CHAPTER 104: CHAPTER 104

"Which is why no one can tell you what to expect," Loki added. "Your trials will be unique to you. Your strengths, your weaknesses, your fears—the dungeon will know them all and use them against you."

Satou felt his mouth go dry. Fighting enemies he could see, plan for, strategize against—that he could handle. But walking into complete unknown, into trials designed specifically to break him?

"The three who succeeded," he said, "what did they have in common?"

Loki and Morgana exchanged glances. Finally, Loki spoke. "They all entered the dungeon with absolute clarity of purpose. They knew exactly why they were there, what they were fighting for, and they never lost sight of that. The dungeon will try to break your will, make you doubt yourself, make you want to give up. Those three never did. They held onto their purpose like a lifeline."

"And the ones who failed?" Satou had to ask.

"Most died," Morgana said bluntly. "Their bodies were never recovered—the dungeon keeps them. Some emerged alive but... broken. Minds shattered by what they experienced. A few activated the emergency exit and were expelled, but they lost levels, lost skills, lost part of themselves. The dungeon doesn’t take kindly to those who give up."

"So the options are: complete it, die, or come out worse than when I went in," Satou summarized.

"Essentially, yes," Loki confirmed. He pulled out a small pile of supplies that Morgana must have been carrying in a spatial storage. "These are for you. Food concentrate pills—each one provides a full day’s nutrition. I’ve given you enough for eighty days, just in case you need more time than expected."

He held up a sword in a plain scabbard. "This is mithril-steel alloy. Far better than that damaged blade you’ve been using. It won’t break easily."

Satou took the sword, drawing it partially. The blade was beautiful—perfectly balanced, sharp, and clearly of much higher quality than his current weapon. "Thank you."

"Healing potions, bandages, flint for fire," Loki continued, gesturing to the other supplies. "Everything you might need for an extended survival situation. And this—" He held up a small crystal that glowed with soft white light. "This is a recording crystal. It will passively document your time in the dungeon. When you emerge, we can review what you faced. Maybe you’ll be the first to actually share information about what’s inside."

Satou secured all the supplies, checking that everything was properly fastened. The weight was significant but manageable. He’d traveled with worse.

"Once you step through that entrance," Morgana said, her voice gentle but firm, "we cannot help you. The dungeon only accepts one challenger at a time. If we tried to enter with you, we’d be rejected—violently. You’ll be completely alone for however long it takes."

"You can still change your mind," Loki said, though his tone suggested he didn’t expect Satou to take that option. "This isn’t the only way to grow stronger. It’s just the fastest and most effective—if you survive."

Satou looked at the yawning darkness of the entrance. Every instinct screamed at him to refuse, to find another path, to not walk into something so obviously dangerous.

But Richard Clay was waiting. A man who’d killed multiple heroes. A man with an ability that killed everything he touched. In one week, Satou would face him, and if Satou wasn’t strong enough, he’d die. His settlement would lose its leader. Lyra would be left alone. Kelvin and Jessica would mourn him. Everything he’d built would be vulnerable.

"I’m going in," Satou said firmly. "I don’t have a choice. If I don’t do this, I die to Richard Clay anyway. At least this way, I have a chance."

Loki studied his face for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Very well. Then I’ll give you the only advice I can: trust yourself. You’ve survived impossible situations before by adapting, by thinking creatively, by refusing to give up. Don’t abandon that just because the challenges get harder."

"And remember why you’re fighting," Morgana added. "When the dungeon tries to break you, hold onto your purpose. Hold onto the people waiting for you to return."

"Lord Satou," Loki said, his tone becoming formal. He bowed slightly—a gesture of respect from one demon lord to another. "May fortune favor you. May your strength prove sufficient. May your will remain unbroken. Return to us victorious, or if the fates demand it, fall with honor. Either way, you’ve already proven yourself worthy of respect."

Morgana bowed as well. "The path ahead is dark, but you carry light within you. Don’t let the shadows extinguish it."

Satou returned their bows, then turned to face the entrance. The massive doorway loomed before him, the darkness within seeming to pulse with each beat of his heart. The green symbols along the frame glowed brighter, as if sensing his approach.

He took a deep breath. Then another. Steadying himself. Preparing mentally for what was to come.

He thought of Lyra’s tearful face as he’d left. Come back to me.

He thought of Kelvin’s desperate plea. You better not die.

He thought of Jessica’s confusion and pain. I just figured out how I feel about you.

He thought of Urgak’s steady confidence. Do what must be done.

He thought of all the goblins and orcs in his settlement, looking to him for leadership, for protection, for a future better than the brutal existence they’d known before.

This was for them. All of them.

Satou started walking toward the entrance.

With each step, the feeling of wrongness intensified. The air grew heavier, pressing down on him like a physical weight. The temperature dropped sharply, his breath misting in front of his face despite being in the mountains during daytime. The symbols on the doorway frame pulsed in rhythm with his footsteps, faster and faster as he approached.

Behind him, he heard Loki speak one final time. "Seventy days, Satou. I’ll be here when you emerge. Either to celebrate your success or to mourn your loss. Don’t make me mourn."

Satou didn’t turn around. Didn’t look back. Looking back would make this harder, would make doubt creep in. He had to move forward. Only forward.