I was born in South Korea in the 21st century.
A land where law and order were guaranteed.
A free democratic society without class divisions.
A country whose science and technology could fit a computer in the palm of your hand.
I loved games ever since I was a kid.
That's not a crime.
At least, it shouldn't be enough of a sin to deserve being thrown into a place like this — a monster-infested land riddled with class systems, poverty, and murder.
My name is Dallern.
Well, technically, that's the name of my character — but at this point, it's my name too.
But my real name isn't Dallern.
My real name is...
Knock, knock.
Dallern lifted his head at the sound of someone tapping on the wagon wall.
A mercenary with a scruffy beard and a scar running across his face was peering inside the wagon. He spoke.
"Shift change."
Dallern gave a small nod and began putting away his pen and ink.
Inside the swaying wagon, he rose to his feet naturally, checking his gear with practiced motions.
He tightened the straps of his armor, which had been loosened for comfort, and retied the laces on his boots.
After slipping on his gloves, he checked his shield strapped to his back, the longsword at his left hip, and the axe tucked into his belt.
Once his pen and inkwell were stowed away in his backpack, he folded his unfinished paper twice, slid it into an envelope, and tied it with a thin string.
After a brief pause, he tucked the envelope deep inside his bag, along with his writing tools.
"Phew, it's warm in here. The weather's getting colder by the day."
The bearded mercenary climbed into the wagon just as Dallern finished.
Unlike Dallern, the mercenary had loosened the straps of his armor and plopped down among the scattered cargo with a sigh.
Dallern set his packed bag down in a corner of the wagon and asked,
"Was it quiet?"
"Dead quiet. Didn't even see a single goblin. Guess since we've entered the patrol zone of the Labyrinth City, even the bandits we'd occasionally see down south aren't showing their faces."
The man untied a leather water pouch from his gear and took a swig.
"But it's getting colder out there. Makes sense with winter coming, but after staying in the warm southern regions so long, I'm still not used to it."
The wagon lurched again, rattling its contents. Dallern easily kept his balance amid the shaking.
The mercenary choked on his water, sputtering.
From outside, the caravan driver shouted,
"There! I see Palcion!"
Dallern let out a small sigh and stepped out of the wagon.
"I'll go up. Get some rest."
"Cough! Yeah, sure. Thanks for the hard work!"
Climbing atop the wagon, Dallern found two mercenaries seated — one watching ahead, the other scanning the left flank. One of them greeted him.
"Morning."
Dallern returned the greeting with a slight nod and sat down at the vacant spot on the right — the position the bearded mercenary had been holding.
Clip-clop. Rattle-rattle.
Three supply wagons creaked over the low hill. Eight open carts, drawn by mules, trailed behind them.
Laborers trudged along, each carrying their own load, while fellow mercenaries circled the caravan, guarding its flanks.
This caravan, the Gallios Company, which Dallern had taken an escort job with this time, was fairly large.
Judging by the volume of goods they were transporting, and the fact that they'd hired twenty bronze-rank mercenaries and four silver-ranks for a single northbound journey, the budget spoke for itself.
As was standard for most caravans, they were following one of the relatively safe trade routes towards the city — their destination still barely visible in the distance.
'The Labyrinth City, Palcion.'
Dallern gazed at the distant city walls rising on the horizon.
Palcion was one of the most prosperous cities on this medieval fantasy continent — located dead center on the map. Its reputation was legendary.
The Heart of the Continent.
A city surrounded by seven walls.
A living hall of legends, teeming with heroes and superhumans.
'...And humanity's bulwark against the monsters that rise from the Labyrinth below.'
The seven layered walls stacked around the city radiated overwhelming majesty, even from afar.
More vivid, more breathtaking than any game illustration he had seen. A sight worthy of being called humanity's last fortress.
Dallern found himself lost in thought, staring at it.
'Finally... I've made it.'
Two years.
After two long years trapped in this damned game world, the city that marked the end of the tutorial — the gateway to the main story — was finally before him.
'Two years spent in a tutorial...'
His arduous journey had begun in a remote mountain cabin — the exact same one from the game's opening cutscene.
Two years ago, Dallern had fallen into that cabin with nothing but the clothes on his back — or rather, the body of his game character, Dallern.
Fortunately, he had min-maxed his stats when creating the character. If he hadn't, that cabin might've been both the start and the end of his journey.
The isolated mountain where the cabin sat was crawling with wildcats, wolves, and even bears.
Still, he'd played the game dozens of times, so he was familiar with the early stages.
Relying on his superhuman physical abilities, he somehow made it down to a village, then moved on to a larger town, and finally set out for the city.
Just like in the tutorial, he worked a few odd mercenary jobs as an unregistered fighter until the Mercenary Guild issued him a bronze badge.
But reality wasn't like the game.
In the game, getting the bronze badge marked the end of the tutorial.
You'd run a few errands, get into a couple of fights to get used to the combat system — then move straight to the Labyrinth City to start the real story.
But here, he'd had to handle every step from that point on entirely on his own.
'I spent a whole year at the bottom.'
After receiving his bronze badge, he worked mercenary jobs for about a year. Thanks to his inhuman strength and endurance, he built up a decent track record and earned a silver badge.
Then, six months ago, he spent all his savings to equip himself properly with armor and weapons, setting out on the journey to Palcion — the city where the main story began.
"Man, even from a distance, that's one hell of a sight."
One of the mercenaries — a man half-bald — opened his mouth.
"Last time I was there, I spent a few nights with a girl who put on an even better show in bed. What was that place called again?"
"I'm not into brothels. I'm more interested in winning back the money I lost last time. I've been saving a silver coin from every job just for this moment. I'm going to win it all back — double."
Gambling, huh. Even riskier than brothel girls.
Dallern's journey, which had begun six months ago, hadn't exactly been smooth.
The real danger wasn't monsters — it was people. Especially the kind who fought with cards and wooden chips instead of swords.
'Damn it. In the game, gambling was an easy way to make money...'
Back in a mid-sized town, Dallern had nearly gotten himself thrown in jail after slicing off a crooked dealer's hand at a gambling den. It was only by bribing the village elders with the last of his fortune that he managed to escape.
And it was the Gallios Company, passing through that very village, who hired the broke and battered Dallern.
'Anyway, I made it. I survived.'
Sitting atop the wagon, a gentle breeze brushing past him, Dallern half-listened to the mercenaries' idle chatter as he sank once more into thought.
The Labyrinth City, Palcion — a colossal city housing millions.
And the only safe path down into the underground Labyrinth.
A place where one could descend into the depths without being swarmed by monsters — and the only route to extract the countless treasures buried within.
'And according to the game lore... there's a treasure at the very bottom worth more than anything else in the world.'
In the ancient depths...
"I've never gotten my hands on one — not even once."
That was thanks to the damn near impossible difficulty. He'd either died before reaching it, or the world had ended first.
But now... now he had no choice but to get one.
If the Stone of Wishes was real, it might just be his ticket back to Earth.
And if it wasn't?
Dallern shook his head.
No point convincing himself it was sour grapes before he'd even tried.
Whether he got the Stone or not, one thing was certain — if he wanted to survive, he had to head down into the Labyrinth.
"Status window."
――――――――
Name: Dallern
Level: 4
[Strength: 22] [Dexterity: 11] [Endurance: 11]
[Senses: 13] [Intelligence: 18] [Mana: 8]
Skills: -
――――――――
There was only one reason Dallern had managed to survive in this world — his body.
Strengthened beyond reason by the status window's power and the bonus stats it provided, he was a walking monster.
His body had already been powerful to begin with, but over the last two years, he'd leveled up three times, growing even stronger. Goblins and orcs roaming the roads didn't even register as threats anymore.
Of course, the Labyrinth was full of creatures stronger than goblins and orcs. But the stronger the enemy, the more experience you earned.
And when he leveled up, this already superhuman body of his would only grow stronger.
"In this brutal world, that's the only way to survive."
It wasn't just a figure of speech.
This world was brutal now — but it was only going to get worse.
Dallern knew that better than anyone. After all, he was the only one here who'd played the game before.
"Hey, brother! Come on, why don't you try your luck? Heard you lost everything at the gambling hall — gotta win it back somehow!"
"...I'm good."
For now, he was flat broke — struggling to worry about tomorrow's stew, let alone some wish-granting stone or the end of the world.
Making money came first.
"C'mon, that's how it starts for everyone! Lose it all, win it back, lose it again! That's life!"
"I said I'm good."
And he meant it — he wasn't stepping foot in that gambling hall again.
By the time he arrived in Falcion, the sun was already setting.
After a quick inspection at the bronze city gates, the merchant caravan made its way to an inn near the Merchant Guild, where they settled accounts with the mercenaries.
"Here you go, Dallern. Fifteen silver. And the pouch — that's a bonus."
Dallern raised an eyebrow as he accepted the clinking pouch from the caravan leader.
"I thought my pay was ten silver? I joined halfway through, so we agreed on a reduced rate."
"Think of the rest as a bonus."
"A bonus this big?"
The caravan leader twitched his impressive mustache with a grin.
"Let's call it an investment. Gotta build some goodwill with the warrior who can tear a goblin in half with his bare hands. A man like you isn't likely to take up caravan guard work very often."
Maybe. If he got desperate enough, he'd do it again tomorrow.
Of course, Dallern didn't say that out loud. Five extra silver coins were more than enough to buy his silence.
The caravan leader clapped him on the shoulder with a hearty laugh.
"You're gonna be a great warrior, Dallern — I can feel it! Falcion's full of superhuman freaks, but in a few years, you'll be standing shoulder-to-shoulder with them!"
Realizing he was getting carried away, the caravan leader cleared his throat and offered a hand.
"When that day comes, don't forget me — Volkmar Gallios. We fought our way through a monster-infested forest together, after all."
Monsters infested with goblins and a few orcs, sure. Dallern doubted this seasoned merchant actually believed his own flattery.
But money was innocent of all sins.
"Of course."
Dallern shook the man's hand.
"Ha! I knew I wasn't wrong about you! See you around, Dallern of the North!"
Leaving those words behind, the caravan leader stepped out of the inn.
Thud.
The door closed behind him, drowning in the noise of the bustling inn.
Dallern sat alone at the table.
The other silver-rank mercenaries had already collected their pay and left for their respective companies. It was rare for a mercenary to work solo like Dallern.
"One more beer."
Catching a passing server, Dallern ordered another drink, then quietly scanned the inn.
The first floor tavern was large and packed, every table noisy with conversation.
Finishing his beer, Dallern finally rose from his seat.
By now, it was fully night outside. But the main street was still lively, lit by torches strung along the way.
Dallern let out a quiet sigh and turned down a side alley.
Step. Step.
The streets grew narrower and more twisted.
The paving stones gave way to dirt roads, and the torches grew fewer.
So did the people.
And the ones who remained... didn't look particularly normal.
He ignored a loitering thug eyeing him from a distance. Stepped past a woman mumbling to herself and scratching at the wall. A few others approached him with predatory grins — but upon seeing his size, his armor, the sword at his waist, and the shield on his back, they slunk away without a word.
After about ten more minutes of walking, Dallern finally found it — a shabby little inn.
Creak, creak.
Its sign hung crooked, creaking in the wind. The door was rotting, full of holes.
Compared to the inn where he'd gotten paid, it was downright pathetic.
But without hesitation, Dallern stepped inside.
"—So I tied the bastard to a post and just—"
"Fuck this shit world! Burn it all to hell!"
"Well, well, I don't recognize you, darling. How about we spend the night together?"
The thick, humid air hit him in the face.
Every one of Dallern's sharpened senses was bombarded with stimuli.
The stink of cheap liquor. The roar of laughter and shouting. The foul stench unique to the slums, barely masked by cheap perfume. People half out of their minds on gods-know-what, babbling nonsense.
Finally... he found it.
Amid all that chaos, he saw what he'd been looking for.
A corpse.
A body lying in a pool of blood, riddled with wounds and stabbed in the back with a dagger.
[You have discovered the Corpse of a Fallen Mercenary.]
[TIP: Recovering the corpse will allow you to inherit a portion of its stats, skills, and items.]
That was the corpse of his old character — the avatar he'd once controlled back when this world was just a game.