Chapter 20
How many Great Upheavals ago was it?
That was when the Tower first appeared in the real world—a place where you could grow stronger the more monsters you defeated.
It had been one of Ashtar’s schemes and was the perfect training ground for the Valhalla system.
Awakeners climbed the Tower for power.
“Tower, huh…”
A dungeon wasn’t so different from a Tower: clear it and you get rewards; from outside, no one can see what’s inside.
But there was one key difference—the way a dungeon is born.
Both Towers and dungeons are formed by consuming resentful spirits, but a dungeon emerges when the hatred toward living beings swells beyond a critical point.
“The Tower was like that too.”
Once a dungeon appears, it rarely disappears.
Even if you kill the dungeon master of a high-rank dungeon, the place remains.
Naturally, people hated new dungeons—like cockroaches, hard to wipe out.
Here’s the real problem: a dungeon doesn’t need monsters to form, only resentful spirits.
And there’s one more kind of being that endlessly releases such malice toward life.
Blanks.
Blanks aren’t discriminated against just because they’re unpleasant.
Not every Blank is the same, but some possess resentment far surpassing that of monsters—like high-rankers who fell and became Blanks.
In fact, several dungeons in the novel were born from Blanks.
“This is one of those…”
The Valdig Dungeon—the legacy of a high knight once called Hecate.
“Tsk.”
It was a dungeon full of troublesome details:
born from a knight who’d fallen into Blankhood, and the very place where Ian was supposed to die after gaining a rare opportunity.
“That won’t happen now.”
I folded away my uneasy thoughts. Time to be pleased—after all, I was about to snatch the protagonist’s special chance.
The monsters were all cleared, so nothing blocked the path to the far side of the canyon.
Now and then a gust of wind kicked up dust, stinging my eyes a little, but that was all.
“There it is.”
From afar I hadn’t noticed, but next to the exit door stood a statue.
The face was hidden by a large visor.
It had to be Hecate.
“…”
I gazed at the statue: a knight with both hands resting on a sword planted in the ground, as if preserving the memory of a once-glorious era.
Many others must have stood here too, eventually learning the name Hecate and feeling the same emotion—disgust.
A Blank who even spawned a dungeon deserved no better in their eyes.
But I was different.
I’d read the novel and knew how contradictory the rank system really was.
Carefully, I reached out and touched the statue.
The way to obtain Valdig Dungeon’s hidden artifact was simple yet difficult:
just touch the statue beside the exit while holding genuine sympathy for a Blank—something no one in this world could easily have.
…Thunk!
Something fell at my feet: a visor riddled with small holes.
[Hecate’s Visor]
The faceguard worn by the knight Hecate of Dover.
Purifies air that passes through it.
Maximum usable rank: 5.
“This is it.”
This was the artifact the protagonist would later use to defeat Ian after he became a dark mage.
In raw skill, Ian could never beat the protagonist, Dia.
Ian had only reached Rank 5 by selling his soul to a demon, whereas Dia had trained for over a decade at the knight academy.
But their matchup favored Dia.
Their first fight took place in the ruined Count Impera estate, Ian’s home turf.
Ian filled the mansion with deadly poison to corner Dia.
Dia barely escaped through the sewers and later found this artifact in Valdig Dungeon, making Ian’s poison useless and ensuring his defeat.
“A handy piece. It purifies any toxin from anyone Rank 5 or lower.”
Very useful indeed.
Could I really just take it?
Well, it wouldn’t wear out with a few uses.
I could always return it later.
“…”
I looked at Hecate’s exposed face beneath the fallen visor.
His eyes were shut tight, but sorrow lingered there.
“…I’ll put it to good use.”
Fwoosh!
As if acknowledging my farewell, the statue guarding the door dissolved into dust.
“Well, I can bury it nearby when I’m done.”
The protagonist would find it somehow—he is the protagonist, after all.
The next morning I visited Valdig Dungeon again.
Even after taking Hecate’s Visor, nothing had changed.
The dungeon remained, and by morning it was teeming with monsters.
Only the statue by the door was gone.
Day after day I hunted, growing more accustomed to the fights.
So I tried something new: entering at night.
Under the moon-god Selen’s influence, the monsters were stronger—larger, and occasionally an elite would appear.
But stronger foes meant better experience.
Other dungeons might have been more efficient, but Valdig was the only one I owned, and hunting in another lord’s territory wouldn’t pay off.
At least here I could monopolize everything.
After several days, change finally came.
[Your rank has changed. Check status?]
“At last!”
Heart pounding, I opened my left hand to check.
[Name: Ian Impera]
Rank: 3 (Magic), 3 (Swordsmanship)
“Hm…”
Only my magic rank had increased.
Magic 3, Swordsmanship 3—finally an average level.
But still far from monsters like Krod or Friana.
“Still, not bad.”
From Rank 1 weakling to Rank 3 wasn’t nothing.
I’d hunted monsters nonstop, bringing only minimal snacks.
Thanks to that, the money I’d made from monster by-products remained nearly untouched.
A whole 3 gold coins!
Not enough to pay off the interest on my debt, but enough for living expenses.
Even earning this much steadily for a month would barely cover the interest.
Maybe I could treat myself to a good meal today…?
But then what?
A month of hard work to pay only interest.
Next month, the same grind for the same interest.
The principal would still be waiting.
“…Haa.”
My mood soured.
“At this rate I’ll never pay it all back.”
No matter how much dust you gather, it’s still just dust.
Valdig Dungeon’s scraps wouldn’t make a mountain.
‘…Should I try gambling to multiply it?’
Smack!
I slapped myself hard.
Drinking and gambling had put me in this mess; thinking of gambling again was insane.
“Ow…”
Maybe I slapped too hard—there was a metallic taste in my mouth, the smell of blood in my nose.
“Tch.”
As I sucked on the blood, a decent idea occurred to me.
Magic stones, tiny monster bones—the random junk I’d sold to the dungeon guild.
Individually they weren’t worth much, but each had its use:
kobold claws for tanning, goblin bones refined into low-grade potion ingredients.
Low value, steady demand.
With proper processing, they’d sell for more.
“So why not refine them myself?”
Selling raw scraps would never pay the debt.
The fruit I’d sold earlier had been decent, but I needed something more valuable.
Weapons or armor artifacts would bring real money, but…
“Hmm.”
I couldn’t just hire any random hack to make artifacts.
A shoddy artisan’s work wouldn’t fetch a good price.
A proper craftsman would cost dearly.
If only a master artisan could just fall from the sky.
“A dwarf or an elf would be perfect…”
But elves avoided humans whenever possible.
Even when the continent was engulfed in war, they stayed hidden in their forests.
That’s the elves for you.
And for a notorious scoundrel like Ian? They’d never even glance his way.
What about dwarves?
That was different.
Dwarves loved their drink—maybe our interests aligned.
Sometimes they even came to human towns for a drink.
Still, the odds were slim.
The dwarves lived in Ziegelond Mountain, practically on the other side of the world from Count Impera’s lands.
They rarely left their domain.
If you met a dwarf outside the mountains, they were either exiled or wanderers, and even those were unlikely to come here.
‘Like searching for a needle in the desert.’
Maybe I should give up on artifact-making.
Just grind down claws and bones for a little extra profit.
“…Huh?”
Then suddenly, a dwarf’s face flashed through my memory.
Who…?
I’d seen many dwarves in the novel, but those were just words on a page—nothing I could picture so clearly.
Which meant I’d met this one in real life.
“Ugh…”
I strained to recall.
After a while, Ian’s old memories surfaced.
‘Me? Call me Bronze Beard! Kahaha!’
A dwarf laughing heartily, mug brimming with ale, came to mind.
Right—there had been such a guy.
His bronze-colored beard suited his name.
Ian had met him back when he was a hopeless drunk, and they’d clinked glasses a few times.
Then the dwarf disappeared without a trace, and Ian, being careless, soon forgot.
“Well, well…”
Who knew that all that drinking would help me now.
But I couldn’t relax yet.
I’d met him in a tavern of a neighboring domain, so he was clearly a wandering dwarf.
That was a year ago—he might have moved to another continent by now.
“Hm…”
I searched for any clue.
‘If you ever want a drink, come to the cave on Klanig Mountain!
Of course, you’re buying! Bwahaha!’
The more I recalled, the clearer it was:
Bronze Beard probably thought of Ian as a walking alcohol dispenser.
Whatever.
If I could recruit a dwarf, a few barrels of ale were a small price.
Klanig Mountain—northeast of Count Impera’s territory, marking the border with the next domain.
A barren rocky mountain where no one lived.
‘Why hide out in such a harsh place?’
Curiosity bubbled, but only meeting him would answer that.
‘I was going to treat myself to a nice meal…’
Three gold could buy more meat than I could stomach.
But food just turns to waste in the end.
Better to spend it on a fine bottle of liquor as a gift.
Growl…
A count debating between meat and liquor—
the road to an easy life was still long and rough.
