Chapter 297: The One Born from “Death”

For two days since emerging from “Demon Castle Zero,” Shuna had asked herself…

Why go to Will?

Why return to him after he told her to leave, again and again?

Why fish him out again and again, after he kept falling into traps he himself created, tormented by various women’s twisted affections? Once was okay, twice forgiveable, but three times?!

Indeed, she’d thought about it while wandering in the pure white void of “Will’s memory”—

Let those three women have him. They can’t truly hurt him, right? Let them play with him. Maybe eventually he’ll realize I, the stable one, am best.

But…

The image that haunted her was the Boss she’d faced in Will’s memory. The one who was… her.

He called himself Shu. Black hair, black eyes, like her. Similar moves. Similar aura. Similar eyes.

But they were different. Shuna knew it the moment he tossed that coin, willing to let chance decide everything.

In Shu’s heart, the “Will” that mattered was gone. He’d lost more than a person; he’d lost hope itself. She didn’t know why he existed in Will’s memory, why he was so like her, or if he was out there in the world somewhere now.

But if he was, then he was merely living on the inertia of “loss.”

She didn’t want that.

Too…

Too ugly.

A candle with its wick pulled. A machine with its gears stripped. A rabbit with its heart gouged out. The shell remained, standing as if nothing happened, perhaps even capable of a few steps. But empty inside.

Shuna glanced out the carriage window. The scenery was stark. Winter had arrived, stripping the leaves from even the most perfectly aligned trees. The clean-swept road was bordered by dirty, frozen snow—evidence of a long, heavy snowfall.

Night was falling.

Yes.

After a brief rest, she had decided to go to the Hysterm estate’s annex—the place she’d last seen in Will’s memory. Luckily, it wasn’t too far from the capital, though she’d likely arrive at night.

The man she’d met in Will’s memory—he felt like her “future,” or a version of her that could exist. She wouldn’t become that ugly.

“Still some time. Been a while since I slept… Not sleepy, but maybe I can close my eyes and think.”

Sitting in the carriage, Shuna closed her eyes.

What had Shu gone through? If he was “like” her… Black hair, black eyes, “born” in a dungeon—perhaps a child born in the dungeon, a child who killed the Dungeon Emperor?

Maybe her first memory in this world was the answer—

Like facing her fears in Lucifer’s dungeon, she could easily replay that first memory.

Eyes slowly opening to hands covered in blood, gripping a dagger. Mechanical, detached, swinging at the monster on the ground, again and again. The wounds were so deep, the blood flowed sluggishly.

—Who am I?

—Where am I?

—What am I doing?

She felt her hands slow, regaining control of her body. The strength became that of a 13-year-old girl. The ultimate questions flooded her mind.

But worse than having no answers was the instant presence of answers—

—Kill…

—Kill everything in the dungeon…

—Kill everything of the dungeon you see…

—Go, go, go, good girl.

She picked up the dagger, the tip glinting as her trembling fingers turned it toward her throat.

—Right.

—You are born of the dungeon.

—You are part of the dungeon.

—Do it. Everything in the dungeon must die by your hand.

She obeyed the “answers,” watching the blade tremble. She knew it wasn’t someone else speaking; it was her.

Who am I? —You are a monster born in the dungeon.

Where am I? —You are in the dungeon.

What am I doing? —You are a Godseeker; you must kill dungeon life to progress. Strike.

Smooth, closed-loop answers. Logic riddled with holes, yet terrifyingly self-contained. Thinking back, Shuna never feared the blood or her own ruthless attacks. She feared…

The self who could turn a blade on her own throat, emotionless, utterly detached.

But she hadn’t succeeded. Just as the tip touched her skin, a dungeon-clearing party arrived. Urgent, coincidental. She didn’t remember their faces, only that the leader was a kind-looking man.

They were “good people,” rescuing the enigmatic “orphan” found within the dungeon. They told her she was human—marked by the Godseeker’s symbol, a blessing from the goddess Rievaulx, and free of dungeon magic traces. They’d send her to the Polrol orphanage for a good education. Polrol children could attend Entark Second Academy, becoming skilled dungeon fighters. She could explore dungeons if she wished, but needed a reliable team.

They said many things. Though she didn’t understand why she, born in a dungeon, understood their language, they saw her as “human,” believed in her potential, even planned her future.

“That child… something’s off.”

“Yeah. No records before thirteen years ago. Not from adventurer parents.”

“Are you crazy? What adventurer couple takes a kid into a 50-floor dungeon?! And no bodies?!”

“You’ve got a point. But the kid killed the Boss with a dagger. She might be talented.”

“Sigh. Hope she makes it. Tough start for a kid.”

“Um… excuse me…”

She interrupted the orphanage caretakers. Their eyes held fear—fear of “death.”

“I’m confused…”

“What does it mean… to ‘live’?”

They—the adventurers, the caretakers, the orphanage investor—told her everything about the world outside. Except this one thing everyone seemed to take for granted…

What “death” was, what “living” was.

But…

She understood death. The blade against her throat, closing in—that was death. She feared it, yet longed for it. Was it because her first act was to kill, her second to kill herself? Or was she born for death, for death in the dungeon?

The colorful books they showed her felt meaningless. The toys were just blocks. Nature’s beauty was merely life destined to wither.

She was born of death. Born with the Emperor’s demise. Marked by the Goddess’s blessing, facing her own blade, her first memory was the fear of death. A blank slate, yes—but inscribed with death.

She understood death from birth.

But not “living.”

Not until…

She picked up that help letter.

…

“Miss? Miss?” The coachman’s voice jolted her awake. She opened her eyes, breathing shallowly.

Now, the memory no longer held power. Waking from it was just a breath—back to the self who craved life.

“Are you sure you want to go to the Hysterm estate annex, miss?”

“Yes. I know it’s probably empty. But an old friend asked me to pick something up.”

“Alright. But… I don’t think it’s a good place.”

“Why?”

“We’ve reached the limit. Miss, why don’t you… step out and take a look?”

Shuna stepped down. Before her stood a castle of ice and snow, like something from a child’s fairy tale—or a dungeon. The Hysterm estate, from roof to trees, was buried in thick snow.

It’s winter, of course, she thought. Nothing strange.

But then she saw the clear sky, the bright sun, the melted patches everywhere else.

Only here…

The Hysterm annex and its surroundings remained locked in the grip of a fierce, recent blizzard.

—