He knocked.

  Moments later, the door opened just enough for a broad-shouldered man to peer out. Austin gave his practiced introduction, explaining who he was and why he was there, forcing steadiness into his voice despite the sting still echoing from the other doors that had closed on him earlier.

  The reaction was immediate.

  The man burst into laughter.

  "Hahahahaha! Oh, you've got to be kidding me!" he howled, doubling over as if Austin had just delivered the best joke he'd heard all week. He straightened just long enough to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye, then leaned closer, smirk sharp and cruel. "You might have better luck joining the daycare faction down the street, little guy!"

  The door slammed shut in Austin's face with a heavy, final thud.

  He stood there in silence.

  His jaw tightened until it ached, his fingers curling slowly into a fist at his side. For a fleeting moment, a vivid image flashed through his mind—his knuckles smashing into the door, wood splintering under the force, the laughter on the other side dying instantly. The thought burned hot and tempting.

  But he didn't move.

  Instead, Austin drew in a slow breath, held it, then let it out through his nose in a sharp exhale. The anger didn't vanish, but it dulled just enough for him to turn away.

  "I could tell those bastards were drunk," he muttered to himself as he stepped back onto the street. "Though… something tells me they'd act the same even if they were sober. Assuming they can even function that way."

  The words were bitter, but saying them helped. He needed the release—just a moment to vent, to let the frustration bleed off before it swallowed him whole.

  The sun hung at its peak, flooding the city with harsh, unrelenting light. Austin walked with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, shoulders hunched as he headed back in the general direction of the Adventurers' Guild. He'd visited every faction house on Kara's list—every single one—and most of them had treated him about the same. Some hid their dismissal behind thin smiles and polite excuses. Others hadn't bothered pretending.

  But that last one…

  That one cut deeper than the rest.

  He hadn't wanted to believe all factions were like that. That was why he'd forced himself to finish the list in the first place—to be able to say, honestly, that he'd tried. Still, by the fourth rejection, something inside him had started to crack. One smug bastard had looked at his sheet, scoffed, and called his stats "ridiculously low baby stats" before adding, with a grin, that he'd "suck orc balls in a dungeon."

  That was when the fire inside him really began to dim.

  Austin kicked a loose pebble along the cobblestone street, watching it bounce ahead of him until it skittered into the gutter. "Guess Kara was right," he muttered. "And honestly… she was being nice compared to these idiots."

  He dragged in a breath and let it out slowly. "Shit."

  The words replayed in his head, one after another, like dull hammer strikes—weak, useless, hopeless. He'd expected rejection. He'd even braced himself for skepticism. But he hadn't expected the laughter. The way people looked straight through him, even as they tore him down to his face.

  Do I even stand a chance in the dungeons on my own?

  The thought slithered in, heavy and unwelcome. His steps slowed, then nearly stopped as he stared down the long stretch of street ahead, doubt coiling tight in his gut.

  Then he came to a full halt.

  "Nah, fam," he said aloud, shaking his head sharply as if to fling the thought away. "I'm a solo grinder anyway. Not about to let some damn drunks mess with my workflow and ragebait me."

  The words carried more bite than he expected. Saying them out loud steadied him, sparked something stubborn and defiant in his chest. Maybe he didn't have the stats. Maybe he didn't have the backing. But he still had himself—and he wasn't done yet.

  Austin turned his back on the guild's direction without another glance. Down the street, a weathered wooden sign creaked softly in the breeze, its arrow tilted but unmistakable, pointing toward the dungeon district.

  His eyes fixed on it.

  "Yeah," he muttered, the last of his hesitation snapping into place. "I got this."

  The words landed differently this time. They didn't wobble or fade the moment he said them. They settled deep, solid and heavy, less like hope and more like a decision. He nodded to himself, taking quiet inventory of what he had instead of what he lacked.

  "I've already got a sword," he continued, counting it off in his head. "So offense is covered. And it's not like I can buy anything useful with the five coins I lifted off that bandit anyway."

  He glanced down at the small pouch tied to his belt and gave it a halfhearted shake. The faint, almost mocking clink of metal answered him.

  "Basically the pennies of this world," he said dryly.

  He'd learned that lesson the hard way—standing in one of the faction houses, swallowing his pride as he'd tried to offer those coins like they meant something. The look on their faces had burned worse than the rejection itself. Definitely one of his lower moments. And he was done with that noise. Done chasing approval from people who saw him as dead weight before he even took a swing.

  Factions could keep their oaths, their contracts, their laughter.

  He'd do this his way.

  With that conviction burning hot in his chest, Austin turned east and started walking, his shoes scuffing against the cobblestone as he passed the Adventurers' Guild. He didn't slow. Didn't look up. His mind was still cluttered with memories of slammed doors, smug grins, and laughter meant to break him—but now those memories sharpened his focus instead of dulling it. Each step forward felt like a quiet act of defiance.

  The path to the dungeon announced itself without subtlety.

  Adventurers flooded the road ahead, all moving in the same direction like a living current. Some traveled in loose, laughing groups, voices light as if this were an outing instead of a risk. Others walked in tight silence, faces set, eyes forward, radiating purpose. Armor clanked and straps creaked. Steel brushed steel. Every sound carried intent.

  And if the crowd somehow wasn't obvious enough, signs were posted every few yards along the road—bold, blunt, impossible to ignore.

  —Dungeon Route—

  Register with Guild Before Entry

  Prepare Before Entering

  At the far end of the street, a massive stone archway rose up, marking the edge of the city itself. Beyond it stretched open land—rolling grasslands scattered with trees that swayed lazily in the breeze. The late afternoon sun painted everything gold, and for a brief moment, the tight knot in Austin's chest loosened.

  As he passed beneath the arch, a few familiar faces caught his eye. Recruiters—the same ones who'd been barking offers inside the guild before getting thrown out. Now they were fully armored, insignias stamped across polished breastplates, weapons gleaming at their sides. Their packs bulged with supplies that probably cost more than Austin had ever owned.

  "Guess they found their members after all," he muttered.

  His gaze drifted across the groups forming ahead. Even from a distance, the difference was clear. Veteran adventurers moved with relaxed confidence, joking as they checked blades or adjusted straps, bodies loose and ready. The newer ones looked tense by comparison, gripping weapons too tightly, eyes flicking around like prey bracing for the first snap of jaws.

  Alright, Austin, he told himself. First day in a new world and you're already heading into a dungeon. Totally normal.

  A crooked grin tugged at his mouth. No big deal. Just casually walking toward possible death like it's a grocery run.

  A quiet laugh slipped out, even as his stomach fluttered with that unmistakable feeling—the one right before the drop on a roller coaster. Except this time, there were no restraints. No safety bar. No guarantees.

  He was choosing to walk forward.

  As the road shifted from stone to dirt and began to curve, the land opened up even more. Austin slowed, letting his eyes roam. Tall grass rippled under the wind. The air smelled of soil and leaves. For a fleeting second—if he ignored the armor, the weapons, and the towering city behind him—it almost felt like the countryside outside Cleveland.

  The thought lingered… then faded.

  This wasn't Earth.

  And that was fine.

  He straightened, resolve settling deeper with every step. No factions. No contracts. No waiting for permission.

  Just him, a sword, and a dungeon.

  ***

  After some time, the dirt path began to slope upward, the dark outline of a mountain rising ahead. The air cooled noticeably, and a low, hollow wind echoed faintly between stone walls. As Austin drew closer, the single trail split into several branching paths, each one leading toward a different cave entrance carved into the mountain's base.

  He stopped short, staring.

  "Whoa," he muttered. "Okay… multiple entrances."

  A beat passed.

  "Cool. Super helpful."

  Adventurers began to peel away in different directions, splitting into smaller groups as naturally as water flowing around stone. Each party moved with quiet certainty, choosing paths as if they'd already memorized every turn and drop ahead. Some carried staffs or lanterns that glowed softly with magic, bathing the stone in hues of blue and gold. Others hauled massive packs that clanked with potions, tools, and supplies, the sound alone suggesting preparation—and experience.

  The air around the mountain buzzed with energy. Anticipation. Confidence. Ego. It was the unmistakable atmosphere of people who fully expected to walk back out richer, stronger, and alive.

  Austin stood among them, suddenly feeling very aware of how alone he was.

  Who am I even supposed to follow? he thought, his gaze flicking from one group to the next. There are more entrances here than I can count… and math was never my strong suit.

  Kara's words from earlier resurfaced in his mind—how she'd described this dungeon as one of the largest on the continent. Seeing it now, the scale finally clicked. All the branching paths. All the traffic. This wasn't just a hole in the ground.

  It was a system.

  A massive, living structure that swallowed adventurers by the dozens and spat out survivors—or corpses.

  It probably doesn't matter which entrance I take, he reasoned, trying to calm the tight knot forming in his chest. Once I'm inside, there should be plenty of monsters to fight. Hopefully ones that don't breathe fire. Or have claws. Or both.

  A heavily armed group veered left, their armor polished to a mirror sheen, weapons resting easily at their sides. They moved like veterans—loose, confident, dangerous in the way only experience could make someone. Austin overheard one of them casually remark that the left path led to deeper floors faster.

  "Yeah," Austin muttered under his breath, "definitely not going that way."

  To the right, several less intimidating groups drifted off—lighter armor, simpler weapons, expressions tight with nerves. Safer, maybe. He considered it, then glanced straight ahead. One main path stretched forward, wide and well-trodden, like it had seen countless boots pass before his.

  Middle ground, he decided. Not too easy. Not too suicidal. That logic felt solid enough to cling to.

  As he started up the trail, voices behind him drifted closer.

  "What was that stat increase you got again, Joe?" someone asked.

  "It was an increase to Speed, Billy," Joe replied, pride clear in his voice.

  "Nice! With that, we'll wipe out a ton of rabbicorns today," Billy said.

  "That'd be true if the shit rabbicorns weren't poisonous," Joe shot back. "And poison resistance flasks are stupid expensive."

  "That's what our new hot healer's for," Billy said with a grin.

  Austin blinked, doing his best not to turn around too obviously. …Wow. That was incredibly convenient information to overhear.

  His eyes flicked briefly toward the group, landing on the healer Billy had been talking about—and, unfortunately, confirming the description. Hot was an understatement.

  Actually… Austin was starting to notice a pattern. Every humanoid woman he'd seen so far looked unreal. Like model-level unreal.

  Okay. Nope. Refocus, Austin. Get your head out of the gutter or you're going to die in here.

  The mental slap helped, but the practical reality hit harder the longer he thought about it. No healer. No poison resistance. No potions. No party. No backup plan.

  Just him.

  He exhaled slowly. Guess I'll just have to be extra careful not to get hit. Easy, right? Just… don't touch the poison rabbicorns.

  He had absolutely no idea what a rabbicorn was—or what it looked like—but the name alone didn't inspire confidence.

  Austin kept moving, sticking to the main path and maintaining a careful distance behind the group ahead of him. More conversations drifted past as adventurers overtook him or fell in behind—most of it useless to him, some of it downright strange.

  One guy began loudly bragging to his friend about what he'd done with his girlfriend the night before, offering far more detail than anyone needed.

  Austin grimaced and quickened his pace. "Yeah, no," he muttered. "Not starting my dungeon career with that mental image."

  The chatter faded as the dungeon entrance finally came into view.

  A wide, jagged opening yawned ahead, framed by uneven stone like broken teeth. Cool, damp air spilled out from within, carrying the scent of moss—and something deeper beneath it. Earthy. Metallic. Alive.

  Austin's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword.

  "Alright," he said quietly, half to himself, half to whatever waited inside. "Let's see what all the hype's about."

  With a nervous grin and a deep breath, he stepped forward—vanishing into the shadows of the dungeon.

  ***

  And just like that, Austin was fully inside the dungeon.

  No dramatic fanfare. No booming voice. No invisible barrier snapping shut behind him. It felt almost… anticlimactic. He'd half-expected something more—some grand moment that marked the point of no return.

  Still, he supposed that was on him.

  Reality rarely lined up with expectations, and this dungeon was no different. The stone corridors stretched on, quiet but alive, and the faint echoes of movement and battle reminded him that he wasn't alone down here.

  Adventurers streamed past him into the cave entrance in tight-knit clusters, shoulders brushing, voices overlapping with easy familiarity. They laughed, argued, planned. Hands clapped backs. Someone adjusted another's armor strap without being asked. Bonds forged long before this moment carried them forward together.

  Austin felt it immediately—the quiet, crushing awareness that he didn't belong to any of them.

  And Austin walked alone.

  Every few seconds, a flare of light burst to life as a staff activated or a lantern was raised. Each flash carved sharp silhouettes into the stone—and, just as briefly, illuminated him. One solitary figure standing apart. No one at his side. No one watching his back. The light would fade again, plunging the entrance back into shadow, but the damage was done. For those moments, the truth was obvious.

  Solo.

  "Solo queue life," he muttered under his breath, forcing a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes.

  The dungeon didn't care.

  The cave mouth swallowed the light almost immediately, devouring it like a living thing. Austin's boot hit uneven stone, then another, and another, until he realized he was descending a staircase carved straight into the rock itself. The steps were rough and irregular, worn down by countless feet—or claws. With every step deeper, the darkness thickened until even the faint glow from behind him faded away.

  Soon, he could barely see his own hands.

  Cold air pressed in around him, damp and heavy, clinging to his skin. The sound of his breathing felt too loud in the silence, each exhale echoing faintly off unseen walls. Water dripped somewhere far below, the sound hollow and rhythmic, like a slow countdown.

  Not letting some dark cave staircase get to me, he told himself. Stay cool.

  He slid one hand along the wall as he descended, trusting touch more than sight. The stone was slick with moisture, chilled enough to make his fingers ache. Every step felt deliberate now. Careful. The kind of careful you were when you knew a single mistake could send you tumbling.

  Then—light.

  A faint glow bloomed ahead, weak but steady. The staircase finally leveled out, spilling him into a corridor where small lanterns hung from iron hooks every few yards. Their flickering flames painted the stone walls in gold and shadow, stretching shapes that shifted when he blinked.

  Austin let out a ragged breath.

  "Okay," he murmured. "That's… not so bad."

  He glanced around, awe creeping in despite himself. Jagged stone walls rose on either side, uneven and raw, with a faint mist curling along the ground like low-lying fog. The corridor branched ahead, splitting into multiple tunnels that disappeared into darkness.

  It looked exactly like something out of his games.

  And that somehow made it worse.

  Four paths stretched forward. One by one, the adventurers who had arrived near him peeled away, choosing routes without hesitation. Lanterns bobbed, torches flared—and then vanished. In less than a minute, their lights winked out one by one, swallowed by the dungeon's depths.

  Silence rushed back in.

  Austin stood alone.

  He swallowed, then shrugged it off with forced casualness and kept moving.

  His footsteps echoed softly against the stone floor, the sound grounding him. That's when he noticed it—a faint green glow running straight down the center of the corridor. Thin lines etched into the stone, subtle but unmistakable now that he had light.

  He followed them for a short distance before spotting red arrows branching off in the opposite direction. It took a second for the meaning to click.

  "Oh," he said, snapping his fingers.

  He crouched, studying the markings more closely, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Breadcrumb trail. For adventurers who don't want to get lost forever."