I sat on the edge of the wooden slab that passed for a bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the stone wall in front of me. The violet glow from the runes pulsed softly, like a heartbeat I didn't want to understand.
This was my room. My cell. My "spawn point," according to the system.
A dungeon minion's quarters—slightly better than a rat's nest, but with worse air circulation.
I still didn't get it.
Why me? Why here? And why did I still look like… me?
I wasn't like the others. The goblin with the bucket on his head, the squeaky slime, or the winged eyeball with anxiety. I wasn't mutated or disfigured. I hadn't been formed from magic sludge or summoned through a portal.
I was just… Lin. Human. Seventeen. Average.
And somehow, still wearing my own skin.
"I don't get it," I murmured. "Why do I still look like this?"
From across the room, the black cat—my ever-present shadow—lifted her head. She was curled on a folded rag near the torch bracket, her tail twitching lazily.
"No idea," she said.
"You always have answers. That's your thing."
"This time, I don't," she replied. "Or maybe I do. But I'm not telling."
I frowned. "Why?"
She stood, stretched, and walked over, tail high. She leapt lightly onto the slab beside me, then up onto my shoulder with practiced ease.
"Because some answers come with consequences."
I stared ahead.
"You said only we can see the system," I said quietly.
"Yes."
"Why?"
She was silent for a moment. Then she said, "Because we're not like the others."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only one you'll get right now."
I sighed. "You're infuriating."
"I know."
I looked at her. Her weight was warm on my shoulder, comforting in a strange way.
"Do you have a name?" I asked.
She didn't respond right away. Her eyes studied me, gold reflecting the dim light. Then, slowly, she nodded.
"I suppose you've earned it."
She leapt down onto my lap, sat upright, and said, "Trixia."
I blinked. "Trixia?"
"It's the name I chose," she said. "It means nothing. Or maybe it does. I've had it longer than I can remember."
"Trixia," I repeated, testing it. It fit her somehow. Mysterious, sharp, slightly smug.
She tilted her head.
"You saved me," she said. "Back there, in that alley. You didn't know me. You didn't have to. But you did. You protected me."
"I died," I said.
"Yes," she nodded. "And I'll remember that."
Her tone shifted, softer, more sincere.
"I owe you my life, Lin. So I'll stay. As long as you need me. I'll be at your side."
I didn't know what to say to that.
The warmth that bloomed in my chest wasn't magical. It wasn't heroic. It was human.
And for the first time since waking in this horrible, suffocating place, I didn't feel completely alone.
We sat in silence for a while.
Then she said, "You have questions about the world."
I nodded. "A few thousand."
"Well, here's your first thousand and one."
She padded toward the center of the room and tapped her paw on the glowing stone tile.
"This is the Dungeon Labyrinth. You already know that. But what you don't know is what surrounds it."
She drew a triangle in the dust on the floor.
"Three kingdoms. All human. All constantly at odds, but united by one thing—fear of what lies below."
She tapped each point.
"Here—Imperiam. Military, structured, ruled by nobility and iron law. They breed paladins like rats and follow the Church of the Beyond with fanatical devotion. They see the Dungeon as an abomination."
She moved to the next point.
"Rauzalia. Mercantile. Opportunistic. They don't care what you are if you can pay or kill efficiently. Half their army is made of mercenaries. For them, the Dungeon is business."
Then the third point.
"Lubia. Magic, mystery, and madness. Scholars, witches, ritualists. They think the Dungeon is the key to some higher truth. They send explorers, not soldiers."
I stared at the crude map.
"So... they all send people here?"
"Constantly," she said. "Each kingdom launches expeditions, incursions, or raids. They come for power, relics, or answers. Few return."
"And we're what? Defenders?"
"Sort of," she said. "The Dungeon creates minions to slow, weaken, or eliminate invaders. You and I are on the first level, just behind the outer threshold. That makes us part of the first line."
"First line," I muttered. "As in, first to die."
"Exactly."
She stretched again. "But if the Dungeon is the body, then this level is its skin. It gets damaged. It heals. It sheds. Most of what's here is… disposable."
"Nice to know where I stand."
"It's not where you stand," she said. "It's where you start."
I didn't respond. Instead, I folded up the map Karen had given me and stuffed it into the pocket of my tunic. I grabbed the small stone—my "communication crystal"—and took a breath.
I was about to open the door when—
Knock knock knock.
I froze.
Trixia looked up.
The knocking came again, faster, more nervous.
I opened the door.
Standing there was a goblin. Short, green, wide-eyed. His armor was clearly secondhand, hanging off him in all the wrong places. His helmet was too big, and it slid forward, nearly covering his eyes.
"Uh... Minion 001?" he squeaked.
"…Yeah?"
"I-I'm Jero," he said quickly. "Karen sent me. I-I'm here to escort you. To… to your next thing."
"Next thing?"
"Y-your training. Evaluation. First-time minion assessment. I-it depends on the schedule, really."
I blinked. "I thought I already got assigned."
Jero winced. "That was just… observation duty. T-this is your actual evaluation."
I turned to Trixia.
She shrugged. "Well, better late than never."
I looked back at Jero, who was fidgeting with the strap of his shield.
"…Fine," I said. "Lead the way."
He nodded furiously, nearly losing his helmet in the process.
As I stepped out into the corridor, Trixia leapt onto my shoulder again, purring softly.
"Ready for another day in hell?" she whispered.
"Define 'ready,'" I muttered.