Chapter 8: No Dream Importing Part 2

The dungeon was impossibly vast, its end unknowable.

And just as vast as the dungeon were the number of adventurers who delved into it.

With so many people throwing themselves into its depths, it was only natural for friction to arise among them.

“If it weren’t for those bastards—”

“Don’t be ridiculous. This is your fault for getting greedy, you scrawny fool.”

The tension was unfolding right before Soren’s eyes.

He looked on with a sour expression as two warriors squared off.

The whole thing made him deeply uncomfortable.

“You guys are the reason we’re stuck here! Damn it! You think dungeon diving is some kind of joke?!”

“Why is that our fault? Wasting time affects all of us equally, doesn’t it?”

“You dumb barbarian son of a bitch… You know what? You’re right. What about the time we’ve lost because of you? You better take responsibility for that!”

The atmosphere grew increasingly volatile.

Eventually, Karel grabbed a mace studded with iron shards, and the burly warrior from the opposing party snatched up a hand axe.

It was the textbook definition of a powder keg ready to blow.

And Soren, silently watching, couldn’t have felt more awkward.

‘This is probably my fault.’

‘If you got down to it, everyone being dropped into this “no dream import zone” was really because of Soren.’

He carefully scanned the area, trying to read the mood.

A thick air of bloodlust lingered.

No one was calling out Karel on his nonsense, which meant, at the very least, no one realized this was Soren’s doing.

Still, Karel’s party blamed the trio for everything, and the three-man party fiercely denied it.

“I told you not to come in here!”

“We needed a place to rest too, you twig! Don’t run your mouth—think about how to get us out of here instead!”

“Screw you, jackass!”

Karel’s temper matched his sharp looks—nasty to the core.

When he yelled and reached for his shield, his three party members silently followed suit, grabbing their weapons.

The same went for the opposing party.

Soren quickly sized up their combat potential.

‘Hard to say.’

It didn’t take long to reach a conclusion.

The two parties were roughly evenly matched.

The trio was one person short, but the massive warrior at the front was no joke.

With his hulking frame and a tribal tattoo that ran from his shoulder to his temple, it was clear he hailed from a barbarian clan where tattoos denoted lineage.

The two behind him made for a solid combo—a cleric with a shield and flail, and a quiet female rogue loading a crossbow.

The only real variable might be Yerena from Karel’s party.

Soren still didn’t know what he really was.

Was he just a magician flinging magic missiles from the back, or was he something stranger?

But there was one thing Soren was absolutely certain about.

‘I’m the deciding factor.’

The two parties were teetering on a razor’s edge of balance.

Karel’s group had a slight upper hand with the extra headcount—assuming Yerena didn’t throw off the scale.

In that case, the real tiebreaker was Soren joining the fight.

“Hey! Necromancer!”

“…Me?”

“Yeah, you! Looks like we’re stuck here because of these bastards, so get your ass over here!”

Soren blinked at Karel in disbelief.

‘What the hell is this idiot saying?’

It hadn’t even been that long since Karel was ranting about how he didn’t want any unnecessary bloodshed, and now here he was, acting like a guy with early-onset dementia.

Besides, ‘what was Soren even supposed to do if he did side with Karel? Help kill the trio?’

“Uh, excuse me! Necromancer!”

Seeing Soren remain silent, the cleric from the three-person party hastily raised his voice.

“There’s no need for us to fight! It’s better if we all lower our weapons. We’re all just wasting time here!”

Which was basically code for: ‘Can you talk some sense into that lunatic?’

Soren agreed with him, honestly.

He cautiously stepped forward and approached Karel.

“Let’s not. There’s no reason for this to get bloody.”

“……”

“If you really want to fight, go do it outside. I’m not getting dragged into this. And also…”

Soren turned to gesture toward the other side of the room.

Everyone’s eyes followed his hand.

The innkeeper, who had been wiping dishes, was now staring straight at them.

He had even put the dish down, his eyes wide and bulging.

His expression had gone blank, flat as a sheet of paper, and his gaze was downright eerie.

Even Soren felt a chill run down his spine.

[The innkeeper hates damage. Avoid fighting in the main hall at all costs. If the innkeeper gets involved, the outcome won’t be pleasant.]

According to the strategy guide, the innkeeper was described as an unkillable entity.

And this immortal being absolutely loathed brawling inside the inn.

If something broke in the middle of a fight… Soren didn’t even want to imagine what came next.

But one thing was crystal clear—starting a fight here was suicide.

Sensing the same creeping dread, everyone slowly lowered their weapons, their tempers cooling.

“F-Fine. Let’s all get some quiet rest and move on.”

“That sounds… reasonable.”

***

Only after both parties had retreated to opposite ends of the hall did the innkeeper revert to his previously warm demeanor.

Soren and the other adventurers grimaced as they watched him.

A night spent with a bizarre, unkillable entity you didn’t dare provoke?

‘Fantastic.’

Absolutely delightful.

Time ticked on, but no one dared leave the hall.

Soren was no exception.

He thought about going up to rest in one of the rooms, but he feared he might fall asleep the moment he did.

Karel’s party, on the other hand, remained in the hall for a different reason.

‘Something’s not right.’

Soren discreetly studied the two parties from afar.

Karel’s group kept eyeing the trio across the room, sizing them up, while the trio bristled under the scrutiny, clearly on edge.

The atmosphere was tense, but not entirely unwelcome.

At least when your nerves were on high alert, sleepiness was the last thing on your mind.

“Hey. You there.”

Soren, who had been fidgeting to shake off sleep, turned his head at the voice calling out to him.

It came from the trio who had been watching him cautiously from a distance. The priest among them was beckoning.

“…Me?”

“Yes. Could we talk for a moment?”

He was already struggling to stay awake, so Soren figured that a little conversation might help him fight off the drowsiness.

Without hesitation, he walked over.

“What is it?”

“Hmm… Let’s start with introductions. My name is Moss.”

The priest named Moss smiled kindly and extended a hand.

Soren didn’t feel like shaking it.

Anyone showing that much friendliness inside a dungeon always set off alarms in his mind.

Still, after hesitating and eyeing the hand suspiciously, Soren finally took it.

Moss gave his hand a light shake a couple of times before continuing.

“This is Bork. He’s from the Rhino Horn tribe.”

“Good to meet you, kid.”

The one who spoke next was a massive barbarian warrior—so tall that Soren had to crane his neck to look up at him.

Soren’s eyes narrowed with annoyance.

Being called a “kid” right off the bat was irritating, no matter how you looked at it.

“Haha… He’s just like that. Don’t mind him.”

“And this,” Moss continued, “is Loreia, who recently joined our party as a rogue.”

The last introduction was the quiet rogue who hadn’t said a single word the whole time.

With her lower face covered by a mask, Soren couldn’t even get a good look at her face.

Suspicious didn’t even begin to describe her.

When Soren tried to size her up, her uncovered eyes locked with his.

Cool, silvery-gray eyes. If anything, they suited a rogue—nondescript and easy to miss.

“I couldn’t help overhearing… You’re a necromancer, correct?”

“Deril,” Soren replied smoothly.

“Ah, Deril,” Moss repeated, smiling as if nothing was out of the ordinary.

He was fishing for information, but Soren didn’t even blink as he told another lie.

Lying had its own philosophy.

Soren’s was simple: ‘Keep a straight face and stay consistent.’

“Then, Deril—do you know what kind of situation we’re in?”

“Not really.”

His reply was no different.

Sure, he knew what was going on.

He’d read the strategy guide.

“But there was no reason to spill everything to complete strangers.”

“Especially to fellow adventurers.”

“You never knew when they might stick a knife in your back. Whether Moss sensed Soren’s reluctance or not, his smile faded as he spoke with a more serious tone.”

“We’re trapped in an anomaly.”

“Q…”

A soft exclamation slipped from Soren’s lips before he could stop himself.

He knew the truth from reading the guide, but hearing that Moss knew too was unexpected.

“In short, there’s no way out using conventional methods.”

“Do you know how to escape?”

“Not exactly. I only heard bits and pieces. It’s not detailed.”

Every day, countless adventurers threw themselves into dungeons, wagering their meager lives for coin.

Those who returned alive gained experience.

That experience accumulated and helped pave the way for others.

Dungeon knowledge was written in blood.

Its value was greater than gold.

To say he heard it “by chance” meant Moss was either extremely lucky—or hiding something.

Soren gave a slight nod, prompting Moss to continue.

“I do know one thing for sure. You absolutely must not fall asleep here. If you do, the fog outside will consume you.”

That part was a little different from what the guide said, but the core idea matched—don’t sleep.

“And why are you telling me all this?”

There was one thing that still bothered Soren.

‘Valuable information like this—why share it?’

To this, Moss simply shrugged.

“Because we want to work with you, Deril.”

“Work together, huh.”

“We’re capable, but an extra member makes a big difference. If you join forces with us, the others probably won’t try to mess with you.”

‘If Soren joined Moss’s party, they’d have the numbers advantage, and Karel’s group wouldn’t have a reason to pick a fight.’

Soren wasn’t officially part of either side, so it would keep things balanced—no conflict, just a peaceful standoff.

“And why should I trust you?”

Soren wasn’t stupid.

It sounded good on paper, but it all hinged on one thing—Moss keeping his word.

The dead don’t talk.

Just because Moss was a priest didn’t make him trustworthy.

‘If they decided to kill Soren quietly, there’d be nothing he could do about it.’

“Let’s not be so cold. We’re offering protection in return.”

“Protection?”

“Yes. Our attitude toward you will be very different from theirs, especially if we’re working together.”

Moss’s eyes briefly flicked to Karel’s group.

They were sitting in a corner, their dishes pushed aside as they murmured among themselves.

“You think they see you as an ally? Not a chance. You’re probably just a nuisance to them at best.”

Now it started to make sense.

Karel’s party had one more member than Moss’s.

In battle, numbers made a real difference.

That was a gap you couldn’t easily make up for.

Moss’s group had no reason to make an enemy of Soren in this situation.

‘If anything, they were desperate for cooperation.’

But for Karel’s party, Soren was a dangerous variable—especially if they believed his lie about being a necromancer.

They’d rather kill him than let him tip the balance.

‘That variable… is probably me.’

Thanks to his fabricated identity, he had become a potential equalizer.

Karel’s best option might be to recruit him.

‘But their second-best?’ Eliminate him.

“Who would want to team up with people who might stick a blade in their ribs at any moment?”

Soren furrowed his brow.

Moss’s logic was sound.

He wasn’t offering help out of kindness.

It was just a convergence of interests.

“Fine. I’ll cooperate—for now.”

“A wise decision. Let’s do well, Deril.”

“You made the right call, kid.”

Soren’s eyes drifted toward Loreia.

The silent rogue finally opened her mouth, eyes flicking to the innkeeper as she spoke.

“Just for one day.”

A soft, delicate voice.

Even Soren was caught off guard and gave a sheepish nod.

“Yeah. Just one day.”

No more, no less.

Just one day.