The Trauma Dungeon Expedition

I Accidentally Became the Guild's Therapist

Chapter 25: The Trauma Dungeon Expedition

Livia Marcelline Quinn, Mental Architect Lv. 1, stood before the newest dungeon portal that shimmered with an eerie lavender mist and glitchy static. The air around it felt strangely heavy, almost… expectant. The system called it Echo Cavern, but players, with their penchant for dramatic flair, had already started calling it by a more ominous nickname: The Dungeon of Hurtful Echoes. Apparently, each floor didn't just contain enemies or puzzles. It contained... memories. Specifically, fragments of the deepest, most uncomfortable traumas of whoever stepped inside.

"You know," Nyx Shadowmint muttered, clutching his Hello Kitty flashlight like a sacred artifact, its pink glow struggling against the dungeon's violet aura, "I signed up to stab goblins in the dark. Not relive my middle school trauma." His hood was pulled low, but Livia could sense the tremor in his voice, the nervous energy radiating from him like heat.

"Technically, Nyx," Alaric smirked, spinning his favorite dice in one hand, their polished surfaces reflecting the eerie light, "You did stab your trauma when we walked into that last room and it manifested as your third-grade math teacher. She did have a surprisingly low defense stat for a boss." He nudged Nyx with his foot.

"She threw blackboard erasers like shuriken, Alaric!" Nyx cried, his voice hitting a surprisingly high pitch for a Ghost Rogue. "And her debuffs were 'unrelenting humiliation'!"

Glimmer, the sentient slime, jiggled nervously at their feet, its runes pulsing in gentle sympathy, leaving a faint trail of sparkly, anxious goo. Livia offered a small, weary smile and adjusted the Therapist's Log hanging from her hip. Her golden-trimmed robe, a silent testament to her Inner Rebirth and ascended Mental Architect class, shimmered faintly with inner light, but its hem was now marked with ink stains and stress creases that no system patch could fix. This wasn't just another dungeon run for legendary loot or EXP. This was... personal. Terrifyingly, intimately personal.

Her Mental Defense +10 was working overtime, trying to filter out the waves of anxiety rolling off the guild. Even Bron, the usually unflappable Immortal Wall, looked unusually somber, his massive shield reflecting the faint violet glow of the portal like a troubled mirror.

"Okay team," Livia said, her voice steady but soft, cutting through the low hum of the dungeon entrance. She felt the heavy responsibility of her new class, the weight of their collective emotional baggage. "Echo Cavern isn't about brute force. It runs on emotional imprinting. Each floor is tuned to one of us, specifically to our deepest fears or regrets. We're not just fighting bosses or clearing rooms. We're confronting echoes of our own pasts." She looked at each of them, her gaze lingering. She couldn't use her Empathic Insight anymore, but she remembered enough of their traumas from previous sessions to know what awaited them.

Bron nodded solemnly, his gaze distant, lost in thought. "So, Buffer," he boomed, pulling Livia abruptly from her thoughts, "what happens when we reach your floor? Will it be full of angry professors and stale croissants?" His attempt at levity felt forced, a clumsy attempt to lighten the mood.

Livia hesitated, a cold knot forming in her stomach. Her HUD flickered, a faint red warning she couldn't quite decipher, as if the system itself was anticipating her trauma. "...We'll deal with that if we get there," she murmured, a promise she wasn't sure she could keep.

With a final collective gulp (and a terrified jiggle from Glimmer), the party stepped into the portal.

FLOOR 1: BRON – The Weight of Command

The party stepped out of the portal and into a war-scarred battlefield. Not a clean, pixelated warzone, but a landscape that reeked of ash and regret. Craters littered the scorched earth like pockmarks on a forgotten face, banners torn and tattered like old bandages. The air was thick with the faint, ghostly sound of clashing swords and distant cries, echoing from invisible specters of conflict.

A low, somber battle anthem, the kind that plays just before a devastating defeat, looped faintly in the background, a new glitch in the dungeon's usual music.

In the center of the devastated plain, a younger version of Bron stood. He was smaller, less armored, his face etched with a desperate, youthful intensity. He shouted orders to a squad of pixelated NPC soldiers, his voice cracking with a fear that Livia could almost feel, even without her Empathic Insight. An NPC foot soldier, a mere shadow, cried out, pixelated blood spraying across the ground as he fell. The younger Bron froze, his eyes wide with horror, a moment of indecision that haunted his present self. Livia could feel it in the air—the crushing shame, the immense weight of decisions made too late, the indelible mark of a failure that defined his path to "Immortal Wall."

"I let them fall," Bron whispered, his massive shield, usually so steady, trembling faintly. The battle anthem swelled, as if to mock him. "I thought leading meant never doubting. Never showing weakness. Just pushing forward, no matter the cost."

Livia stepped forward, her golden robe shimmering against the desolate landscape. She placed a hand on his armored shoulder, the metal cold beneath her touch, but she focused on the man inside. "Bron," she said, her voice soft but firm, a stark contrast to the battlefield's clamor. "Leading means accepting you're human first. It means understanding that doubt isn't weakness, it's awareness. Even paladins bleed. Even immortal walls can crack under the weight of regret." She met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting the quiet strength she now embodied as a Mental Architect.

The illusion shimmered, fractured like a breaking mirror. The desolate battlefield began to dissolve. The first boss materialized—an armored phantom made not of steel or mana, but of tattered, broken command flags, each fluttering fragment a symbol of a shattered order, of lives lost to a moment of hesitation. It let out a final, pained cry that sounded suspiciously like a frustrated system error before it disintegrated into dust.

[Achievement Unlocked: Trauma Level 1 Cleared - "Commander Cracked"]

The system's triumphant chime was almost ironic.

FLOOR 2: PHINA – The Unopened Door

The portal to the second floor dissolved behind them, revealing a scene bathed in the soft, melancholic light of a perpetual sunset. It was a humble cottage, nestled amidst overgrown wildflowers, the air thick with the nostalgic scent of rain and forgotten dreams. Inside, through a shimmering, translucent wall, they could see a young girl—a pixelated, smaller version of Phina—sitting alone, surrounded by stacks of ancient, dusty books. A jiggling baby slime, no bigger than Livia's thumb, rested on her knee, its tiny form glowing faintly. The scene was picturesque, but overwhelmingly, Livia felt the chill of profound loneliness.

"My parents left to become wanderers," Phina said quietly, her voice devoid of its usual poetic flourish, tinged with a raw vulnerability. Glimmer, who had been riding on her shoulder, detached itself and zipped towards the glowing projection of the baby slime, jiggling with what looked like concern. "They said magic would find me, that I had a destiny beyond these four walls. But they never came back. So... I found Glimmer. He was the only one who stayed." Her gaze lingered on the projected cottage, a lifetime of unanswered questions hanging in the air.

As her words faded, the room darkened subtly.

A grotesque shadow creature began to emerge from the far wall, not clawing or roaring, but silently unfolding. It was shaped like a massive, rusted, eternally closed door, its surface etched with swirling runes of despair. Its presence choked the air, radiating an oppressive sense of abandonment.

"They never opened the door again," Phina whispered, her voice trembling, her powerful Eldritch magic strangely inert in the face of this emotional specter.

Livia stepped in front of the looming door-beast, her golden robe shimmering faintly. She knew what this truly represented. "Phina," Livia said, her voice resonating with a quiet authority that transcended the absence of her Empathic Insight. "They may have closed a door on you. But you didn't stay locked out. You opened your own doors. You chose to find your own magic, your own family. You chose to love Glimmer, and he chose to stay by your side. That's real magic, Phina. Stronger than any spell they could ever cast."

Glimmer, sensing Livia's conviction, pulsed with a sudden, brilliant glow, an ethereal beacon that seemed to gather all the ambient magic in the room. The door-beast shrieked, a sound like grinding metal, then began to dissolve, unable to withstand the pure, unadulterated light of chosen love and acceptance. It evaporated into dust.

[Achievement Unlocked: Trauma Level 2 Cleared - "Open the Door"]

Another triumphant system chime.

Livia noted the detail in the corner of her vision, a subtle flicker in her HUD, indicating the dungeon was tracking their emotional breakthroughs.

FLOOR 3: NYX – The Unseen Prison

The next portal opened into total, suffocating darkness. Not just the dimness of a dungeon, but an absolute, impenetrable void that pressed in on all sides. Livia had never seen Nyx stand still this long; the usually twitchy rogue was rigid, his entire body trembling. His Hello Kitty flashlight, usually a source of comfort, now seemed pitifully small, a fragile pink glow lost in an infinite blackness.

"I was locked in a broom closet as a prank," Nyx mumbled, his voice thin and small, like a child's. "I was seven. My classmates thought it was funny.

I didn't scream. Screaming didn't help. Nobody heard me."

From the depths of the darkness, distorted whispers began to echo, growing louder: disembodied, chilling shadows of laughing children, their voices cruel and taunting.

A thousand phantom flashlight beams flickered erratically in the blackness, not providing light, but illuminating fleeting images of his terrified, trapped younger self, like cruel, mocking stars.

"I carry this thing so I always have light," he said, raising the Hello Kitty flashlight, its beam trembling almost as much as his hands. "But I still dream about that darkness. It follows me. Even when I'm assassinating Level 99 bosses, I'm still just that kid in the closet."

Livia, despite her own discomfort in the oppressive darkness, gently reached out and touched his hand, her fingers closing over his clammy grip. She couldn't use Verbal Hug, but she focused all her Mental Architect resolve into her touch. "Nyx," she said softly, her voice a calm anchor in the echoing whispers. "You're not alone anymore. That darkness... it's a memory. But it's not you. Even if the world goes dark, even if your flashlight flickers out, someone's always holding the light with you. Someone's always there, just outside the closet door." She squeezed his hand gently, a silent promise.

Nyx's Hello Kitty light, which had been flickering wildly, suddenly flared with an impossible, steady pink glow, banishing the phantom flashlight beams. The taunting whispers of the shadow-children shrieked and recoiled, dissipating like smoke into the oppressive blackness. The walls of the dark realm began to recede, replaced by the familiar stone walls of the dungeon.

[Achievement Unlocked: Trauma Level 3 Cleared - "Shadowlocker"]

The triumphant chime resonated, the pink glow of Nyx's flashlight now steady and comforting.

FLOOR 4: LIVIA – The Echo of Failure

The portal to the fourth floor appeared on its own, shimmering not with the dungeon's usual violet mist, but with a blinding, accusing golden light. It wasn't ethereal or dreamlike; it was sickeningly familiar. The door itself was old, wooden, and distinctly ordinary, but it was golden and visibly cracked, etched with familiar, crooked, hastily scribbled letters: "LIVIA: DO NOT ENTER." It was the same handwriting as her own panicked notes in the Therapist's Log.

Bron looked at her, his usual booming voice hushed. "Buffer. You don't have to go in. We can fight it from here." His shield was low, a gesture of quiet support.

"I do," she whispered, her throat dry. She recognized that door. It was the door to her own, most guarded failures. The invisible countdown she'd sensed in the "world of code" felt closer now, pressing in on her.

She pushed the door open, revealing a meticulously recreated lecture hall. The rows of empty chairs seemed to stretch endlessly, accusingly. A massive holographic screen at the front, usually displaying complex spell formulas or raid strategies, now flashed a single, horrifying phrase in glaring, judgmental red text:

CRITICAL FAILURE. GPA BELOW MINIMUM. GRADUATION REVOKED. YOUR WORK: A CRY FOR HELP IN TIMES NEW ROMAN.

A pixelated, trembling version of herself stood at the podium, smaller, more fragile, her shoulders slumped in defeat. In her hand? A broken Therapist's Log, its pages blank, its purpose meaningless. And behind her, materializing like a phantom, stood her old professor, a towering figure of academic disdain. His voice, perfectly recreated by the dungeon, boomed, "A cry for help in Times New Roman, Miss Quinn! Utterly pathetic! You're a disappointment!" The words, once just a memory, now echoed with amplified cruelty, tearing at her very core.

Livia fell to her knees, clutching her head, tears streaming down her face. Her Mental Defense +10 was useless here; this was self-inflicted pain. "I tried so hard," she sobbed, her voice raw. "I just wanted... to matter. To be enough. To not be a failure." The feeling of worthlessness, the crushing weight of her parents' unspoken disappointment, the endless cycle of falling short—it all crashed over her.

But then, a warmth bloomed beside her.

Bron, defying the holographic barriers of her trauma, knelt beside her, his massive, armored hand gently resting on her trembling shoulder. He didn't speak. He just stayed.

Phina, elegant even in this spectral hall of horrors, floated beside her, and gently, tenderly, hugged Livia, her shimmering robes a soft comfort against Livia's face. "You do matter," she whispered, her voice surprisingly firm, "more than any grade or degree."

Nyx Shadowmint, with a rare, bold move, stepped directly into the accusing light of the holographic screen and handed Livia his Hello Kitty flashlight. Its steady pink glow, a beacon against his own darkness, now shone for her, pushing back the shadows of her despair. He didn't say anything, but his presence was a loud declaration of companionship.

And then, Alaric appeared. His eyes, clear and serious, met hers. He remembered. The bond, fractured, was still there, somehow reforged by his own journey through his faith. "You matter, Livia," he said, his voice quiet but utterly sincere, completely sober. "Not because of titles or stats or grades. Not because some system tells you to. But because you stayed. Because you listened. Because you made us all feel... less alone."

Livia looked at them—at Bron, Phina, Nyx, Alaric. The world's most chaotic guild, her absurd found family. They saw her, not as a bug, not as a waifu, but as someone essential. The professor's booming voice faded. The "CRITICAL FAILURE" text on the screen began to crack.

She stood. Her Therapist's Log, which had been broken in the illusion, reformed in her hand, its pages now shimmering faintly with golden light, no longer blank, but filled with the silent stories of her guild. Her golden robe, the symbol of her Mental Architect class, flared with a blinding, radiant light that filled the lecture hall, banishing the phantom professor and the accusing text.

[Achievement Unlocked: Trauma Level 4 Cleared - "Self-Acknowledged"]

The system's chime was not ironic this time.

It was a clear, unambiguous triumph.

As they exited the dungeon, the party was silent, thoughtful. The usual chaos of the main hub seemed muted, almost peaceful. The members of Bloodbath & Beyond looked at Livia differently now, their expressions a mix of awe, understanding, and profound respect. They had seen her most vulnerable moment, and they had stayed.

Livia looked at her team. Her friends. Bron, who now understood that leadership didn't mean perfection. Phina, who found her magic in love, not abandonment. Nyx, who faced the darkness with a steady light. Alaric, who grappled with faith and self-acceptance.

And for the first time since she'd entered this absurd game world, since she'd been reduced to a "Mental Supporter Lv. 1," since she'd learned of her bizarre existence as an anomaly, since her skills had vanished, since she'd confronted her own deepest fears...

She didn't feel like a bug. She didn't feel like a statistic.

She felt real.

> A notification blinked in the corner of her vision: [You have unlocked a new Inner Path: "Empathic Ascension Tree – Level 2"] Branch Available: Pain Transfer - Emotional Mirror

Requires decision before next dawn.

And for once, Livia, the newly self-acknowledged Mental Architect, didn't know what to choose.