventurers to explore.
Within the narrow field of view, the walls of the Dungeon glowed with phosphorescence—soft, not dazzling, but somewhat dim. Combined with the narrow passages, forks, and variously shaped chambers everywhere, the combat environment was decidedly unfriendly.
"The oppressive atmosphere, the constant threat of monster respawns that gnaw at your nerves… being an adventurer really isn't for everyone."
He whispered cautiously, then advanced into the unknown before him.
"Kacha—"
Not long after, the youth who had just become an adventurer met his first battle.
A section of the Dungeon wall cracked open, and from within a dark red energy cocoon, a monster emerged.
How to describe this scene? A monster born from the Dungeon "Mother," newly descended into the world.
With dark gray fur and a short, hunched form, it still had the ability to fight upright.
Its sharp claws and exposed fangs gleamed coldly—likely capable of ripping through an average person's artery or heart with a single swipe. A true combat monster.
Its blood-red, malice-filled eyes gave Fron a tingling, hair-raising chill.
"So—this is a monster, huh. Ha, for a guy like me who was still a shut-in just days ago, this really is an adventure."
He cracked a self-deprecating joke to ease his tense body, though cold sweat still beaded on his forehead.
"The first time is the hardest. If I can just land my First Blood, I'll have transformed! I must—"
Encouraging himself like this, Fron relaxed his body, bent his knees and crouched, slowly drawing a short sword from behind his waist.
"Hoo—deep breath."
Gripping tightly his first weapon, which he had named [Jungle-Clearing Short sword], sweat seeped from his palm.
His heartbeat pounded—thump, thump, thump—to the point of being deafening.
Blood coursed rapidly, his entire body radiating heat.
The despair brought on by fear left his mind blank without him even noticing, and his eyes widened sharply.
Then, he burst forth.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!"
His left foot powered his charge, the sword-wielding right arm poised in front of him. He shot forward like an arrow loosed from a bow!
Even with a massive backpack, it didn't affect his form at all.
"RAWRRRR—"
The weak enemy was enraged that its target struck first. Unforgivable.
Its feeble intelligence spurred it into fury, instincts pushing its body to attack.
The kobold bared its fangs and slashed its claws, aiming to kill this damned human and offer him to the great "Mother."
However—
A flash of white from the Short sword easily bypassed the claw's defense, severing the monster's proud weapons and swiftly tearing through its body.
It sounded like ripping cloth—also the triumphant cry of victory.
A horizontal slash. Slightly off target. He missed the neck and even cut into its shoulder.
"Boom!"
Within a minute of its entrance, the kobold truly turned into black ash.
"——"
Still holding his attack stance, Fron looked a bit awkward, then raised his hand to scratch his head.
"That's it? Why did that feel kinda like slicing ribs???"
"It wasn't as clean and sharp as I imagined a swordsman's slash would be. When I cut in, the blade's path got pulled off by some resistance. The hilt didn't stay firmly in my grip either. I only managed to resist that force through brute strength. Is this the gap in technique?"
Open, clench. Open, clench.
Whether to ease his body and mind, he fell into thought while staring at his palm.
"Guess today I'll start by learning how to apply force properly."
Putting away the Short sword, he picked up a drop item smaller than a pinky fingernail.
"Magic stones, blessings of the dungeon—Orario makes a fortune exporting products made from magic stones."
In Fron's eyes, these things were the best clean energy source, even omnipotent.
"This one—100 Valis? Or 200 Valis?"
At the Hostess of Fertility tavern, a big bowl of fried noodles cost 400 Valis, and a drink was 300 Valis.
In other words, a meal would cost at least 700 Valis—
Of course, one could barely get by with fried potato balls at 30 Valis each.
"Making a living is tough no matter what world you're in."
Putting the magic stone into his backpack, he prepared to continue exploring.
After that, one after another, he engaged in several more fierce battles with monsters.
As time passed, each fight felt like a new experience to Fron.
That was something called combat experience.
The first time, he was thrown off by the resistance of cutting into flesh, but by the second time, he could slightly control that disorienting feeling.
By the third and fourth times, he could already aim properly and strike where he intended.
An ordinary person, of course, couldn't do that—but with a God's Blessing, the impossible became possible.
Rapidly growing combat experience, skills, and tactics caused Fron to grow like crazy, and then—he began slowly transforming from an ordinary person.
"Boom—boom—boom—"
Three goblins in a row turned to black ash in front of him, the magic stone in his hand glittering.
"?"
Fron threw out another question mark.
"Isn't this about the level of an average adventurer? What's with this one-sided battle?"
"Or could it be that everyone can handle the second and third floors this easily?"
After storing away the loot, he sipped from his water pouch and fell into brief thought.
"Wait—my status."
He hadn't thought about it at first, but reality was too cruel for him to ignore.
"Racial limits cause adventurers' stats to have strengths and weaknesses. The Pallum have great vision, agile bodies, and the highest dexterity."
"Dwarves are born with unmatched strength and endurance. Elves are a magical race by nature."
"Beastmen have strong senses and great physical abilities. Amazoness warriors are practically the embodiment of combat."
"And in the end, pure-blooded humans are the most mediocre. No strengths, no weaknesses."
Thinking of that harsh reality, Fron's mouth twitched.
"Plus, with my status attributes, I must be completely overpowering the monsters' potential, which is why the battles feel so easy."
"The legendary 'stat suppression'—has nothing to do with skill at all."
He had finally figured out the reason.
"And also—the sense of disharmony in my body must be due to my stats increasing too quickly, without enough time for mind and body to adjust."
Shoes or clothes, new things always feel uncomfortable at first—much more so for weapons and equipment. That feeling fades over time with use.
If it's your own body, that's even more obvious.
In earlier battles, Fron had just meant to rush in front of the monster, but his body didn't obey—he unleashed an unexpectedly strong blow.
He could have ended the fight cleanly with a decapitation, but instead, due to the excessive force, he severed the monster's arm along with its neck, wasting a lot of stamina.
This was the awkward mismatch between body and mind, and the difference in combat technique.