I opened the door and stepped into another hallway—this one different from the prison corridor behind me. No cells this time. Just stone walls, a row of wooden doors on either side, and at the far end, a narrow stairwell spiraling upward to what looked like a higher floor of… whatever building this dungeon was pretending to be. A castle, maybe. Or a fortress.
I paused.
Two choices.
Option one: head straight for the stairs. Higher floor meant a higher chance of finding the exit.
Option two: check the rooms down here first. There might be loot, clues, or—if I got really lucky—that Safe Room the System mentioned.
I tightened my grip on the iron rod.
“Okay,” I muttered. “Stairs or side rooms…”
Not a lot of thinking needed to be done—of course I wasn’t going to skip potential loot. What kind of gamer would I be if I ignored a row of unexplored side rooms?
I started with the first door on the right.
The moment I cracked it open, a mix of smells hit me: spices, herbs, and something warm and savory cooking. A kitchen.
No people. No guards. Just a pot simmering on the stove and a cluttered table covered in ingredients and old utensils.
I slipped inside and scanned the room for anything useful.
A set of small knives immediately caught my eye. Sharp and metal. I added them to my inventory.
Knives x5 (Common)
Added to Inventory
Not bad.
I checked the shelves, opened a few cupboards, and peeked inside the pot—nothing else worth taking. No keys, no maps, no secret passages.
Just a kitchen.
I stepped back into the hallway.
I moved to the next door in the hallway and turned the handle slowly, half-expecting another kitchen or storage closet.
Nope.
The smell hit me first—metallic, and sour, almost rotten. I pushed the door open just a bit wider and felt my stomach turn.
This room was no kitchen.
It was a torture chamber.
Chains hung from the ceiling. A rack sat in the center of the room, stained dark with old blood. Iron tools lined the walls—hooks, clamps, saws. Nothing about it looked clean or orderly. Everything screamed pain and panic.
And someone had definitely been here recently.
A discarded cloth lay on the floor, torn and soaked in dried blood. Restraints were still fastened on the rack, pulled tight as if their captive had struggled violently. Scratch marks dug deep into the wood—desperate, and shallow.
I swallowed hard.
“This is… a lot,” I whispered.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Trying not to think too much about it, I scanned the room for anything I could use. My eyes landed on something leaning against a blood-splattered table in the corner.
A spiked club.
Thick wood, iron studs hammered into the head. It looked brutal… and effective.
I picked it up and felt the weight settle into my hand—heavier than the iron bar, but manageable.
A translucent window appeared.
New Weapon Acquired
Spiked Club (Common)
Type: Blunt Weapon
Strenght: +3
Strenght Requirement: 10
Level Requirement: 1
“Yep,” I said softly. “Definitely an upgrade.” I immediately equipped it and put my iron rod back in my inventory.
As I turned to leave, another window flashed into existence—this one tinted faintly red.
Secret Objective Unlocked
Step 1 of 3:
Determine who was tortured here.
A cold shiver ran down my spine.
I glanced around one more time, suddenly aware that whoever had been tortured here might still be somewhere on this floor.
Or whoever had done the torturing.
Either way, I tightened my grip on the spiked club and quietly backed out of the room.
“Okay,” I muttered. “This floor just got a lot less fun.”
I stepped out of the torture room, closing the door behind me—
—and something slammed into my ribs like a sledgehammer.
“GAAH—!”
The world spun.
I flew backward, hit the stone floor hard, and slid several feet before coming to a stop. Every breath stabbed like broken glass. My vision blurred, then snapped back into focus just in time to see my attacker.
Another Crabonoid.
Bigger than the last one. Meaner-looking. And very, very angry.
It scuttled toward me from the corridor I’d come from, pincers raised, clicking violently. The hit it landed had been fast—way faster than I expected.
“Shit—!”
I scrambled backward on my elbows, trying to get distance. The crab was maybe eight feet away now, closing in quick.
Instinct took over.
Without thinking, I reached into my inventory and pulled out one of the knives I’d looted from the kitchen. My hand moved on its own—years of baseball practice, throwing drills, muscle memory firing like reflexes.
I snapped my arm forward and let the knife fly.
Thwip.
The blade sank right between the creature’s antennae.
The crab shrieked and staggered, one pincer flailing wildly as it reached up toward the embedded knife. Not dead—but definitely hurt.
“Good enough,” I hissed, pushing myself to my feet.
The crab was still reeling when I summoned the spiked club into my hands and swung with everything I had.
The club smashed into the side of its head with a sickening crack. The creature collapsed, twitching. I hit it again. And again. Iron spikes punched through shell and flesh until it finally went still.
A fresh window flickered into view.
Crabonoid – Level 3 Defeated
Experience Awarded
New Skill Unlocked: Throwing Weapons
Previous Ability Detected:
Throwing Weapons proficiency increased to Level 5
Another window appeared.
Loot Gained
Pincer x1 (Common)
Shell Fragment x2 (Common)
Boots (Common)
I exhaled shakily and wiped crab goo off my cheek with the back of my hand.
“Okay,” I muttered. “Suspicions confirmed. This is definitely not a dream. That hit way too hard.”
For a moment, fear clawed up my throat—sharp, cold, undeniable.
But I forced myself to focus.
If this wasn’t a dream, then I didn’t get the luxury of panicking.
I had to keep it together.
Not just for me… but apparently for the entire planet.
I retrieved the bloodied knife from the Crabonoid’s head and slipped it back into my inventory, wincing as my ribs throbbed from the earlier blow.
This floor was getting deadlier by the minute.
