Reverse Dungeon

“Cough—! Cough! Ghk—!”

The priest convulsed as the grip tightened around his throat. Blood drained from his face. Clear fluid streamed from his eyes and nose, and he could no longer make sense of what the other man was asking.

True? What was true?

The thought barely formed before the terror of death swallowed everything else.

The paladin released him just as he was about to black out. Dark bruises were already rising around the priest’s neck in the shape of the man’s hand.

“If it is true that you bear guilt, then I will not kill you with my own hands. Scripture teaches that when a sinner seeks punishment, he is to be forgiven. You seek punishment. Then forgiveness is what you deserve. But whether the poor believers you betrayed will forgive you...” He paused. “That I do not know.”

The priest could breathe again, yet something far more crushing than fingers now gripped his throat.

Guilt.

Ever since he had followed the king and abandoned the castle, shame had never left him.

Was it truly right for a man who taught the way of the gods to forsake the faithful and save himself?

Royal blood was precious—yes. But was it truly just to sacrifice hundreds of lives to protect it?

The paladin cast him aside like refuse and turned his head.

Someone nearby was still alive.

“Please... save me... Save me, and I’ll give you gold... treasure...”

The voice of a dying man drifted faintly through the trees.

The paladin walked among the bodies without haste.

He had ridden without pause to answer a plea for rescue, but after hearing the priest’s confession, he no longer had any desire to hurry. Even so, his face remained solemn; to an onlooker, he might have seemed to be paying his respects to the dead.

At last, as though out for a quiet walk, he stopped beneath a tree.

The voice belonged to a man who had been half-devoured.

He wore a cloak, and in one hand he still clutched a sword. Whether he had managed to draw it or not was unclear; the blade remained in its sheath.

He was clearly a man of high rank. The purple cloak was not one just anyone was permitted to wear.

There was something else that betrayed his status as well: his body.

Everything below the waist had already been eaten, mangled beyond recognition. And yet the upper half of him still clung to life, still begged for salvation.

His body had plainly been layered in blessings since birth. Even after losing his lower half, divine protection had kept him alive.

Whether that could truly be called a blessing, the paladin did not know.

To remain alive while being eaten like this—there could be no greater agony.

He approached the man who had been reduced to only his upper body.

“Save me...”

The man repeated the same plea, his eyes vacant, fixed on nothing.

“I am... the king’s heir... Eric... Save me, and I’ll give you...”

The king’s heir.

The paladin knelt before him, face grave.

“I saw the people you killed.”

His voice was barely above a whisper.

Before coming here, he had gone first to the castle.

The plea for rescue had come from there. He had left the Vatican to help the people of the fallen kingdom escape.

But by the time he arrived, the castle had already fallen. No one remained alive inside. He followed the trail left by the fugitives and reached this place—where he then heard the priest’s confession.

Among the dead at the castle, there had been no knights. No mages.

They had all fled together to protect the king and his heir.

And here, they had all died.

If they had only remained at the castle, perhaps things might have gone differently. If the people there had endured just a little longer—until the paladin arrived—some of them might have lived.

For a moment, he could not hide what rose in him.

Anger.

Grief.

Prince Eric’s lips trembled.

“Save... save me...”

“Men like you would be better off dead,” the paladin said. “I suspect even the gods would agree.”

Tyrants. Despots. The useless privileged.

People like that had no place in this world.

Keith’s broad hand came down over Eric.

The forest fell silent.

Keith thought to himself:

‘Should I go to the cave?’

There were tracks leading that way. Monster tracks.

Probably only a few people had fled there, and only a handful of monsters had broken off to pursue them.

Keith looked down at Eric’s corpse. The king and his heir were dead here. It was hard to imagine that anyone of real importance had escaped elsewhere.

Most likely, those who had run to the cave were already dead as well.

Keith had seen too many deaths.

He no longer had the strength to take more sorrow upon himself.

In the end, he turned away.

The forest fell still, leaving only the priest slumped among the dead.

The mentally unstable tyrant Ian was now paying for his outburst.

“L-Lord Ian, perhaps... perhaps we should return to His Majesty? I’m sure His Majesty will be pleased to hear that we drove the monsters back,” said Sema the mage.

Behind him, the others nodded as well. They were still clutching the tools they had used for digging, which gave them a strangely ominous air, but Ian’s attention was elsewhere.

‘Why is this event triggering now?’

He had handled the defense flawlessly. Under normal circumstances, performance like that should have raised loyalty enough that no one would suggest returning to the king. Something was off.

Ian found the answer the moment he opened Peter’s status window.

[Character]

Peter the Farmer (★★☆☆☆)

[Status]

Disbelief: 70%

Loyalty: 30%

Thirty percent loyalty was the bare minimum needed for someone to obey orders.

That alone would have been bad enough, but the disbelief was what made no sense. Shouldn’t the successful defense have lowered it at least a little?

Disbelief: 70%

(Details)

Ian tapped the “Details” button.

‘He’s mentally unstable. No wonder there were never any good rumors about him in the castle!’ (+NEW)

‘A genius strategist—long live Lord Ian!’ 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

‘The king’s debauched bastard. We’re all dead.’

“...”

So his screaming fit had earned him the reputation of a lunatic.

But how, exactly, had he been supposed to stay calm in a situation like this? He was already close to losing his mind as it was.

He had never wanted events like this while playing a game. If anything, the sort of event he had wanted was something more like winning the lottery.

‘They won’t even grant me that.’

Suppressing the urge to smash his head against the wall, he replied to Sema.

“Yes. I’m sure His Majesty will be delighted.”

A discarded bastard returning after actually accomplishing something?

Of course His Majesty would be delighted.

“Right? My master might even praise me.”

A faint flush touched Sema’s cheek.

“I’m sure he will.”

Ian smiled mildly, keeping the rest of the thought to himself.

Your master abandoned you too.

The atmosphere lightened at once.

‘What a waste.’

That was what Ian really thought, but he had no desire to crush the hope of the people around him.

They would learn the truth soon enough.

Besides, if joining the king’s group had ever been possible, this route would never have been called Ian’s route. It would have been the king’s.

They left the cave at once and headed back along the path the king’s party had taken. It was easy enough to follow: the ground had been churned up everywhere.

Ian noticed things the others didn’t.

Now and then, he caught sight of a glimmering scale snagged on a blade of grass or a low branch.

‘The pursuers came through here.’

The king’s party had failed to shake them off.

And the result now lay before them.

“Ugh...”

“Blegh...”

Several people gagged. Some doubled over against the trees.

“M-Master...”

Sema staggered toward a body draped in robes. When he pulled the cloth back, an old man’s face was revealed, the eyes fixed and unfocused, staring into empty air.

“No!”

Cries of grief and despair rang out.

Ian barely managed to keep himself from retching. A headache pulsed through his skull, and he pressed a hand to his forehead.

The smell of blood was thick and raw.

This was not a dream.

No dream could feel this vivid.

This was reality.

Perhaps he had already passed through despair once today, because he no longer felt any urge to sit down and cry.

‘This is driving me insane.’

That was the only thought left in his head.

Instead of pounding on the wall or shouting, he gathered the others and spoke.

“Search for survivors. Gather the bodies.”

“W-Will that be safe? What if the monsters come back...?”

It was Sema who asked, still ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) choking on tears.

Then he seemed to realize what he had just said and flinched.

As a disciple, leaving his master’s body where it lay was unthinkable. But if they started collecting corpses and the monsters returned, others might die too.

He hesitated, torn between terror and duty.

Ian answered flatly.

“They won’t be coming back for a while.”

“Eh? How do you know that...?”

“Look around.”

Those who had been drowning in grief slowly lifted their heads and looked around.

“There are more monster corpses here than human ones. The monsters that attacked this place are dead.”

“Ah.”

“For now, it’s safe.”

Ian knew why all the monsters were dead.

He simply chose not to say it.

For the moment, that explanation was enough.

The others, who had been collapsing under despair only moments before, rose again as they watched Ian take command without wavering.

Their new master was a tyrant.

He might also be insane.

But at least he was a brilliant strategist.

A debauched, extravagant bastard with a weakness for beautiful faces—but still.

Surely he had some kind of plan.

...Right?

And if he didn’t, then what?

If they stood there doing nothing, the next thing to hit them might be an arrow.

Then again, they had heard their new master was an excellent archer, illegitimate wastrel or not. Hunting was one of the few talents people freely admitted he possessed.

In any case, before long, they found a priest slumped motionless behind a great tree.

“We found one, Lord Ian! A survivor!”

‘Ah. So there is one.’

Even if there was, he would be useless.

That was the real reason Ian hadn’t wanted to come here. Even if there were survivors, they would most likely be of no use to him.

Ding!

[Character]

‘Priest’ Yurian (★★★☆☆)

[Reputation]

Priest, Diligent

[Skills]

Healing: LV.3

Herbalism: LV.2

Cleaning: LV.5

⋮

[Status Effect ‘Depression’ reduces stats by 70%.]

[Status Effect ‘Self-Blame’ reduces stats by 70%.]