Reverse Dungeon

The village chief couldn’t understand a word the elf was saying.

What he did understand was that this being was far stronger than he had first assumed—something far beyond the level of an ordinary knight.

In truth, elves were an unfamiliar race to the people of the Oasis Village deep in the desert. Though the western desert technically fell under the dominion of a Demon Archduke, the land itself was so barren and inhospitable that even the Archduke showed little interest in it.

Ironically, that meant the region suffered comparatively little demonic interference. Compared to the south, where humans were treated as slaves or playthings, the danger here was almost negligible.

Of course, the desert was just as unpleasant for demons as it was for humans, which kept the population sparse. Non-human races were far rarer here than in other regions, and elves in particular were practically unheard of.

After all, why would elves—creatures who loved forests and nature—ever willingly come to a wasteland made entirely of sand?

The only reason the chief and the others recognized the elf at all was because of the race’s famous pointed ears. None of them had actually seen one before.

He’s dangerous.

The silent, unnatural phenomenon unfolding before them was far more terrifying than open violence.

The instant the chief grasped the situation, he made his decision. He turned and lunged for the door—not to abandon the villagers, but to take the aristocrat in the next room hostage.

“Oh? Don’t move.”

The elf’s gaze settled on him.

The chief froze.

His body refused to obey him. Sweat poured from his armpits and down his back, soaking through his clothes.

What is this? Magic?

But the elf hadn’t cast a spell.

Only later did the realization come to him—that this must be the mysterious power of spirits, the force elves were rumored to command.

“Were you not listening? I told you not to interrupt them. My clients in the next room are very special heroes I finally managed to discover after so much effort.”

Heroes?

What kind of nonsense was he talking about?

The chief tried to turn his head to check on the others, but his joints refused to move, stiff as a wooden puppet’s. In desperation, he shifted his eyes instead.

Every villager was frozen in place just like him, trapped in awkward, half-finished movements.

The chief didn’t know whether to feel relieved that no one had died or horrified by the elf’s ability to reduce them all to motionless dolls.

His breathing grew shallow as fear tightened around his chest.

Slowly, his gaze returned to the elf.

The elf, meanwhile, seemed completely unconcerned. He stared absently into space while poking at his own cheek with one finger, squishing the skin as though deep in thought.

The sight was absurdly childish.

Which somehow made it even more frightening.

“Heroes are incredibly rare,” the elf murmured. “Even after wandering the continent for decades, it’s hard to find even one. Every time I finally discover someone promising and start getting my hopes up, they die the moment I look away. People with both strong bodies and strong minds are so difficult to find.”

In the darkness, his eyes gleamed like a cat’s.

“What do you think it takes to surpass the limits of your species? It’s something extraordinary, you know. Something only your race can achieve. I checked already—there’s nothing like it in the Demon Realm.”

One horrifying statement followed another.

The Demon Realm.

The elf spoke as though he had seen it himself.

That was impossible.

No elf could have visited the Demon Realm.

He had to be insane.

And yet the most terrifying part was how utterly sane he believed himself to be.

The chief felt cold all over.

Listening to the elf felt like listening to the ramblings of a madman.

But something frightened him even more.

What will happen to me once this madman finishes talking?

“This is something only the races of the Middle Realm can do. Something possible only in a world where gods exist. A divine blessing. A miracle born from endless effort, unwavering conviction, and a perfectly defined purpose.” 𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

The elf tilted his head lazily from side to side, long hair shimmering silver beneath the moonlight like something unreal.

The chief’s breathing turned ragged.

He wanted to scream, thrash, beg for mercy—but he couldn’t move a single muscle. Something invisible constricted his throat, allowing him only the barest scraps of air.

Sweat, tears, and mucus dripped helplessly from his face onto the floor.

“But then I discovered something even more fascinating.” The elf smiled brightly. “Humans become stronger when they fall in love.”

He paused thoughtfully.

“Well... sometimes they become ridiculously weak instead. But those ones don’t qualify as heroes anyway, so I’m not interested in them.”

“......”

“Growing stronger through love...” The elf’s smile deepened, almost dreamlike. “Isn’t that exactly the kind of story gods would adore?”

His glowing eyes curved with amusement.

“I wonder what kind of people those two will become.”

The chief wanted to die.

He wanted this nightmare to end.

Please... just kill me.

His vision blurred.

Right as consciousness began slipping away, he suddenly saw the elf jerk upright in alarm.

“...?”

The ropes the villagers had brought suddenly sprang to life.

Like snakes, they writhed through the air before lashing toward the villagers. One coiled around the chief’s body and yanked him violently to the floor, tangling him together with the others.

At the same moment, the force pinning their bodies vanished.

Instead, the ropes bound them tightly in its place.

“Cough! Cough—!”

“Urgh...!”

Someone had wet themselves. The stench spread quickly across the floor as groans filled the room—sounds dragged from people who felt as though they had barely returned from death itself.

Then the door burst open.

“What’s this? You already tied them up?”

“Obviously. I’m a highly competent elf.”

The servant addressed the insane elf casually, almost familiarly, yet the elf showed no offense whatsoever. If anything, he looked pleased.

“You said you heard Keith coming upstairs, but it got so quiet over here I thought you’d been taken down.”

“As if that’d happen! Don’t underestimate me!”

“Well, good work. You earned your keep.”

“...Wow. Was that praise? I don’t know how I feel about that.” The elf grumbled.

The servant pulled a glass bottle from his bag and shook it lightly in front of the chief’s eyes.

“See this? The porridge you made.”

“......!”

“So? Do you want to share it nicely with your friends, or should I put you on trial for robbery? By the way, I’ll be the judge.”

Moonlight streamed through the window, illuminating the servant’s face.

His skin was smooth and unscarred, his eyes large and clear. Combined with his neat, handsome features, he looked gentle enough to charm anyone at first glance.

Which only made his words more chilling.

The other two made no attempt to stop him.

They simply stood nearby, openly signaling their support.

Only then did the chief finally realize the truth.

This servant was the leader of the group.

There was no escape.

These people already knew everything. At this point, the chief no longer cared how they knew.

They were monsters capable of killing everyone here in an instant.

So the chief made the wisest choice he could.

Just as he had once done when faced with the sandstorm that swallowed his companions whole—

“I’ll eat it.”

“Chief...”

“M-Monsters... demons...”

“Shut up!”

The chief barked at the terrified villagers.

The servant—or rather, the master of these monsters—personally raised the bottle to the chief’s lips.

It really is the same porridge.

That was the chief’s final thought before swallowing.

Even if it had been poison, there was nothing he could have done.

But in the end, the powerful kept their word.

Ian calmly portioned out the porridge among the villagers.

No one resisted. They were trembling too violently for that.

The drug took effect immediately.

The chief’s head drooped forward, loud snores escaping him moments later. One by one, the others followed.

The elf sighed in disappointment.

“So it really was just an ordinary sleeping agent.”

“I told you it was.”

“How did you figure it out anyway? Did you study pharmacology or something?”

“What are you talking about? God warned me.”

Ian answered lazily.

It was the kind of excuse nobody ever truly believed, but it conveniently discouraged further questions.

“Wow. Your god must have way too much free time. Ow!”

“If you blaspheme again, I won’t overlook it.” Keith lowered the hand he’d used to smack the elf before turning back to Ian. “Now then, Lord Ian, you should start reading this.”

“What’s this?”

Ian accepted the book Keith handed him and glanced at the title beneath the moonlight.

A Children’s Guide to Scripture.

“...You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I found it on their shelf.”

“How did you even notice that?”

Did max-level swordsmanship come with infrared vision or something?

Honestly, it wouldn’t have been that strange. Swordsmanship skills in this game tended to enhance physical abilities overall.

Still...

Wasn’t this technically stealing?

Ian hesitated.

Looting items in games had never bothered him before. Those were collectibles meant for players in the first place.

But this book was different.

It clearly wasn’t one of those items.

And Keith—a man who seemed like the living embodiment of Lawful Good, perhaps even Absolute Good—was behaving completely out of character.

In his usual calm, righteous tone, Keith explained:

“We have already shown mercy to thieves. That alone is a far greater lesson than ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) anything written in this scripture. Everything in this world exists with purpose. That we happened to find exactly what Lord Ian needs here can only be divine providence.”

Keith had always wanted Ian to read scripture.

But the heavy theological texts he carried around were so intimidating that Ian never even tried opening them. Quietly, Keith took satisfaction in having finally understood Ian’s tastes.

Besides, robbers deserved death.

And taking possessions from the dead was not theft.

At least, not in Keith’s eyes.