Luke pushed himself up from the ground—barely. His body protested with every movement, trembling under its own weight, like a structure on the verge of collapse. His right arm was unrecognizable, a mass of blackened flesh barely clinging to the bone. Where his right hand had once been, there was now nothing but a blackened stump—burned away, bone exposed, fingers lost to the blast. His abdomen was scorched.

He could feel part of his right ear fused to his scalp. He vomited blood, thick, stringy, tinged with bile and acid. The acrid scent of burning flesh filled the air. And then he realized—his nose was gone.

Groaning through clenched teeth, Luke shifted his weight and braced himself on his left arm, the only limb still capable of support.

In the middle of the room, a chest waited.

The edges of his sight blurred to black. The room swayed around him, as if the crypt itself were twisting. Balance slipped from his grasp.

In a panic, he opened his status and dumped his remaining stat point into Vitality.

Updates Stats

Vitality: 34 -> 35

Health Points (HP): 8/340 -> 18/350

He took a shaky step forward, legs wobbling beneath him. His foot dragged slightly as he moved, like every part of his body had forgotten how to function.

It wouldn’t be enough. Even as the numbers shifted on his status screen, Luke knew—knew—his body was still failing.

He could feel the damage deep inside. Something vital had ruptured. His insides were hemorrhaging, his organs scorched beyond recognition by the fireblast. Every breath came with a wet rasp. Every step felt like it dragged him closer to the edge. As he staggered forward, his foot brushed against a soft mound—he glanced down.

A pile of ash, faintly glowing in the fading heat. That was all that remained of the Guardian of the Burning Crypt. Reduced to dust, while Luke himself was barely more than that.

“I’m going to die…”

He stopped at the place where Charlie had fallen—where her body had crumbled to ash, and where, in her final act, she had saved him.

The air there felt heavier, like the memory itself lingered in the dust.

For a long moment, Luke said nothing.

Then, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper, he spoke.

“Thanks, friend.”

That was all he could manage. No grand speech. No dramatic vow. Just quiet grief. He lowered himself beside the chest, his body giving out, his soul not far behind.

“Goddamn dungeon…”

He coughed up more blood.

“It could’ve just dropped me on the first floor…”

But then he remembered the criminals.

“I guess I was already screwed the moment I landed here. If the dungeon didn’t kill me, they would.”

He leaned back against the chest, letting its cold surface support what was left of his strength. For a moment, he closed his eyes—just breathing. Then, almost on instinct, he reached down and opened it. The lid creaked as it rose, and the moment he saw what was inside, a dry, bitter laugh escaped him. Gold. Jewels. Gleaming piles of coins. Strings of pearl necklaces.

“Of course…”

It made sense. A crypt.

A Guardian.

A treasure meant to guard the wealth of the dead.

He pulled out two gold coins and stared at them.

A memory surfaced.

“They say to enter the Underworld in Greek myth, you need a coin for Charon… one for me, and one for you, Princess Charlie.”

He tossed a coin onto the ashes where she had fallen—

And closed his eyes.

Damn it. I can’t believe I’m going to die to some random trash mob… after beating the strongest monster in this whole damned dungeon.

He stood—slowly, shakily. Then, without a word, he kicked the chest with all the fury he had left. Gold coins and gemstones spilled across the stone floor, clattering like broken promises.

He turned and began to walk, his limbs dragging, his body screaming. Every step was agony. Every breath tasted like smoke and blood. But he wasn’t finished. Not yet.

“It’s not over yet!”

He formed a plan—reckless, desperate, and probably suicidal. But it was the only path left. He would scour the entire floor, corner to corner. Hunt down anything that moved. Every monster, every threat. He had to force evolution—to level up his race and trigger regeneration.

As long as he had even a sliver of HP and breath left in his lungs, he would fight. Crawl if he had to. Bleed if he must. Even if it meant clawing his way up to the next floor, broken and alone.

He gripped a kukri in his left hand, dragging his broken body forward.

Suddenly, a sound—

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Glass rolling across stone.

He turned.

A red glass vial tumbled out of the chest.

His breath caught.

“No way…”

He stumbled, almost fell.

A healing potion?!

His hand trembled uncontrollably. Even the act of lifting his left arm sent sharp, crashing waves of pain ripping through his fractured ribs. But he didn’t stop. He crawled forward, dragging his broken body closer, inch by inch, trembling, reaching. The red vial glinted in the dim light, and doubt gnawed at the back of his mind.

Please don’t be a trap. Please don’t be poison.

With what little focus he had left, he activated Identify.

[Greater Healing Potion

Description: A special potion granted only to those who defeat the Guardian of the Crypt. Its effects are strong enough to heal deep wounds, regenerate lost limbs, and repair shattered bones. A rare gift—meant to help challengers continue their descent into the dungeon in search of the Statue Key.]

Luke narrowed his eyes.

“This sadistic dungeon… you only put this here because you want people to suffer longer.”

He drank it all in one go.

The taste was sweet, but not pleasant. Even swallowing burned—his insides were just as broken as the rest of him.

But then—

The pain vanished.

All at once.

It was like downing the world’s strongest painkiller. The change was instant. His body, which had been a battlefield of agony, went silent—still. The pain vanished, as if it had never existed. First, the burning in his throat faded. Then the tightness in his neck eased.

He felt his ear peel away from his scalp, the melted flesh separating with clean precision. One by one, the broken, burned parts of his body began to restore themselves—flesh knitting, bones forming, skin smoothing over raw wounds. It was both miraculous… and terrifying.

He watched in awe as his hand regrew—first as a pulsing mass of red flesh, then bones, tendons, and finally, skin.

He looked down at himself.

Fully healed.

Even the burnt remains of his clothing peeled away cleanly, no longer fused to his skin.

He nearly jumped in joy—

But the memory hit him.

The reason he’d survived.

“If you hadn’t saved me, Princess Charlie… I’d be dead,” he whispered into the silence.

Luke approached the treasure chest.

He was naked.

He pulled off the rags from inside, digging through gold and gems. The chest seemed endless.

He flipped it over and began pouring it out entirely.

Among the treasure, he found a robe—fine, dark fabric with silver trim. He pulled it on.

Then—

[An item has been added to your inventory]

Luke opened his system window.

[Gloves of the Crypt Guardian (Uncommon)

Description: The skeleton realized too late that only his hands were immune to fire. Now, his bones protect against intense heat, allowing the wearer to touch scorching surfaces without injury. But beware—resistance is not immunity. Prolonged exposure can still destroy you.

Enchantments:

[Basic Fire Resistance (Uncommon]: Allows the wearer to touch extremely hot surfaces without taking damage, as long as the contact is brief. Reduces fire damage, but does not prevent severe injury under extreme exposure.

Requirement: Lvl 8+ in any class or race]

“Another piece of gear I can’t use yet… but not for long.”

He glanced at the crystal lying on the floor.

The weight of what had happened pressed down on him again.

Wordless, he bent down, lifted the heavy crystal—

And walked toward the elevator.

***

“I only have one life…” Luke muttered, staring at the crystal embedded in the elevator panel.

He knew—if he touched it, the platform would rise straight to the first floor, where the criminals were waiting.

He turned his gaze to the rest chamber, eyes lingering on the quiet sanctuary he’d nearly died in. And instead of stepping onto the elevator, he turned away—toward the waterfall. Even though it felt pointless, almost symbolic, he removed his robe and walked into the stream.

The water was cold, biting against his skin, but he welcomed it. Slowly, he began to wash—scrubbing away dried blood, caked soot, and layers of grime. Every inch of his skin ached with the memory of pain, but the chill grounded him. It reminded him he was still alive.

When he finished, he made his way toward the tree near the center of the room. The soft grass crunched beneath his feet, and the leaves rustled gently above. He didn’t bother filling his pouch with supplies—he wasn’t thinking about survival anymore.

He just reached up, plucked a single fruit, and sat down. No words. No thoughts. Just silence. He ate slowly, chewing without urgency. There were still hours left in the climb—and enough time to think about everything that had brought him here.

He sat on the elevator floor. Laid a sword across the platform.

It was the blade Princess Charlie had proudly taken after losing her first one.

“Whatever happens up there… I won’t go alone,” he said quietly. “At least your sword goes with me.”

He looked back at the rest chamber.

He remembered arriving here—telling her to stay close behind.

The moments of carelessness. The thoughts he couldn’t unthink.

What could I have done differently?

“Goodbye, Princess Charlie,” he said one last time.

And reached toward the crystal—

But then:

[Alert: Your servant is currently in recovery and will soon return to life.]

“WHAT?!”

Luke froze.

His hand trembled as he yanked open his system menu. The notification was still there. He scrolled, disbelieving, until he found her entry. It was real. He checked his bloodline skill.

He was sure it had never said this before.

[Servant of the Dark Lord (Unique)]: As the heir to the bloodline of the Lords of Darkness, you may claim a creature worthy of bearing your mark. Upon defeating a creature, you may brand it with your demonic blood, binding it to your absolute authority. Your servant is reborn from weakness, evolving beyond its natural limits and fueled by your growing power. The bond between master and servant deepens with your influence, shaping the destiny of your legion according to your ambition and conquest.

(Warning: This choice is singular and irreversible. Once claimed, the servant will follow their master until the end. You may store the servant within your soul and summon them at will — but be warned: your chosen servant may determine the path your journey takes. Use this gift wisely.)

(Warning 2: As long as the Dark Lord remains alive, their servant will always be able to return to life.)

Luke’s face went blank.

“That definitely wasn’t there before…”

He navigated to the servant tab. Charlie’s profile photo was still there—faded, but intact. When he tapped it, her status page flickered open—then immediately closed.

[Alert: Your servant is currently in recovery and will soon return to life.]

He stared in silence.

Then—a strange, cracked laugh escaped his lips. Half-relief, half disbelief.

“I can’t believe I actually got attached to that skeleton princess.”

He stepped out of the elevator and sat back on the grass. For the first time since descending into this dungeon—he felt something other than dread.

Hope.

“Guess now I’ve got a reason to wait,” he whispered.

“I’ll stay here as long as it takes… before walking into what’s probably my death.”

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