The imposing shadow of the Tower of Babel loomed over Hachiman as he approached. The Dungeon entrance wasn't an ornate gate, but a cavernous opening at the tower's base, a dark hiatus that seemed to swallow light and exhale a cold, damp air, heavy with the smell of earth, ozone, and something else... something primitive and wild. Adventurers entered and exited in a constant flow, some in noisy groups, others alone and focused. Hachiman felt a knot form in his stomach, but he tightened his grip on the hilt of the sword he had projected – his only real companion in this endeavor.
'There's no turning back now,' he thought, adjusting the adventurer plate on his belt. 'I need money. I need to survive. I need... to try.'
Taking a deep breath of Orario's heavy air for the last time for a while, he stepped through the entrance. The transition was subtle, but definitive. The city noise was replaced by a heavy silence, broken only by the echo of his own hesitant footsteps and distant, indistinct sounds – a drip of water, a scraping of stones, perhaps the distant grunt of some creature. The surrounding walls changed from worked stone to a smooth, light-blue rock that emitted a faint, ethereal luminescence, the only source of light within. The air grew colder, heavier.
He was on the first floor of the Dungeon. 'The walls are light blue... monsters are Goblins or Kobolds... level 1, status I to H... Starting Road...' The information Misha and the Guild pamphlets had provided came to mind. It was the easiest floor, the training ground for novices. But for Hachiman, who had never held a real sword before the previous day, it felt like an alien and menacing labyrinth.
He unsheathed his projected sword, the blade catching the bluish light strangely. He held it with both hands, the stance probably all wrong. 'I was a high school student. Played video games, read light novels. Never fought in real life. The closest I got to violence was getting hit by a car.' The irony didn't help him now. 'But I'm here. I died once. I can't afford to be careless or hesitate. Aqua is waiting... and, more importantly, I want to keep living, even in this screwed-up world.' Conviction, born of desperation and a stubborn self-preservation instinct, spurred him to take the first cautious steps down the wide corridor known as the Starting Road.
He moved slowly, sticking close to one of the smooth walls, ears alert to any sound, eyes scanning every shadow and recess. The silence was almost worse than the noise. With every step, he imagined monsters jumping out at him. After several minutes that felt like hours, he heard it. A low, guttural grunt coming from a bend just ahead.
Peeking cautiously around the corner, he saw it. A Goblin. It was exactly like the descriptions and perhaps game images: small, green-skinned with coarse features, wearing rags and holding a chipped wooden club. It was rummaging through something on the ground, seemingly distracted. And most importantly: it was alone.
'My chance,' thought Hachiman, his heart pounding in his chest. 'One on one. I have to try.'
He moved forward, trying to be silent, but his feet seemed clumsy on the stone floor. The Goblin raised its head, its small, cruel eyes fixing on him. With a hoarse cry, the creature lifted its club and ran towards him.
Hachiman panicked for an instant. All theory about how to fight vanished. He just raised the sword defensively and awkwardly. The Goblin, though small, was fast and aggressive. The club came down hard. Hachiman managed to block the blow with the blade, the impact vibrating through his arms, but the movement threw him off balance. The Goblin exploited the opening and advanced, swinging the club again. Hachiman tried to dodge, but was too slow. The splintered wood struck his left arm forcefully.
Sharp pain shot through him. 'Damn it! I got hit!' He looked at his arm. The clothing was torn, and an ugly cut was bleeding, the pain mixing with adrenaline. The Goblin was preparing another attack. Fear gave way to a cold anger. He wasn't going to die to the first creature he encountered.
With a cry more of frustration than bravery, he charged forward, swinging his sword. His movement was sloppy, a wild attack without technique, but the Goblin wasn't a master strategist either. The creature tried to block with its club, but Hachiman's projected sword, perhaps a bit sharper than common metal, cut through the wood and struck the Goblin's shoulder. The creature shrieked in pain, taking a step back. Hachiman didn't give it a chance. He advanced again and, with another clumsy but desperate blow, struck the Goblin's neck. There was a wet, unpleasant sound, and the creature fell to the floor, inert.
Hachiman stood there, panting, the sword dripping a dark, viscous liquid. He looked at the dead Goblin, then at his own bleeding arm. The relief of having won was quickly replaced by stress and a heavy dose of reality. 'That was... horrible. And I almost lost. I got wounded by a single weak Goblin. What if there were two? Or something stronger?' The lack of coordination, the inexperience, the fear – all reminded him of the constant danger he was in. He was weak. Vulnerable.
'I can't go on like this,' he thought, his mind racing. 'I need to be stronger. I need... to survive.' And then, he remembered. The Skill. A Loner's Protection: the greater the desire to protect something or someone that truly matters... the greater the gain of excelia and the development of abilities...
'Protect... myself,' the idea arose. It wasn't noble. It wasn't heroic. But it was honest. Right now, his own survival mattered most. He needed to protect himself to have any chance. He focused on that desire, that raw, selfish need not to die again, not to be torn apart by monsters in this place forgotten by any reasonable god (except, perhaps, his own useless goddess). 'I will protect myself. I need to protect myself.'
He didn't see any bright light or feel an overwhelming wave of power. But something subtle changed. A mental clarity settled in, pushing back some of the panic. His muscles seemed to respond slightly better, the pain in his arm was still there, but it felt more manageable. It was as if his determination had been... focused, slightly amplified. 'I feel... a little stronger? Or maybe just more centered?'
With renewed caution, he tore a piece from his shirt and improvised a bandage for the cut on his arm. He retrieved the magic stone from the dead Goblin's chest – a small, opaque crystal pulsing with a faint light. It was small, probably not worth much, but it was proof of his first victory and his first step towards earning Valis.
He knew he could no longer rely on direct confrontations. His lack of skill was too great a liability. 'I need to use my head. Ambush. Catch them off guard. Focus on the loners.'
Adopting the new strategy, Hachiman continued his exploration, now moving with even greater caution, using the shadows and curves of the corridor to his advantage. He listened intently, waiting for the sound of an isolated monster. When he found a lone Goblin or Kobold (equally weak canine creatures, but perhaps a bit faster), he attacked from the shadows, using surprise to compensate for his lack of technique. His projected sword, though basic, was effective against those low-level monsters when used with precision (something he began to develop minimally through forced repetition).
The hunt was slow and exhausting. Each ambush required patience and nerves of steel. Each kill, even if cleaner than the first, left a bitter taste. But with each recovered magic stone, he felt a small grain of progress. At the end of a period that felt like an eternity, he had accumulated a small pile of stones: eight from Goblins and two from Kobolds. He was exhausted, his arm hurt, his mana was low (he hadn't dared project another sword), and the Dungeon's bluish light seemed to be fading, suggesting time was passing outside.
'Enough for today,' he decided. 'I need to get out, exchange these stones, maybe get something to eat and rest.'
Retracing his steps cautiously, he finally emerged from the cold mouth of the Dungeon into Orario's night air. The sky was dark, sprinkled with stars and the city lights. He had spent the entire day inside. Without wasting time, he headed to the Guild.
The main hall was calmer than during the day, but there were still a good number of adventurers, some celebrating at tables, others negotiating at the counter. To his surprise (or perhaps not so much, considering her role as an advisor), Misha was still working, attending one of the counter stations.
Hachiman approached, waiting his turn. When he reached her, he placed the ten magic stones on the counter. They were small and low quality, and he felt almost embarrassed.
Misha looked at the stones, then at him, noticing his state – dirty and torn clothes, the improvised bandage on his arm. A faint trace of recognition, perhaps even professional respect, appeared in her eyes behind her glasses.
"First day in the Dungeon, Hachiman-sama?" she asked as she examined the stones.
"Yes," he replied simply.
Misha quickly counted the stones, assessing the quality. "Eight Goblin stones, two Kobold stones. Standard quality for the first floor." She did some calculations in a ledger. "The total is 1500 Valis." She counted out the bronze and silver coins and pushed them towards him. "Good start for the first solo day. Be careful in there."
"Thank you," Hachiman murmured, sweeping the coins into a small makeshift pouch he had made from another piece of cloth. The weight of the coins was real, tangible.
As he walked away from the counter, he looked at the small pile of Valis in his hand. '1500 Valis... I remember a scene in the anime... Bell and that girl, Lili, earned 26,000 Valis in one day, and she said it was equivalent to the daily income of a five-person level 1 party. Twenty-six thousand divided by five is about five thousand per person...' He did the math mentally. 'I earned 1500. That's less than a third of what a 'normal' level 1 adventurer would earn alone in a day. Pathetic.' The realization was a bucket of cold water, but strangely, it didn't completely discourage him.
'Pathetic, yes. But it's my money. Earned with my own effort, my own risk... my own blood.' He clutched the coin pouch. 'It's a start. A miserable start, but it's a start. Tomorrow, I'll come back. Tomorrow, maybe I'll manage a little more.'
With that bittersweet thought, he roused himself enough to ignore the exhaustion and pain. He turned and left the Guild, walking through the night streets of Orario towards the abandoned house that he and Aqua now reluctantly called home.