Ray woke with his ribs screaming at the idea of a full breath and his forearm tugging where he’d wrapped it. He didn’t sit up straight away. He lay still and listened to the dungeon, because that was the first rule down here. Stone dripped somewhere in the dark. Something clicked far off, once, then nothing. The silence didn’t feel peaceful. It felt patient.
He pushed himself upright slowly and rolled his shoulders, testing what still worked. The soreness had settled in overnight, thick and stubborn. He glanced down at his bandage and flexed his hand. The sting flared, then eased. Not great. Not catastrophic.
The Crabstone Idol sat where he’d left it, warm as ever, a palm-sized stone crab radiating steady heat into the shell plate above it. The whole setup looked ridiculous in the morning light that didn’t exist down here, but his stomach clenched anyway at the smell of old seasoning and crab fat. Warm food had become a bigger motivator than he liked admitting.
Ray rubbed his face, then looked out of his recess towards the corridor mouth. Quiet. Clear. For now.
“Alright,” he said softly. Talking still felt strange, even after yesterday. It felt stranger because something answered. “You said you’d run analysis.”
A pause, then:
[Query received]
Ray’s mouth twitched. “Good. So you’re still here.”
[Correct]
He shifted his legs, careful with his ribs, and leaned back against the stone. His daggers were within arm’s reach where he’d left them. Cleaned. Set down with intention. The kind of routine that kept him from spiralling when his head wanted to pull him in ten directions at once.
“Results,” Ray said. “You find anything in those broken logs?”
[Partial legacy fragments recovered]
[Integrity low]
[Corruption present]
Ray exhaled through his nose. “That’s more than I expected.”
[Expectation noted]
He stared at the empty air for a second, then snorted. “Don’t start analysing me.”
[Clarify: do not analyse user?]
Ray pointed vaguely at nothing. “Exactly. Don’t do that.”
[Acknowledged]
He shook his head, half amused. It was unsettling in its own way, having something respond to him so cleanly while still feeling present in the pauses. Not human. Not friendly. Still, it listened. That mattered.
“Alright,” Ray said, settling into it. “Here’s what I want. Your messages are too clean. Too polite. Too… sterile. I don’t need a tutor. I need something that keeps me alive when I’m tired and bleeding and making dumb calls.”
[Define: desired output parameters]
“Short,” Ray said. “Direct. If I’m about to do something stupid, tell me. If I’m about to get myself killed, tell me faster. No lectures.”
[Request logged]
Ray glanced at the idol, then back to the corridor. “And if you’re going to copy the old System’s tone, I want the useful parts. Not the weird parts.”
A pause.
[Clarify: ‘weird parts’]
Ray’s mouth pulled to one side. “You know. The smug bit. The part that acted like it owned the room.”
[Acknowledged]
Ray huffed a laugh. “Now try it. Give me an example.”
The dungeon stayed quiet for a moment. Ray felt his shoulders tense, then forced them down. He’d asked for this. He wanted this. He just didn’t like wanting anything that wasn’t a knife or an exit.
[Legacy emulation enabled: Partial]
Ray blinked. “That’s already too formal.”
[Calibration in progress]
“Yeah, yeah,” Ray muttered. “Calibrate.”
The next message came faster, and this time the rhythm landed differently. Blunter. Less padded.
[User condition: injured. Behaviour: impatient. Recommendation: stop pretending you are fine.]
Ray stared, then laughed quietly, surprised by how real it sounded. The grief was still there, heavy and quiet in his chest, but the laugh punched through it clean enough that he felt human again for a heartbeat.
“Okay,” Ray said, still smiling. “That’s closer.”
[Response accepted]
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t get cocky. You’re still a voice in my head.”
A pause.
[Clarify: insult required?]
“No,” Ray said immediately. “Not required.”
[Noted]
Ray pointed at the Crabstone Idol. “Also, you gave me a stone crab with a warning not to feed it. Don’t pretend you’re above personality.”
[Feeding the item will not improve output]
Ray snorted. “You keep saying that like you’re daring me.”
[I am observing you]
He stared for a beat, then clicked his tongue. “Yeah. Fair.”
His stomach growled again, and he decided he might as well eat while the corridor stayed quiet. He scraped the shell plate clean, set down a small piece of crab meat, and fed the idol a thin trickle of mana. Heat rose steady and controlled. Ray added a pinch of salt and pepper and watched the meat change colour, then ate with slow, careful bites, chewing more than he needed to because it gave his mind something simple to do.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
He swallowed, wiped his fingers on his trousers, and looked at the air again.
“While we’re doing preferences,” Ray said, “I’ve got a real question.”
[Query received]
“Why am I here,” he said. “The actual reason. Not the ‘fate’ answer.”
[This location is not random]
Ray narrowed his eyes. “Good.”
He chewed, swallowed, then finally said what had been sitting in his head since the first time he’d heard that sharp clicking echo off stone.
“Also,” he added, voice flat, “why crabs? Crabs fucking suck.”
The pause that followed was long enough that Ray imagined the system blinking at him, which was stupid. It didn’t blink. Still, the silence felt pointed.
[Dungeon ecosystem selection: efficient]
Ray groaned softly. “That’s not an answer.”
[Crabs are efficient corridor predators]
[Behaviour: pinning, disarming, attrition]
[Low mana requirement to maintain population]
Ray stared at the air. “I hate that you’ve got a point.”
[Acknowledged]
He leaned forward, elbows on knees, the humour fading into something sharper. “That’s still not the reason. Why this dungeon. Why me. Why this chest corridor. You didn’t drop me somewhere neutral. You dropped me into a crab blender.”
The quiet that followed felt different. Less like processing. More like choosing.
[This dungeon core is linked to my world-root]
Ray held still. “Your what.”
[World-root]
He let out a slow breath. “Explain it like I’m not a cosmic tree.”
[Acknowledged]
The air prickled faintly, as if the dungeon itself didn’t like the topic. Ray kept his eyes on the corridor mouth anyway.
[A world-root is an anchor structure]
[It maintains continuity of local reality]
[Nodes increase influence and stability]
Ray frowned. “Nodes. Access points.”
[Correct]
“So this dungeon is one of yours,” Ray said. “A node.”
[This dungeon core is a node]
Ray’s throat tightened for a second, then he pushed past it. He’d spent too long being dragged around by forces that didn’t care what he wanted. At least this explanation had shape. A reason you could stab, if you had to.
“And you can act here,” he said.
[Correct]
Ray looked down at his hands, then back up. “If it’s linked to you, why don’t you just take it.”
[I cannot claim the core directly]
“Why.”
[Direct claim violates jurisdiction constraints]
[A host can interact physically]
Ray’s jaw tightened.
“A host,” he repeated.
[You are the host]
He exhaled and let himself laugh once, quietly, because the alternative was anger and anger got messy. “So I’m the bloke you send in to do the dirty work.”
A pause.
[Clarify: ‘dirty work’]
“You know what I mean,” Ray muttered. “So what do you want.”
The response came fast, as if it had been waiting.
[Proposal: clear this dungeon]
[Objective: reach the core chamber]
[Objective: claim the dungeon core]
Ray stared at the lines. “That’s a big ask.”
[Yes]
That made him laugh again, short and genuine. “You’re getting better.”
[Output adjusted: direct]
Ray rubbed his forehead, then looked out into the corridor where his life kept trying to end.
“Alright,” he said. “If I do that, what do I get. Because I’m not doing a cosmic favour out of the goodness of my heart.”
[Mutual benefit available]
Ray’s eyes narrowed. “Try again. In human.”
There was a pause, and when the reply came it felt closer to what he’d asked for.
[Claiming the core grants local authority]
[Stabilises my node]
[Increases your survival]
[Potential: repairs to your interface]
Ray’s gaze snapped to that last line. “Repairs.”
[Partial restoration is possible]
He swallowed. Something in his chest tugged, painful and familiar, the reminder of everything he’d lost and everything he still didn’t understand. He didn’t let it show. He wasn’t ready to crack open that part of himself in a dungeon corridor.
“So you get a foothold,” Ray said slowly, “and I get power, safety, and maybe less broken UI.”
[Correct]
Ray leaned forward. “And I’m not your soldier. No ‘kneel’. No ‘obey’. If we’re doing this, it’s partnership. I don’t take orders.”
The pause that followed was long enough that Ray felt his muscles tighten despite himself. He’d heard too many promises dressed up as choices.
Then:
[Accepted: partnership]
Ray blinked. “That’s it.”
[Terms recorded]
He stared, then shook his head with a quiet laugh. “Okay. That’s… weirdly reasonable.”
[Reason is efficient]
Ray pointed at the idol. “You say that again and I’m feeding the crab.”
[Feeding the item will not improve output]
Ray snorted. “You’re going to make me do it out of spite.”
He pushed himself up, careful with his ribs, and checked the corridor again. Quiet, but he could feel the dungeon waiting, as if it was listening to the conversation and deciding how to respond.
“Alright,” he said, sliding his daggers into his hands and rolling his wrists to loosen them. “If I’m clearing and claiming a dungeon, I need something useful. You’ve been watching. Give me information that matters.”
A brief pause.
[You are limping. Fix it.]
Ray grimaced. “I’m not limping.”
[You are limping.]
He adjusted his gait anyway, annoyed that it helped. “Yeah, yeah.”
He moved out of the recess and down the corridor at a measured pace, eyes tracking stone seams and scrape marks and the faint trails crabs left when they dragged themselves through tight spaces. The elite that escaped last night had left something behind, subtle but real, a smear and a few chipped fragments that suggested it hadn’t run clean.
Ray stopped where the corridor widened slightly and held his breath. A click. Another click, closer. He exhaled and moved, because standing still was how you got surrounded.
Two crabs slipped out of a side passage, both quick. A third followed, heavier, shell layered thicker than it had any right to be. Ray didn’t waste time. He snapped Identify at the heavy one as it stepped forward.
====================================
Identify: Rustshell Crab
====================================
Level: 22
Rank: F
Heavily armoured frontal shell. Prefers defensive stance and counter-grabs. Weak points at underside and rear leg joints.
====================================
Ray’s mouth tightened. “You again.”
[Do not let it grab your weapon]
Ray threw a glance at the empty air. “Thanks.”
[You are welcome]
Ray blinked mid-step. “Was that sarcasm.”
[Uncertain. Calibration continues.]
The smaller crabs darted in low, one aiming for his boot, the other angling up towards his dagger hand. Ray shifted, keeping his feet under him, and stabbed down at the ankle-biter’s inner leg joint. The crab lurched and scraped sideways. He didn’t finish it. He used it to block the second crab’s angle, forcing a hesitation, then stepped into the gap and drove his right dagger under-shell with a fast thrust that ended the fight in a wet shudder.
The rustshell stayed back, pincers high, waiting for the grab. Ray didn’t give it a clean approach. He feinted left, then right, let his shoulders drop as if he were tired and slow, and watched the crab commit.
It lunged.
Ray moved tight to its side, close enough that he could feel the rough grind of its shell plates, and hammered his left dagger into the rear leg joint. The blade sank deeper than it had yesterday. The crab jerked and its pincer snapped down too late, catching air and stone.
[Better]
Ray grunted. “Don’t praise me. It’ll go to my head.”
A beat, then:
[Your head is already a hazard]
Ray nearly laughed, and the rustshell paid for it because he kept moving. He slipped behind the shell ridge and drove the right dagger under the seam with a hard thrust that ended it in a collapse. The last crab tried to skitter away. Ray took it down with one quick cut and listened as silence returned.
He crouched and harvested fast. Shell segments. Joint pieces. Anything that looked usable. His hands moved on habit now, but his head stayed clear. That mattered. He could feel the grief in him still, heavy and quiet, but it wasn’t choking him every second. It sat there like a bruise, hurting when pressed, letting him move the rest of the time.
He stood, wiped his daggers, and glanced down the corridor where the scrape marks thickened.
“Alright,” Ray murmured. “Partner.”
A pause.
[Clarify: partner?]
Ray rolled his eyes. “You. Arkus Gaia. Whatever.”
[Acknowledged]
He shifted his grip and took a step forward, then another. The dungeon clicked once, distant and sharp, and for the first time Ray felt like he wasn’t just reacting to it. He had direction now. A reason. He didn’t love the reason, but he could use it.
A heavier scrape answered from deeper ahead, slow and deliberate, as something big repositioned.
Ray stopped and breathed in through his nose.
“Hey,” he murmured. “You still there?”
No answer.
He frowned and waited a heartbeat, then another.
[Conserving energy. Passive monitoring enabled.]
Ray stared at the message, then huffed a laugh. “Of course you are.”
He flexed his fingers once, feeling the ache in his ribs, the tightness in his forearm, the weight of the daggers in his hands. Alone again, mostly. That was fine. He’d been doing this part on his own the whole time anyway.
“Passive monitoring,” he repeated under his breath. “So you’ll wake up if I’m about to die.”
[Correct.]
Ray rolled his eyes. “Good enough.”
He moved forward into the dark, daggers low, shoulders loose, and let the dungeon fill the silence.
Ray moved slow, not creeping, just measured. The dungeon didn’t reward bravery, it rewarded people who didn’t trip over their own adrenaline. The corridor ahead narrowed again, then bent, stone walls damp enough that the air tasted faintly of salt and metal. He kept the daggers low, shoulders loose, and forced his breathing into an even rhythm. With Arkus Gaia quiet, there was no stream of brackets to lean on. Just the scrape of his boots and the occasional distant click that reminded him the crab population hadn’t signed a peace treaty.
The further he went, the more the dungeon changed its mood. The walls were still rough, still carved like something had chewed through them, but the floor became cleaner. Less shell grit. Less scuff. The cracks along the stone started forming faint patterns, lines that didn’t look natural, almost like heat fractures or old runes worn smooth by time. Ray didn’t touch them. He’d learnt the hard way that curiosity was just another word for stepping on a trap. Instead he watched for signs of movement, listened for the skitter of legs, and followed the subtle shift in air pressure that told him the space ahead was opening up.
A low vibration ran through the stone under his feet, soft enough that he might have missed it if he wasn’t already on edge. It wasn’t the scrape from before. It was deeper. A slow, repeating thrum that felt like something heavy settling, then settling again, as if the dungeon itself had a pulse. Ray stopped at the next bend and waited. No sound of crabs rushing. No sudden ambush. The quiet felt deliberate, like the dungeon was letting him approach under his own power so it could claim the satisfaction of watching him walk into trouble.
He edged around the corner and saw it: the corridor widened into a long stretch that ended in a set of stone doors. Not the rough break-through kind he’d been navigating, but proper doors, fitted into the rock with grooves and a shallow arch. The surface was marked with shallow cuts that resembled shell ridges, layered lines spiralling inward as if whoever made them had decided crabs deserved art. The air near the doors was colder, and the metallic taste sharpened the closer he got. Ray’s grip tightened without him meaning to. Boss rooms had a look. Even in a dungeon that thought a chest deserved a bouncer, the doors gave the same message. This is where you earn it.
Ray stopped a few paces back and rolled his shoulders once, then checked his stance like he was about to step into a ring. He didn’t have the luxury of a pep talk. He didn’t have a team. He had two daggers, a warm stone crab in his pack, and a body that was healing slower than it should because he kept doing stupid things like fighting minibosses for furniture. He let himself grin anyway, small and stubborn, and muttered, “Alright. Last call. If this is another bloody crab with a bigger shell, I’m filing a complaint.”
The thrum from beyond the doors answered him, low and steady, like whatever waited inside didn’t care about his complaints in the slightest.
