Dungeon Diver Guild Two

The air was filled with the hum of voices, the clinking of armor, and the faint smell of parchment and ink mixed with the metallic tang of weaponry. I made my way to the registration line, where other hopefuls like me waited their turn. Some looked nervous, shifting on their feet, while others appeared confident, their polished weapons and pristine gear marking them as academy attendees.

I stood there, arms crossed, my left arm guard catching a few curious glances. It wasn't uncommon for new divers to wear some form of armor, but mine was an obvious outlier—elegant yet functional, and clearly of a higher quality than what most beginners could afford.

After what felt like 30 minutes of shuffling forward, it was finally my turn. The clerk, a middle-aged man with a no-nonsense demeanor, barely looked up from his ledger as I approached.

"Name?" he asked curtly.

"Kael."

"Age?"

"Fifteen."

"Graduated from the academy?"

"No."

He paused briefly, then nodded without a word. Apparently, it wasn't an uncommon answer.

"Do you practice magia?"

"No," I replied, bracing myself for judgment.

The clerk glanced up at me for a moment, then shrugged. "Not unusual. Most first-timers can't. Though, academy graduates with private lessons often know the basics." His tone was matter-of-fact, devoid of any mockery or pity.

He continued jotting down my information, the scratch of his quill filling the silence.

After awhile the clerk handed me a small iron badge, its surface engraved with my name, ID number, and rank: Iron Diver. I turned it over in my hand, its weight feeling heavier than I expected.

"Wait a second," the clerk said before i turn my back, his tone sharper now as he noticed my puzzled expression. "This your first time registering, right?"

"Yes," I replied.

"Figured. You look like the type who doesn't know how this all works. Listen up, kid, because I'm only explaining this once."

He leaned forward slightly, tapping the counter with his pen for emphasis. "This badge? It's your life now. It tracks your rank and points. Every diver starts at Iron, no exceptions. From there, the ranking system looks like this:

1. Iron

2. Bronze

3. Silver

4. Gold

5. Platinum

6. Diamond

7. Master

8. Grand Master

9. Saint

10. Demi-God

"Your rank isn't just for show—it determines what quests you're allowed to take, what areas of the dungeons you're allowed to enter, and how other divers treat you. Got it?"

I nodded, listening carefully.

"To rank up, you need to earn points. Iron to Silver, that's 500 points per rank. Not too bad, right? But don't get cocky—those points don't come easy. Most of them come from clearing dungeons, completing quests, or selling loot. From Gold to Diamond, it jumps to 1,000 points per rank. And then there's the real grind: Master to Saint, where you'll need 10,000 points per rank. By that point, you'll either be filthy rich, dead, or a legend."

"What about Demi-God?" I asked, curious despite myself.

The clerk's expression darkened. "Demi-God? That's a whole different ballgame. You want to reach Demi-God, you've got to clear one floor of the Red Underworld Dungeon, and you've got to do it alone. No party, no backup, no second chances. That's why there are so few Demi-Gods in the world."

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around the badge. The thought of stepping into the Red Underworld Dungeon at all was terrifying, let alone doing it solo.

"And before you ask," the clerk continued, "there are special tests every three ranks. Think of them as milestones to prove you're ready for the next level. Fail the test? You don't rank up, no matter how many points you've got. Pass it, and you move up in both rank and respect."

He leaned back in his chair, giving me a once-over. "Look, kid, I'm not saying you're hopeless, but this isn't a game. You're at the bottom of the ladder, and the climb is steep. Plenty of people never make it past Bronze. But if you're serious about this, work hard, stay alive, and maybe—just maybe—you'll make something of yourself."

I nodded, feeling a mix of excitement and unease.

"Orientation's in two hours," the clerk reminded me. "Second floor, auditorium C. Don't be late."

As I walked away from the counter, the weight of the badge in my hand seemed even heavier now. The world of dungeon diving was more complex and dangerous than I'd realized, and I was only just stepping into it.

As I made my way to the stairs, something caught my eye—two large boards displayed prominently in the hall, each drawing a crowd of onlookers.

The first board had a steady flow of divers scanning the papers pinned to it. It was the Quest Board. I walked closer, noting the neatly categorized sections based on rank. Each paper detailed a quest:

Monster Kill Quests: Tasks to hunt and kill specific monsters, with point rewards based on the difficulty of the target.

Floor Clear Quests: Missions to clear a designated dungeon floor, often involving a mix of combat and strategy.

Boss Drop Quests: These required obtaining rare materials or items dropped by bosses, something only experienced parties dared to attempt.

Gathering Quests: Focused on collecting specific resources within the dungeons—plants, ores, or other rare materials.

The harder the quest, the more points it awarded, but they were clearly marked by rank. Iron quests were straightforward, mostly monster kills or small material-gathering jobs. I could already see how the higher-ranked missions became increasingly dangerous.

The second board was far less crowded, and for good reason. It was the Bounty Board.

This one was more unsettling. These weren't just quests; they were manhunts. Each pinned paper detailed bounties on Dark Divers—those who murdered other divers inside the dungeons or attacked civilians outside of them. Each bounty listed:

Name (if known).

Weapons or Magia abilities.

Last known location.

Reward—points, money, or sometimes both.

Some notices had incomplete details, the descriptions vague or missing key facts. Others were surprisingly detailed, with sketched likenesses of the target. Most bounties were marked for capture alive, but the word "dispatch" in bold red lettering occasionally stood out—a clear order to kill.

A shiver ran down my spine as I scanned the board. The thought of people turning on one another, even in the already perilous dungeons, made the air feel heavier. I shook off the unease and made a mental note to keep an eye on these boards in the future.

I continued up the stairs to the second floor, keeping an eye out for Auditorium C. The hallways were bustling with other newly registered divers, some in groups, others walking alone like me.

When I finally reached the right door and stepped inside, I was greeted by the sound of chatter. The room was already crowded, with people filling most of the seats. Some were clearly academy graduates, sitting confidently in clusters, their gear polished and their chatter filled with insider knowledge. But the majority, like me, were soloists—divers who hadn't had the luxury of formal training or wealthy families to back them.

I found an empty seat near the back, keeping to myself as I observed the room. There was a tension in the air, a mix of excitement and nervousness as we all waited for the orientation to begin. This was the first step into the dangerous and uncertain world of dungeon diving, and everyone here knew it.

After almost two hours of waiting, the orientation hall was packed with around seventy new divers. The atmosphere was tense but buzzing with anticipation. A coordinator set up a podium at the front of the stage, arranging a few items before stepping aside.

Finally, the door at the side of the stage opened, and a man entered. The room collectively hushed as everyone turned to look.

The man looked to be in his 50s, though his sharp features and youthful vigor suggested he was far younger. I'd heard of this before—Magia practitioners could slow down the aging process. His cheeks were flushed, and his sword still had streaks of blood on it, hinting he had just come straight from the dungeons. His heavy steps carried authority as he made his way to the podium.

He scanned the room with sharp eyes, and we all fell into an expectant silence. Then, in a deep, commanding voice, he began:

"Apologies for my appearance and tardiness. I was informed just an hour ago that I'd be manning this orientation today. I didn't have time to clean up properly, so bear with me."

He paused, letting his words settle before continuing.

"I am Garen, Captain of the 21st Dungeon Attack Team of the Dungeon Diver Guild."

A wave of murmurs swept through the room. I overheard snippets of conversation from the others:

"Captain? That means he must be at least a Master Rank Diver."

"No wonder he looks like he just fought a dungeon boss."

Unfazed by the whispers, Garen pressed on. "I'm not a man of many words, so I'll keep this orientation short. You're here to become divers, and that means there are only three rules you need to drill into your heads. Break them, and you won't last long in this world."

He let the weight of his words hang in the air before continuing.

Rule One

"Do not—ever—kill another diver or steal their loot and gear." His tone turned icy as he paused to unsheathe the massive sword strapped to his back. The blade gleamed menacingly, still wet with fresh blood.

"If you do, you'll be marked as a Dark Diver. And when that happens..." He glanced around the room, his piercing gaze making it feel like he was staring directly at me. "I will personally hunt you down."

The room felt colder. Some shifted uncomfortably in their seats as Garen casually wiped the blood off his sword, his actions methodical and unnerving.

Rule Two

"Unless you are a high-rank diver, do not sneak into the Red Underworld Dungeon." His voice was sharp, each word laced with warning.

"If you're caught trying, your rank will be stripped. And if by some miracle you make it in..." He gave a dry chuckle, sliding his sword back into its sheath. "Well, it doesn't matter. You'll just die in there anyway."

The murmurs returned, quieter this time, but filled with unease. Everyone knew the Red Underworld Dungeon was off-limits to rookies, but hearing it from someone like him made it feel real—like staring at the mouth of a beast you had no hope of surviving.

Rule Three

"And lastly..." Garen's voice dropped, his fiery aura suddenly flaring to life. The temperature in the room spiked as an intense magia radiated from his body, pressing down on everyone like a suffocating wave.

"Like the Guild Master always says: SURVIVE."

The word was sharp and resonant, cutting through the tension in the air. The fiery energy spread across the room, making some audibly gasp. His aura burned bright for a few more seconds before dissipating as quickly as it had come, leaving the room silent and awestruck.

"That's it," Garen said, his tone almost casual now. "Follow these rules, and you might just live long enough to make a name for yourself. Dismissed."

With that, he stepped away from the podium and strode toward the exit. The sound of his heavy boots echoed in the quiet room. No one dared move or speak until he was gone.

And just like that, the orientation was over. I sat there, the weight of Garen's words sinking in. This wasn't just an adventure or a chance to earn money. This was survival—every step forward in this world could be my last.