In Danmachi with My System

After a few hours, I had made it to the seventh floor. The way had been packed with battles. It hadn't taken so long because it was particularly grueling, but because, like a half-wit, I'd forgotten to bring a map.

And yep. There were maps for nearly every floor of the dungeon, and you could snag them in any shop that peddled gear for adventurers―even at the guild. They weren't pricey, and a broke guy like me could easily afford one. I just clean forgot about them. In the thrill of starting Apotheosis, it never crossed my mind that having a simple map would save me heaps of time.

"But it's just enough to keep me from straying off course."

The dungeon was a place with life. Trekking and facing off against monsters gave me the creeps, like the dungeon had its beady eyes fixed on my back. It was hard to shake the sense that I was marching into the belly of some massive, living creature.

The weird thing was, even though the dungeon kept giving bird to new monsters, its layout didn't shift. At least, not in the way you'd picture. The tunnels and chambers stayed put. Everything was still the same. Or nearly so.

I glanced over at a nearby wall where I'd left a dent from a clumsy swing against a warshadow a while back. Now that same mark had vanished, as if the dungeon had patched itself up. It couldn't reshape its mazes, but it wiped away any trace you tried to leave.

Mind you, the structure didn't change, but it could get twisty. That's where the maps came in handy. They'd been sketched out by the first Familias to venture into the floors. Nobody knew exactly how many floors there were in total; some folks said the dungeon was infinite, others reckoned there was an end. What everyone did know was that there were at least 60 or so mapped floors. And getting to the bottom of those maps took a whole lot more than just dumb luck.

If there was one name that everyone looked up to, it was the Loki Familia. No doubt about it, they were the ones who'd ventured the deepest. Floors and more floors, lower and lower, breaking barriers others could only fantasize about.

But my case? Totally different. I couldn't say I was all starry-eyed over the Loki Familia. Don't get me wrong, they were awesome, but there's a fine line between respect and something more distant. If I really thought about it, what I felt towards them was more like curiosity than hero-worship, and even then, it wasn't aimed at all of them—just a select few. And of all of them, there was one who stood out for me.

Golden. Her hair, her eyes—both shimmered like freshly minted coins. If you spotted her, you'd probably mistake her for a star plucked right out of the night sky. But aside from that beautiful glow, what I really liked most about her was her face. Inexpresive. Like a mask carved out of cold, unmelted ice.

I couldn't help it. I'd always been attracted for girls with faces like that. Cool, almost indifferent. Maybe it was this weird perversion to see them break, melt little by little until they showef something more human, until they felt warm. It was like wanting to peek behind the mask, as if that frosty expression hid a volcano inside. My guilty little desire.

I imagined, just for a second, if I could make her break through that shell. Could a nobody like me pull it off? But then I remembered something important about this person. More than expressionless, she was simply... an airhead. A killing machine with limited ability to think. What once seemed mysterious was now just that, empty.

I shook my head and chuckled to myself. What a idiotic thought.

I was lost in these goofy thoughts when a noise snapped me back to the present. Footsteps, echoing from the other end of the corridor.

I froze, my brow furrowing. My perception, which had not ceased to be my best stat, let me pick up the sound more clearly.

It wasn't the scuttling of critters or the booming echo of a monster. Those were human footsteps.

Someone was heading my way. Who? A coincidence? Or maybe... had I raised a flag at the thought of that person? Had my daydreaming somehow magically summoned that golden-haired girl?

Fat chance. But just in case, I wasn't going to wait around to find out the foolish way. I slipped into the nearest shadow, using my boots' passive skill to muffle my movements. My breathing slowed to nothing as I pressed my back against the cold stone. No point in taking risks. Down here in the dungeon, the rules were a whole different ballgame. The line between what's allowed and what's not got real blurry.

"What happens in the dungeon stays in the dungeon." It was a saying all us adventurers knew by heart, even if some preferred not to talk about it. You didn't just tangle with monsters here. You could run into other adventurers too, and not always by accident. Scraps over loot, resources, misunderstandings, or just for kicks. And if someone vanished? Orario wouldn't bat an eye at tossing another body on the pile. They'd just shrug it off, saying that this poor adventurer had faced a monster they couldn't handle.

It's not like there were assassins around every corner. Most adventurers came here for the loot, the cash, the glory, or the simple desire for adventure. But the danger was there. And what was more dangerous, more than any monster, was human nature.

Because human nature, when you really dig into it, is an ugly and dangerous creature. We like to think of ourselves as civilized beings with our laws, our rules, our societies. But that's just a thin layers of veneer. Strip away the food, the safety, or dangle some power, and watch how fast that so-called civilization crumbles. Down here in the dark, with no one watching, everything we really are rises to the surface.

Greed. Fear. The instinct to survive no matter what.

I've seen enough to know that deep down, we're all in it for ourselves. Even the most squeaky-clean heroes can fall off their high horse when there's no rulebook except the one in their head. Power corrupts. And the idea that no one's keeping tabs, that you can get away with anything, corrupts faster than you think.

So yes, maybe it wasn't common for adventurers to kill each other, but it wasn't exactly rare either. No one here trusted anyone 100%, why would they? I sure as hell didn't.

The footsteps got louder, bouncing off the dungeon walls. At first, I thought it was just one person, but as I zeroed in, the pattern shifted. No, there were more. Maybe four, five, I couldn't be sure. With my boots' skill, I should be off their radar, but that thought didn't calm the uneasy feeling that was building in my chest.

With that many people, chances were one of them might spot me.

I stayed glued to the wall, not moving a muscle. And then, just before they rounded the corner, I caught their voices. They weren't even trying to keep it down. Seemed they had no reason to.

"This floor's a fucking nightmare," said a deep voice, sounding beat. "Killer ants are crawling all over the place. And in groups... it's near impossible to take them on one by one."

I'd barely set foot on Floor 7, so I didn't quite get what he meant by "fucking nightmare," but even a newbie like me knew he was spot-on about one thing. Those Killer Ants were a collective doom. These monsters never flew solo. And when they did, they'd a special effect on their bodies to alert their fellows. There were always more of 'em lurking. Always waiting for the perfect moment to swarm you. Didn't matter how many you killed, there was always another antenna poking out of some crack.

"What's got you so shocked?" Another voice chimed in. "It's not like you've ever done anything without whining, right?"

"Hey, let's not start with that!" A third voice replied in near panic. Probably the youngest of the group, or just the one with a lick of sense. "I'm just saying, we need to come up with a better plan..."

"Oh, sure, sure... A 'better plan'." The second voice spoke again, dripping with sarcasm. There was a muffled thud, like someone getting shoved. "You know what? I've got a brilliant idea. How about we use our rat as bait? Wanna bet top-shelf wine on it? Soma-sama's special brew! I bet those monsters would rather sink their teeth into someone her size than us."

An uneasy murmur rippled through the group, but then everyone cracked up, while someone let out a nervous squeak.

A "rat"? That always meant the same thing: someone tiny, someone weak. Someone like... a porter.

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