Chapter 1: The One Who Walked Out Alive

The shriek was no longer human—and the entire dungeon knew it.

“AAAAAAAAAAAGH!!”

Gideon’s voice shattered the silence of the stone corridors. The vibration surged deep into the abyss, a sonic pulse summoning something older than fear itself.

The monsters fell silent. For the first time, they did not prowl. They did not hunt. They... waited.

In the blackened heart of the labyrinth, a thing had been born.

Gideon walked. His steps were slow. Heavy. Yet, they were absolute.

“I want to go home...”

The words drifted from his lips. But the voice was not entirely his. There was an undertone—deeper, more frigid.

Is this... my voice?

“I want to go home...”

He repeated it. Again. And again. An unconscious mantra, as if it were the only tether left to his soul.

He had no sense of direction. No map of the winding dark. Yet his body moved with a mind of its own, like a compass forcibly locked onto a singular, undeniable destination.

Exit. Nothing else mattered.

“RAAAAAARGH!”

A roar fractured the stillness. A pack of Goblins emerged from the shadows. Their eyes were bloodshot; their frames skeletal from starvation. Behind them loomed a Minotaur. High. Massive. Its muscles coiled, ready to pulverize.

Gideon stopped. He raised his head with agonizing slowness. His golden eyes ignited.

And then—

“GRRRRRAAAAAAAAAA—!!”

He roared. It was not the cry of a man. It was not even the cry of a common monster. It was a sound that rejected the very laws of the world.

Silence followed. The Goblins froze. The Minotaur took a step back. Then two. Then—they fled.

No resistance. No hesitation. The Goblins vanished behind the jagged rocks. The Minotaur turned and ran without looking back. None dared approach.

They knew. The creature before them was not human. But it was not a mere monster, either.

“I... want to go home...”

Gideon resumed his walk. As if the confrontation meant nothing at all.

Moments later, a figure appeared. An elder Goblin. Shrunken. Its eyes held a strange, unsettling calm. It approached slowly, hands raised—not in an attack, but in a gesture of submission. It pointed toward a single corridor.

Gideon stared.

“...”

The Goblin bowed. It signaled the path. It did not want to fight; it only wanted to survive.

...They... are not attacking...

For a brief second, Gideon’s fog cleared. He gave a sharp, curt nod. They walked together in silence. No words. No sound.

Until finally—light. The dungeon’s threshold.

The Goblin stopped. It bowed once more before retreating into the shadows of the earth.

Gideon stepped out. The forest. Fresh air. The sting of sunlight.

“Ugh...!”

His vision spun. His body wavered. His consciousness collapsed like a tower stripped of its foundation.

He fell.

“...Is he okay?”

A small voice drifted through the haze. Gideon opened his eyes. Blue sky. The face of a child. Short black hair. Bright green eyes.

“Hey, you... are you alright?” The child watched him with concern. “Why are your clothes covered in blood?”

Gideon flinched. He looked down at his hands. The right arm. Normal. Human. No scales. No aura.

“...”

Was it... a dream?

“Hey?” The child waved a hand in front of his face. Gideon stared back, still dazed.

“You just came out of that dungeon, didn’t you?” The child offered a faint smile. “You’re lucky.”

Gideon froze.

“A lot of the Royal Army didn’t make it. They say they were wiped out by Goblins and a Minotaur.”

“...”

Goblins? Gideon remembered the elder. The one who didn't strike.

“Is there... anything strange about me?” Gideon finally spoke.

The child blinked. “Yes. Your clothes are soaked in blood. And... you look like you’re half-dead.”

A blunt answer. No hesitation.

“...”

“Come with me.” The child stood up. “I can help. At least... get you cleaned up.”

Gideon hesitated. Then, he nodded. They walked toward a small village nestled behind the hills.

“What’s your name?” the child asked along the way.

Gideon kept his eyes forward. “...Gideon. Just call me Geed.”

The child smiled. “Alright, Geed. I’m Talia.”

Meanwhile, within the dungeon—

“None survived?!”

A man in holy armor barked, his face flushed with rage. Before him lay a knight, broken and battered, clinging to the dregs of life.

“Not... a monster...” the knight rasped. “A... youth... with a... dragon’s arm...”

The room went cold.

“Impossible,” the Commander growled, his brow furrowing. “The Holy Church’s forces cannot be bested by a single man. Pathetic!”

Another man stepped forward. Silver-white hair. Piercing blue eyes. His holy armor was pristine. Gilbert. Vice-Commander.

“He must be captured... or eliminated. Such a creature is a threat.”

But another voice cut through.

“Are you certain?”

A woman dismounted from her white steed. Red hair tied back. Sharp, golden eyes. She radiated a suffocating aura of discipline. Seira Valenthis. Holy Knight.

“If he possesses the power of a dragon... and if this dungeon is truly the lair of an Abomination...”

Whispers broke out. That name—it made the very air heavy.

“What is your true goal, Gilbert?” Her gaze was ice. “Sending slaves into the dungeon... just to lure something out?”

Gilbert’s jaw tightened. “The Abomination is a Calamity. Fighting it... is the will of the Gods.”

Silence followed. Seira turned away.

“If you wish to die for your ambitions, do it alone. Leave my troops out of it.”

Her steps were firm. Decisive.

Suddenly— “Report!” A scout arrived on horseback, panting. “We have found the target!”

Everyone turned.

“The youth—he is in the Village of Hallvala.”

Silence fell. For the first time, the hunt began.