CHAPTER 132: BACK TO SURFACE

Daniel stood in a grand throne room, gold and velvet draped over every surface. The air smelled of expensive perfume and roasted boar. Hundreds of faceless nobles bowed before him, chanting his name.

"Hero. Savior. King."

He sat on the throne, a heavy crown on his head. Beside him, Elisha smiled adoringly, pouring him wine. It was perfect. It was everything he was promised.

But then, the floor began to rot.

The faceless nobles melted into sludge. The walls bled. Elisha’s face twisted, the flesh peeling away to reveal a skull that screamed, "You aren’t enough."

A massive shadow—a Demon Lord—tore through the ceiling. Daniel drew his sword to fight, to protect his kingdom.

Slash.

His sword shattered like glass.

The demon laughed, grabbing a cowering knight—one of the men Daniel had sworn to lead.

"Save him, Hero," the demon hissed.

Daniel lunged forward, reaching out. But his feet were stuck in the gold coins littering the floor. He couldn’t move. He watched, helpless, as the demon crushed the knight’s skull. Then another. Then another.

"You can’t save them. You’re just a boy playing with a stick."

"NO!" Daniel screamed, mana flaring wildly. "I am the Hero! I am chosen!"

He unleashed a burst of [Divine Light], shattering the illusion.

[Trial Complete.]

He gasped, waking up on the cold stone floor of the labyrinth. He was drenched in cold sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Around him, others were waking up—screaming.

"My money! It’s gone!" a merchant wailed, clawing at his own eyes.

"Don’t look at me! I didn’t mean to!" a young noble girl sobbed, curling into a ball.

But some... didn’t wake up.

Daniel looked to his left. A knight he recognized—Sir Jaren—lay perfectly still. His eyes were open, staring at nothing, a look of pure terror frozen on his face. He wasn’t breathing.

"Jaren?" Daniel crawled over, shaking him. "Jaren, wake up! It’s over!"

The man slumped over, lifeless.

"Dead..." Jason’s voice came from nearby. The brawler was sitting against a wall, looking unusually pale. "His heart stopped. Just like that."

Daniel looked around the chamber. Of the twenty people who had been teleported here with them, five were dead. Just from a dream.

"Damn it," Daniel whispered, his fist hitting the stone. "This dungeon... it kills you with your own mind."

*****

Isolde stood amidst burning bookshelves. The screams of Tenebris echoed around her—the slaughter of her people, the fall of her kingdom.

A shadowy figure stood before her. It looked like her father, the Emperor.

"You failed us, Isolde. Your genius brought only ruin."

Isolde stared at the figure. Her expression didn’t waver. She didn’t cry. She didn’t tremble.

"I know," she said coldly.

The figure paused, the illusion flickering. "Do you not feel guilt? Do you not wish to change it?"

"I feel it every day," Isolde replied, stepping forward. Her hand ignited with black fire. "But I don’t need a dungeon to tell me my own history. I already lived this hell once. I don’t intend to live it again."

She snapped her fingers.

[Dispel.]

The fire, the screams, the Emperor—it all shattered like a broken mirror.

She opened her eyes in the real world.

She was the first one awake. Around her, a dozen adventurers and nobles lay in various states of distress. Some were whimpering. One man was tearing at his own hair.

Isolde stood up, dusting off her dress. She nudged a noble lying near her foot with her boot.

"Wake up. The show’s over."

The man didn’t move. He was breathing, but his eyes were rolled back in his head. His mind had broken under the strain.

"Weak," she muttered, though her eyes held a trace of pity. "If you can’t face your own demons, you have no business in the dark."

*****

Seraphine stood in a white void.

A geometric puzzle floated before her—rings within rings, constantly shifting.

[Voice:] "To exit, you must solve the equation of life. Sacrifice one to save ten? Or save the one who matters most?"

Two cages appeared. In one, ten faceless humans. In the other, a simulation of Oliver.

The ceiling began to lower.

Seraphine tilted her head. "Query: Why is sacrifice necessary?"

[Voice:] "Resources are finite. Logic dictates the many outweigh the few."

"Incorrect," Seraphine stated. "If the ’one’ is the primary operator (Master), his survival ensures future probability of saving others. If the ’one’ is lost, my directive fails. Therefore, the value of the ’one’ is infinite relative to my purpose."

She reached out and smashed the simulation of the ten humans without hesitation.

The white void cracked.

[Trial Failed? Trial Passed? Error: Logic Incompatible with Emotional Parameters.]

The system glitched. The simulation dissolved.

Seraphine’s eyes rebooted in the real world.

"Test concluded," she said to the empty air. "Results: Inefficient morality play."

She looked around. Lisa and William were nearby. William was awake, vomiting on the floor. Lisa was staring at her hands, trembling uncontrollably.

"Get up," Seraphine said, grabbing William by the collar and hoisting him effortlessly. "Locating Master Oliver. You will follow."

*****

Floor 25

One by one, the scattered groups trickled into the massive chamber.

Floor 25 was different. There were no monsters here. The walls were smooth white marble, and a large, glowing crystal fountain stood in the center—flowing with clear, drinkable water. The air was warm.

It was a Safe Zone.

But the mood was anything but relieved.

As the groups converged, the scale of the disaster became apparent.

Oliver walked in with Amy and Sophia. He scanned the room immediately, his eyes counting heads.

He saw Daniel’s group—battered, pale, missing knights. He saw the noble retinues—decimated. He saw adventurers weeping over bodies they had dragged with them.

Isolde, Seraphine, and Ariana were already there, waiting near the fountain.

"You’re alive," Isolde said as Oliver approached, her relief visible for a fleeting second before she masked it with a smirk. "You look terrible."

"I feel terrible," Oliver muttered, pulling down his mask to drink from a waterskin. "How bad is it?"

Isolde looked around the room, her voice dropping. "Bad. The mental attacks... they didn’t just scare people. They killed them. Heart attacks, mana backlash from panic, brain death. Some just... didn’t wake up."

Oliver looked at the crowd.

When they entered, the expedition had been nearly four hundred strong.

Now? Maybe two hundred and fifty stood in the hall.

"Forty percent," Oliver whispered. "We lost nearly half the expedition just getting to the first checkpoint."

"It’s a massacre," Ariana whispered, hugging herself. "And we haven’t even seen a floor boss yet."

Across the room, the leaders were gathering.

Princess Elisha looked devastated. Her armor was dented, her face pale. Ronald stood beside her, bandaging a nasty cut on his arm. Even the arrogant princes from other factions looked shaken, their retinues reduced to handfuls of terrified guards.

Daniel walked up to the center, his usual shine gone. His armor was dull, his eyes haunted.

"We found it," Jason said, pointing to the back of the room.

There, pulsing with a steady, inviting light, was a massive runic circle etched into the floor.

[Teleportation Array: Surface Link]

A way out.

The sight of it broke the last of the morale.

"I’m going back!" a noble shouted, his voice cracking. "My cousin died in that illusion! I’m not staying in this cursed place!"

"We need to regroup!" a knight captain argued. "We can’t push forward with these numbers!"

Arguments erupted. But they were weak, desperate arguments. No one was pounding their chest anymore. No one was talking about glory.

Elisha stepped forward, raising her hand. The room quieted, but the tension remained.

"We have lost many good souls," she said, her voice trembling but clear. "Nobles. Knights. Friends."

She looked at the teleportation circle, then back at the battered survivors.

"If we continue now... we will die. Not from monsters, but from exhaustion and fear."

She closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them with resolve.

"We will use the circle. We return to the capital."

A collective exhale swept through the room. It sounded like a sob.

"Unanimous decision?" Ronald asked, looking at the other leaders.

Daniel nodded stiffly. "We need to rethink our strategy. We underestimated the psychological toll."

Even Jason didn’t argue. He just stared at his boots.

Oliver watched from the back. He felt the weight of the Guardian’s Will skill in his chest—the memory of the soldier who held the line. He knew they could keep going if they really pushed. He knew he could keep going.

But looking at Amy, whose hands were still shaking... at Sophia, who was cleaning her glasses to hide her tears... at the piles of dead bodies being arranged for transport...

"Yeah," Oliver murmured. "Let’s get out of here."

Seraphine tilted her head. "Retreat logic: Sound. Survival probability increases by 100% upon exit."

The expedition lined up. One by one, the groups stepped into the circle.

Flash. Flash. Flash.

The light of the teleportation array swallowed them, carrying the battered, broken, and humbled heroes back to the surface.

Velanthris had won the first round.

And as the last of them vanished, the dungeon settled back into silence, waiting for them to return.