Pain dragged Philip back into the world. Like nothing he has ever experienced before.
Not sharp pain—everything pain. A deep, all-consuming ache that told him nothing in his body was untouched.
His eyes snapped open.
Darkness.
Not complete, but heavy. A dim, emerald glow pulsed faintly across stone walls stretched high above him. Vines thicker than his arms crept along jagged rock, their leaves shimmering faintly with mana.
He tried to move.
Agony exploded through his ribs. Every square inch of his skin erupted in agony, like a thousand needles piercing every molecule of his being.
Philip gasped, choking on damp air that tasted of earth, metal, and something strangely alive.
"I… survived?"
His voice came out hoarse, barely audible.
He lay at the base of a massive cavern. The ceiling was so far above that it vanished into shadow. Towering stone pillars rose like the remains of a buried forest. Crystals jutted from the walls, humming softly as mana flowed through them.
This wasn't a normal dungeon.
This place felt… wrong.
Philip tried to sit up.
His vision swam, the glowing crystals blurring into streaks of neon light.
Something warm trickled down his temple.
[SYSTEM WARNING]Critical condition detected.
[NOTICE]Emergency stabilization initiated.
Silver-blue runes flared faintly beneath his skin, threading through his arms and chest like veins of light. The pain dulled slightly—enough for him to breathe.
Philip swallowed hard.
"So… you're real," he whispered.
The system did not respond.
He lay there for several minutes, forcing himself to remain conscious. Panic wouldn't help. Crying wouldn't help. If he was going to die, he wasn't going to do it screaming.
Slowly, he pushed himself upright, bracing against the stone.
Through the metallic tang of blood, a new scent reached him—cool, crisp, and impossibly clean.
That was when he saw it.
A lake.
Clear water spread across part of the cavern floor, glowing faintly with a soft blue hue. Mist curled above its surface, and the mana there felt… gentle.
Hope flickered.
Philip dragged himself toward it, every movement a struggle. He nearly collapsed twice before reaching the water's edge.
He dipped his fingers in.
Warm.
Not hot—comfortably warm.
He drank.
The effect was immediate.
It wasn't just warmth; it was a rhythmic pulse that felt like a heartbeat syncing with his own. The tightness in his lungs unspooled, and the grinding sensation in his shattered ribs smoothed over into a dull thrum.
[SYSTEM NOTICE]Unknown restorative substance detected.
[NOTICE]Minor regeneration applied.
Philip exhaled a breath that no longer tasted of blood. He looked at his reflection in the glowing blue water—pale, bruised, but alive.
"I'm not dying today," he muttered, his voice finding its edge.
But the feeling of being watched hadn't faded.
He forced himself to his feet and scanned the cavern.
Movement.
Something shifted near the far edge of the lake.
A shape—gelatinous, translucent—oozed slowly across the stone.
A slime.
Philip froze.
It wasn't large. Barely the size of a barrel. But it pulsed with mana, its surface rippling unnaturally.
He took a step back.
The slime turned.
It didn't have eyes, yet Philip felt a cold, mindless hunger lock onto him.
It began to move. And it was faster than any slime had a right to be.
[End of Chapter 2]