My heart was pounding like a drum.
I knew what this phenomenon was.
I'd seen the documentary about the first person to ever survive being trapped inside a dungeon—a man from the U.S.—more times than I could count.
Ten years ago, dungeons appeared all over the world out of nowhere.
Many explorers have challenged them since, and some dungeons have been conquered. But the number of unconquered dungeons doesn't seem to be decreasing.
Why?
Because new dungeons are still appearing.
That said, the number appearing each year is barely in the double digits at most.
They pop up all around the globe, which means the chance of getting caught up in one is lower than winning the lottery.
And yet, I happened to be one of the unlucky few who got wrapped up in the appearance of a dungeon.
…Or at least, that's probably what happened.
"…Am I dead?"
People getting caught in dungeon manifestations is rarer than a lottery win—but still, a few cases happen each year.
And those poor souls—aside from one single exception—either go missing forever or are found in some horrifying state.
That's why the American special forces soldier who survived being trapped in a dungeon when hundreds appeared worldwide ten years ago is still revered to this day.
…Though even he died in a dungeon about three years ago.
"If someone finds the entrance and starts exploring it… maybe they'll reach this area… maybe I'll be saved…"
If someone finds the dungeon entrance, begins exploration, and manages to make it to where I am, I might survive.
But let's be real—that's highly unlikely.
I'm not a special forces soldier.
And I'm unarmed.
Even if I somehow manage to avoid monsters, I'd eventually starve to death.
Wish I had at least brought some CalorieMate or something.
These days, there are established strategies for dungeon exploration, and you can buy specialized weapons and armor at designated stores.
But only eccentric people carry that stuff around in everyday life.
And even then, without a license, carrying such weapons can get you arrested.
Naturally, I don't have anything that could be considered a weapon. The closest I've got is a pen and a mechanical pencil.
…They could maybe scratch someone, maybe.
If I were some manga assassin who could kill with their tongue or leap onto a flying pillar they'd thrown themselves, maybe I'd stand a chance. But I'm just a 100% certified, completely average nobody.
As for that first survivor, the one from the special forces—it's said that the key to his survival wasn't his training or stealth skills, but rather a Skill Book he found by chance inside the dungeon.
A Skill Book is a mysterious item said to grant supernatural abilities to whoever reads it.
Supposedly, there's only one in each dungeon.
The powers vary—some let you breathe fire, others make your skin as tough as steel.
But even in some conquered dungeons, no Skill Book has ever been found, so there's still a lot of mystery around them.
Also, once a Skill Book is used, it vanishes in blue flames, so its power can't be passed on or duplicated.
That first survivor reportedly gained a simple but overwhelming power: superhuman strength.
No wonder he was like a real-life Superman.
…But even if I found a Skill Book and happened to get the exact same power, I doubt I'd make it out alive.
That guy had both a supernatural skill and real-life experience and training. That's how he survived.
"…Of all places, I'm really gonna die in a dungeon?"
Dungeons contain terrifying monsters.
There are creatures that clearly resemble goblins, orcs, and other familiar fantasy enemies.
Some theorize that dungeons are man-made because of that, but that doesn't matter right now.
Goblins or orcs—whatever they are, they're much stronger than any regular human and have tough, durable skin.
No way a pen is going to help against that.
If I run into one by accident, that'll be the end.
There's a path ahead of me.
A clean, straight hallway—as if it's saying, This way, please.
If I don't want to rot away here, I've got no choice but to move forward.
"…Might as well grab a rock or something that could maybe work as a weapon."
Muttering to myself—mostly out of fear—I pulled a rock loose from the wall. It was slightly embedded, but I got it out with a dull pop.
Then—
GOGOGOGOGO—
A deep rumble echoed, and a hidden entrance appeared in the wall where I took the rock from.
"…What?"
Cautiously peering inside, I saw a space about the size of a small room—maybe four tatami mats—and about three meters high.
At its center stood a pedestal made of something like plaster.
On top of it… sat a book.
My heart raced. I murmured softly, trying to calm myself:
"…A Skill Book."
The space, the pedestal—it all matched what I'd seen in the documentary.
Apparently, those reconstructions were spot-on.
Drawn in, I approached the book and picked it up.
It wasn't very thick. About the size of a pamphlet you'd get at city hall.
Could something so flimsy really grant powers? I thought that—but my body was already flipping through the pages on its own.
—I couldn't read the language.
It wasn't Japanese. Not English either.
And yet… somehow, I understood exactly what it said.
The power granted is: Summoning.
Call forth a spirit to fight alongside you.
The book burst into pale blue flames.
Before I could even feel any heat, it vanished completely—without leaving even a speck of ash.
Clearly, it wasn't a normal fire.
But I didn't care about that. I found myself whispering:
"…Summon."
A glowing magic circle appeared on the floor, and particles of light started forming above it.
They gradually took shape—until finally, they became the figure of a person.
A woman.
She had long, pure white hair tied into twin-tails on either side of her head, and skin so pale it was almost translucent.
She wore a simple white dress, completely out of place against the rocky dungeon walls—an image of fragility.
Her sharp, blue eyes stared straight into mine.
She was breathtaking.
No—"breathtaking" didn't begin to describe her. She was so stunning, so ethereal, it felt wrong to try and define her beauty with mere human words.
She looked at me for a long moment… and then softly spoke:
"I see. Pretty average, aren't you?"
…Sorry I'm not more impressive.