Reverse Dungeon

A small hunting village stood in the southern territory.

It was an ordinary, unremarkable place near the forest. Its only distinction was that every soul who lived there made their living as a hunter.

Louise was one of them.

A resident of the village, and a hunter like the rest, Louise lowered his head before the demon. The news that the Southern Demon Duke had arrived had thrown the entire village into a tense, fearful commotion.

One of the Demon Duke’s subordinates had given a simple order.

“Send us someone who knows the forest well. We require a guide.”

And so the villagers had been forced to offer up one of their own.

They did not hesitate for long.

The village chief stepped forward to speak on everyone’s behalf.

“Louise. Will you go?”

“Yes, Chief.”

As if they would listen even if I said no.

Louise was an orphan. His dead parents had committed a grave sin against the village, and so Louise, too, was treated as a sinner. Whenever there was a dangerous hunt, he was the one sent first. Whenever there was dirty work, hard work, work no one wanted, it was pushed onto him.

He had known from the beginning that this duty would fall to him.

Even if I die, no one will cry for me.

He clenched his teeth.

I won’t die. I won’t die. I’ll survive. No matter what it takes.

He would survive even if he had to lick the demon’s feet.

Had his parents thought the same way?

Why did they...

A voice from above cut through his thoughts.

“Human hunter. Every minute, every second, remember how precious the one you serve is. Guide him by the fastest and most comfortable path.”

It was the Demon Duke’s subordinate.

Louise answered without lifting his bowed head.

“Yes.”

“Lead the way. Not a single branch in this forest must touch His Majesty.”

“Yes. I shall see to it.”

I shall see to it? Is that how I’m supposed to speak?

He wondered, but he could not ask.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the ground so he would not meet the demon’s gaze, Louise carefully backed away and headed toward the forest. Only then did he turn around.

He had gathered every tool he needed for a hunt.

They were tools for survival as well.

But the forest was dangerous. No experienced hunter would enter it at night. No hunter with sense would wander beneath those trees after dark.

Louise had no choice.

Damn the village chief.

He knew exactly what his task was.

He was to find the refugees from the kingdom who had fled into the forest and hand them over to the demons.

It was nearly the same work his parents had once done.

The fact that the village had entrusted it to him felt like revenge.

Though the village chief probably had not even meant it that way.

Son of traitors.

Louise swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat.

I’m only doing this to survive. I didn’t choose it.

It was not his fault.

Just as it was not his fault that they called his family a clan of traitors.

And yet the feeling was vile all the same.

“This way... this way.”

“Hm?”

At a fork in the path, Louise stopped for a moment.

He studied the fresh traces left behind.

Footprints pressed into the soil.

Broken twigs.

Small signs, easy to miss, visible only to the eyes of a hunter.

If he misled the demons, would the fleeing people survive?

Louise did not have the courage to find out.

“I believe they entered that cave,” he reported politely.

The Demon Duke found the cave dungeon.

“My poor slaves died here.”

A tear slipped from the Demon Duke’s eye.

Whether a few monsters had died was not, in truth, any great matter. Yet the Southern Demon Duke was an unpredictable and emotional creature, and all at once he was overcome by an unbearable sorrow for their deaths.

He decided to honor their souls with human blood.

And while he was at it, he would enjoy a rare delicacy.

Surprisingly, Ian’s hardships had not ended with the tutorial.

He still had to prepare for what came next.

The Demon Duke’s raid.

The insane developers of the game had, incredibly, placed a Demon Duke defense battle immediately after the basic character tutorial.

For anyone who had not already quit during the tutorial, the difficulty felt almost like the developers were kindly saying, You can quit here too.

Of course, there were also people like Ian, who interpreted If you can’t clear it, just pay as sound life advice and spent money on a new character.

In any case, once he got used to the game, Ian came to believe the developers were not foolish enough to place an unbeatable enemy right at the beginning.

The creators were perverts and idiots, yes, but surely they were not shameless enough to make the game outright impossible.

Probably.

Ian had clung to the belief that they possessed at least that much decency and had tried to defeat the Demon Duke dozens of times with a weak character, like an egg hurling itself against a rock.

And he had succeeded.

He had found a route where the Demon Duke could be defeated.

The chance of success °• N 𝑜 v 𝑒 l i g h t •° was low, but it existed.

Can I really give up the experience from the Demon Duke?

Impossible.

No. That’s not the problem.

Ian tried to calm himself as he looked over the dispirited survivors.

Would they follow his orders?

Probably not.

The odds still seemed far too low.

But I do have a level-seven farmer character.

And that character had the Cheerfulness trait, so they would not sink into despair as easily as the others. Their work efficiency would not drop too sharply either.

At level seven, they were practically an expert.

No. Think calmly. If I die here... it’s going to hurt, right?

Ian stopped himself again.

Actually, it would be more than hurt.

When he punched the wall earlier, he had thought he had broken the bones in his hand. Now his knuckles were swollen and bruised. That was the kind of detail that probably would not exist in a dream.

If he died here, it would not be a simple matter of Ow, that hurt.

He would actually die.

The fear snapped Ian back into reality.

For now, he decided to focus on what had to be done.

“Sema. Bring the priest.”

“Where?”

“Over there.”

Ian pointed toward the depths of the cave.

The mage Sema’s expression darkened.

“Ah... we still haven’t checked that place properly. The priest isn’t in good condition. Can we really leave him there alone?”

“It’s too noisy here. Since the priest is in such bad shape, I thought I’d let him rest.”

“I’m fine. I don’t deserve rest. Others suffered far more than I did. I shouldn’t be the one sleeping peacefully...”

The priest mumbled on.

Then stay there and die.

Why had he followed them all this way just to keep draining everyone’s morale in real time?

Ian took out an item to put the useless priest to sleep.

Inventory.

Ding!

The inventory screen appeared, packed with miscellaneous items.

A bow and arrows. A self-defense dagger. And what’s this?

It was a book containing portraits and information on every beauty in the kingdom.

...

Ian, apparently, was a more impressive person than he looked.

Still, even he had something useful.

“Priest. I have a fine potion made at the monastery. Why don’t you take a sip and rest your eyes? If you pray for the dead afterward, I’m sure it will bring them comfort.”

“Lord Ian?! That’s...”

Sema looked startled when he saw the bottle in Ian’s hand.

Ian placed a friendly hand on the priest’s shoulder and handed him the bottle.

“Drink it all.”

“Pray... Will my prayer truly help? Would the prayer of a coward like me ever reach the heavens?”

“If not you, then who will pray for them?”

“Ah... you’re right. I nearly neglected my duty again.”

The priest nodded, tears streaking his face, and accepted the bottle.

He drank.

A moment later, his face flushed red.

“Hm...? What is this...?”

Ian dragged the unconscious priest away, tossed him into a corner of the dungeon, and closed the door.

A moment later, the quiet sound of snoring filled the air.

Done.

The risk of depression spreading through the group had been eliminated.

“That’s alcohol, Lord Ian!”

Sema shouted in panic, though he kept his voice low, as if he had done something wrong. Ian had no idea why he looked so guilty when it was not even his fault.

“It was made at a monastery,” Ian said sweetly. “I didn’t lie.”

“If it isn’t a lie, does that mean you can say whatever you want?!”

Why did this guy only say correct things at inconvenient times?

“You want that poor man to wake up and go right back to thinking, I deserve to die? Fine. Go wake him.”

There was a way to deal with people like Sema too.

Ian turned and scolded him outright.

Sema immediately faltered.

“No, that’s not what I meant...”

“Then let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Introduce me to some people. I need to know the names of the soldiers I’ll be commanding.”

“Eh?”

What was that supposed to mean?

But Ian was already walking toward the others.