A Hidden Dungeon

Chris groaned as he regained consciousness, his body aching all over. His head pounded, and when he tried to move his arms, a sharp jolt of metal against his wrists told him all he needed to know.

Shackles.

His eyes fluttered open. The dim, rattling interior of a wooden caravan greeted him, along with the scent of unwashed bodies, sweat, and something even worse.

For a moment, he didn't move. His mind was still piecing things together. The dungeon. The girl. The monster.

The punch.

His eye twitched.

"I wanted to own a slave, not become one," he muttered, his voice dripping with irritation.

Just his luck. He had dreamt of coming to another world, of building a harem with beautiful girls, of enjoying the easy life of a fantasy protagonist. And yet here he was—chained up in a slave caravan like some disposable extra.

This world was already testing his patience.

Chris exhaled sharply and took in his surroundings. Other slaves sat slumped against the wooden walls of the caravan, their faces hollow and defeated. Like him, they were shackled, wrists bound by thick iron cuffs attached to the cart itself.

Outside, the slavers barked orders as the caravan moved, their voices harsh and impatient. Chris could hear the clinking of coin purses, the occasional crack of a whip.

Then—something changed.

A scream.

It was distant at first, but then another followed, closer this time. The horses neighed in panic. The slavers started shouting.

Chris sat up.

Something was happening.

Then—

A monstrous roar tore through the air.

The caravan came to an abrupt stop. The sounds of clashing steel and panicked cries filled the night.

Chris's pulse quickened. The guards were under attack.

A few agonizing moments passed. Then, another roar—closer this time. It was followed by the sound of men running, their footsteps frantic.

Chris turned his head just in time to see it—

The slavers, the same men who had taken them captive, were fleeing.

They abandoned the slaves, sprinting into the forest with terror written all over their faces. They didn't even try to fight.

And the monster? It didn't care about the slaves. It went after the ones running first.

Chris exhaled sharply.

This was his chance.

But there was a problem.

Even with the slavers gone, he was still chained up. And there was no way in hell he was waiting around for that monster to finish its hunt and come back.

His eyes darted to the ground outside the caravan. And then he saw it—

The keys.

One of the slavers must have dropped them in the chaos. They lay just outside the bars, barely out of reach.

Chris turned to the nearest slave, a young man with a terrified expression.

"You," Chris whispered. "The keys. Get them."

The man gave him a bewildered look.

Chris rolled his eyes. "With your mouth."

The man hesitated, but then another distant roar echoed through the forest. Without another word, he awkwardly leaned forward, stretching his neck through the bars.

He grunted, struggling for a few seconds before finally clamping his teeth around the keyring.

Chris's heart pounded as the man turned back, his shackled hands preventing him from doing anything else.

"Now unlock me," Chris ordered.

The slave hesitated again.

Chris gave him a flat look. "Do you want to be free or not?"

That got him moving. The man leaned forward, awkwardly maneuvering the key into Chris's shackles. It took a few tries, but then—

Click.

Chris yanked his hands free the moment the cuffs unlocked.

"Good," he muttered. "Now, let's get the rest."

He grabbed the keys from the man's mouth, quickly unlocking the others. The second they were all free, Chris stepped out of the caravan, scanning the area.

The monster was nowhere in sight.

Good.

That meant he had time.

His eyes flicked to the abandoned supplies, the coin pouches left behind by the fleeing slavers.

A smirk crossed his face.

"Well, it'd be a waste to leave all this behind."

Chris moved quickly, snatching up everything of value. Weapons, food, gold—anything useful.

Then, something unusual caught his eye.

A small, unassuming pouch among the loot. It looked ordinary, but when he opened it, he noticed something strange—no matter how much he put inside, it never filled up.

His smirk widened.

A storage artifact.

Jackpot.

Without hesitation, he started stuffing everything into it, watching as the items simply disappeared inside. Even after he'd loaded most of the valuables, the pouch still looked as flat and light as before.

This was the kind of cheat item every protagonist deserved.

Once he had taken everything he could, he turned back to the other slaves.

"Run," he told them. "That thing could come back any second."

They didn't need to be told twice. The moment he said it, they bolted into the forest.

Chris, however, had another plan.

He needed a place to hide.

His eyes landed on a nearby cave, its entrance dark and uninviting.

Perfect.

Without hesitation, he sprinted toward it, ducking inside just as another monstrous roar echoed in the distance.

For a brief moment, he allowed himself to relax.

And then—

The ground beneath him crumbled.

His body lurched downward.

He barely had time to scream before he was swallowed by the darkness below.

Chris's breathing was ragged as he stumbled through the dark, damp corridor of the dungeon. The air was thick with the scent of mold and something ancient, something long forgotten. The dim glow of the moss-covered walls barely illuminated his path, casting eerie shadows that flickered with each step.

He had no idea where he was, only that this place was far below the surface. The fall that had brought him here should have broken his bones, yet somehow, he had landed with nothing more than a sore body and a bruised ego.

Ahead, the corridor widened into a vast chamber. Chris's eyes darted around, taking in the sight—stone pillars stretched to the ceiling, and at the center stood a massive, ominous door covered in intricate carvings. The moment he stepped closer, the air grew colder, heavier.

Then, the door creaked open on its own.

"Oh, shit!"

Chris barely had time to react before the dungeon guardian lunged. It was massive—at least twice his height, with thick, jagged armor covering its entire body. The creature's glowing red eyes locked onto him like a predator eyeing its prey.

The beast struck first. Chris dodged to the side, but even the shockwave from the attack sent him stumbling. Before he could recover, the guardian slammed a fist into his stomach. Pain exploded through his body as he was launched backward, crashing into the cavern wall. His vision blurred.

'Shit… this thing is a monster.'

Chris barely got to his feet before the beast came again. He needed a weapon. His hand shot into his pouch, and he imagined grabbing a dagger. He felt cold steel and yanked it out just in time to raise it against the beast's next strike. The impact nearly dislocated his arm, but the dagger managed to leave a faint scratch on the creature's hide.

It wasn't enough.

Chris dodged again, rolling out of the way of another devastating attack. His heart pounded. He needed something stronger. His hand went back into the pouch. He imagined a potion—any potion—and pulled out a crimson vial. No time to think. He popped the cork with his teeth and downed the contents.

Fire spread through his veins. His muscles tensed, his exhaustion faded, and his senses sharpened. A strength potion!

Chris charged forward, dagger in hand, and swung with all his might. This time, the blade cut deeper, drawing dark, oozing blood. The guardian roared in fury.

It retaliated. Chris barely ducked under a swipe that could've taken his head clean off. He countered, stabbing at the exposed flesh between its armor. The beast howled, but it wasn't enough to slow it down.

"I need more!"

Chris reached into his pouch again, pulling out a second weapon—this time, a short sword. He adjusted his stance, his mind racing. 'Speed. I need to be faster.' He yanked out another vial, chugging it down. His body responded instantly. The world around him seemed to slow down as his reflexes heightened.

Now, he could keep up.

Chris dodged another attack, rolling to the side and slashing at the beast's leg. The cut was deep this time, forcing the creature to stagger. Chris didn't let up. He struck again and again, each blow chipping away at its thick hide.

Then the beast did something unexpected.

It opened its mouth and roared—but not just any roar. The sheer force sent out a shockwave that shattered stone and threw Chris off his feet. His back hit the ground hard, the air knocked from his lungs. He gasped, trying to get up, but the beast was already above him, claws raised for the killing blow.

Chris yanked out one last item from his pouch.

A smoke bomb.

With the last of his strength, he slammed it against the ground. A thick, choking fog filled the air, blinding both him and the guardian. Chris crawled away, coughing violently, barely managing to stay conscious. His vision swam. His body felt like it had been crushed under a boulder.

The guardian thrashed wildly in the smoke, unable to see its target. Chris clutched his sword, using it to pull himself up. He could barely stand. He was running on fumes.

One last chance.

As the smoke cleared, the guardian spotted him again. It lunged. Chris met its charge head-on, putting everything into one final strike. His blade pierced through the creature's exposed chest, sinking all the way to the hilt.

The beast let out a strangled howl before collapsing.

Chris fell to his knees, gasping for air. Every muscle in his body screamed in pain. His vision blurred. He had won. Barely.

Then the ground rumbled.

A hidden door at the back of the dungeon slid open with a deep, echoing groan. Chris turned his head, too weak to even react. Beyond the door, a grand chamber was revealed. At the center sat a throne—and on it, the skeletal remains of a man draped in decayed robes.

A book rested in one hand. A letter in the other.

Chris swallowed hard.

"What the hell is this place…?"