Dungeon Wars: The Rise of an F-Rank Soldier

The corpse of the Alpha lay sprawled across the chamber floor, its grotesque, twisted limbs motionless, its glowing eyes now nothing but dim, lifeless husks.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, the dungeon was silent.

Spencer exhaled slowly, his vision still swimming from the pain that coursed through his ribs. He pressed a hand against his side, fingers brushing over the deep bruise already forming beneath his uniform.

That thing had hit him like a goddamn train.

Nearby, Royal Pin was coughing, rubbing at his throat where the Alpha had nearly crushed his windpipe.

Woodrow sat against the wall, his face pale, cradling his badly broken arm.

Chiba was still hunched over his makeshift workstation, his hands shaking from the adrenaline crash.

Mr. Cakes, of all people, was the first to move.

He let out a deep sigh, wiped the sweat from his face, and flopped down onto the nearest flat rock. “If anyone tells me we have to fight another one of those things tonight, I’m just gonna let it eat me.”

Spencer gave him a dry look. “Noted.”

Mr. Cakes grinned, though there was no humor behind it.

Chiba wiped his forehead with the back of his sleeve, his breathing still uneven. “We got lucky,” he muttered. “That thing was… different.”

“Smarter,” Spencer agreed, still watching the Alpha’s body carefully.

Royal Pin scoffed, rolling his sore neck. “Yeah, no shit.”

Woodrow let out a low grunt, adjusting himself against the stone. “Thing was watching us the whole damn fight. That wasn’t a mindless monster—it was a damn predator.”

Spencer nodded. “And predators don’t hunt alone.”

Silence.

The weight of that realization settled over the group like a suffocating blanket.

If there was one Alpha…

There could be more.

“We need to keep moving,” Spencer finally said, ignoring the way his entire body protested.

Mr. Cakes let out a groan but pushed himself up. “Yeah, yeah. But first, let’s see if this big bastard left us anything useful.”

They turned their attention to the Alpha’s corpse.

Royal Pin retrieved his knife, slicing through the thick, black-veined skin of the monster’s arm. The flesh peeled back with a wet squelch, revealing twisted muscle and something else—something unnatural.

Beneath the surface, embedded within its ribcage, was a chunk of pulsating green crystal.

It glowed softly, its energy flickering like a dying ember.

Chiba’s eyes widened. “That’s… dungeon energy.”

Royal Pin frowned. “Meaning?”

Chiba reached forward, carefully prying the crystal from the Alpha’s chest. It was warm—too warm—and the moment he held it, he flinched slightly, as if the very essence of the dungeon itself was pulsing through his veins.

“It means this thing wasn’t just living in the dungeon,” Chiba said slowly. “It was part of it.”

Spencer frowned. That… wasn’t normal.

Dungeons spawned monsters, sure. But the creatures inside them weren’t supposed to be fused with the dungeon itself.

Something was wrong here.

And he had a bad feeling that they hadn’t seen the worst of it yet.

As the others examined the crystal, Spencer’s gaze wandered toward the far wall.

Something was off.

The usual eerie blue glow of the dungeon veins pulsed faintly across the walls, casting jagged shadows across the chamber. But just beyond the Alpha’s corpse, nestled within a deep indentation in the rock, there was something else.

A different light.

Green.

Unlike the crystal Chiba was holding, this one wasn’t buried within a corpse—it was embedded directly into the dungeon wall itself.

Spencer moved before he fully understood why.

His steps were slow, cautious, his instincts screaming at him.

Something about this light felt different.

Felt… wrong.

But he still reached out.

And touched it.

Pain.

Spencer’s entire body seized violently, a white-hot fire burning through his veins. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before—not the pain of an injury, not the dull ache of exhaustion.

This was something deeper.

Something primal.

His knees buckled before he even realized he was falling.

The world blurred, twisting into jagged flashes of green and black, his vision filled with images that weren’t his own.

A towering structure, crumbling beneath the weight of time.

A figure, standing at the edge of a vast, empty abyss.

A voice, whispering something in a language he didn’t understand.

Then—

Nothing.

“SPENCER!”

He gasped, his body jerking violently as he came back to himself.

He was on the ground, his body drenched in sweat, his limbs trembling as if he had just walked through hell itself.

Above him, the others stood tense and alarmed, their weapons half-drawn, their eyes wide with concern.

Mr. Cakes was crouched beside him, gripping his shoulder. “The hell just happened?”

Spencer sucked in a sharp breath, his chest heaving. His skin felt raw, like it had been scorched from the inside out, but when he looked down—

There was nothing.

No burns. No injuries.

But he had felt it.

Every. Single. Second.

Chiba hesitated, glancing between Spencer and the now-dim green light embedded in the wall. “That’s… That’s not normal,” he muttered.

Woodrow snorted. “No shit.”

Spencer sat up slowly, his muscles still twitching, his head pounding. He didn’t have any explanation for what had just happened.

He just knew one thing.

That light wasn’t natural.

And the dungeon had just shown him something.

Something it didn’t want him to see.

After a long moment, Spencer pushed himself to his feet, exhaling slowly. “We keep moving,” he said, his voice rough.

Royal Pin narrowed his eyes. “You good?”

No.

Not even close.

But Spencer just nodded.

“We don’t have time for anything else.”

The others exchanged uncertain glances, but no one argued.

Because deep down, they all knew.

Something was waiting for them deeper inside this dungeon.

And whatever it was—

It wasn’t done with them yet.

The air grew thicker as they ventured deeper.

The further they walked, the more the dungeon's walls changed. The smooth stone of the tunnels gave way to something older, something crafted, as though this place had once been designed for a purpose long forgotten.

The blue veins of energy that had once lit their path had begun to fade, swallowed by tendrils of green light that pulsed in eerie synchronization, mirroring the unnatural glow Spencer had seen in the chamber before.

Something was waiting for them.

Something was watching.

Spencer led the way, machete held tightly in his grip, his mind still replaying the agonizing vision from before. He could still feel the fire beneath his skin, the way it had consumed him, the way his body had twisted and burned despite the complete lack of wounds.

The others were quiet behind him.

They all felt it.

Something was wrong.

The tunnel suddenly widened into a vast, open space.

At first, Spencer thought they had reached another cavern, but as the dim glow of the dungeon’s veins pulsed overhead, he realized the walls were not natural.

They were built.

Large stone pillars lined the circular chamber, carved from the same blackened stone as the dungeon itself. The floor was uneven, littered with rubble, but Spencer could still make out symbols carved into the stone.

Strange, spiraling glyphs, stretching from the floor to the ceiling, filling the entire space like an ancient record.

And at the very center of the room—

A door.

It was massive.

Easily twenty feet tall, made of a dark metal, etched with intricate patterns that glowed dim green, the same sickly hue that had nearly burned Spencer alive earlier.

It was sealed shut.

Chained in place by thick black roots that pulsed faintly, almost as if they were alive.

A barrier.

A warning.

This door was never meant to be opened.

“Holy shit,” Chiba muttered, stepping forward cautiously. “This… this isn’t part of a normal dungeon.”

“No kidding,” Royal Pin said, his tone sharper than usual. “This place looks ancient.”

Spencer didn’t respond.

His gaze was locked onto the symbol at the very center of the door.

Because he had seen it before.

In his vision.

It was the same spiral, the same eerie markings, the same twisting lines that had appeared when the dungeon had forced itself into his mind.

This wasn’t just a door.

It was a cage.

Woodrow let out a low breath, eyes scanning the room. “You think this leads to another level?”

Chiba frowned, kneeling down near the base of the door, brushing away the centuries-old dust that had settled over the markings. “No… I don’t think this was built to lead anywhere.”

Spencer understood instantly.

This wasn’t an entrance.

It was a prison.

Chiba’s fingers traced over the glyphs, his expression darkening. “These symbols… they’re some kind of containment script.”

Royal Pin’s frown deepened. “For what?”

Chiba swallowed. “I don’t know.”

Spencer knew one thing for certain.

Whatever was behind this door—was never meant to be found.

A sudden pulse of energy shuddered through the chamber.

The dungeon reacted violently, the green veins along the walls flaring brightly, bathing the room in a sickly, pulsating glow.

Then, with a deep, earth-shaking groan—

The entrance collapsed behind them.

Spencer barely had time to react.

One second, the tunnel they had just come from was clear—the next, a wave of stone and debris came crashing down, sealing off the only exit.

Chiba jumped back, cursing.

Royal Pin spun around, eyes wide. “What the hell—?!”

Mr. Cakes’ expression darkened. “This is bad.”

Spencer exhaled sharply, scanning the chamber, searching for any other exits.

There were none.

They were trapped.

For a long moment, no one spoke.

Then, Woodrow’s voice broke the silence.

“…We weren’t supposed to see this.”

Spencer didn’t look at him.

Because he already knew that was true.

This wasn’t just a dungeon.

This was something else entirely.

Something that had been buried here on purpose.

And now, they were locked inside with it.

The green glow of the massive door pulsed again.

And then—

A sound came from the other side.

Low.

Rumbling.

A deep, slow exhale.

Like something waking up.

Something that had been waiting.

A deep, rumbling exhale echoed from beyond the sealed door.

The air grew heavier, thick with something ancient, something wrong. The green glow pulsing from the door flared brighter, illuminating the massive chains wrapped around its surface—chains that had held for centuries.

Until now.

Cracks splintered along the blackened metal, spreading outward like fractured glass, the ancient bindings groaning under an unseen force. The strange, black roots that had wrapped around the structure withered, curling inward as if recoiling from something far worse than itself.

Then, with a slow, grinding groan, the door shifted.

Something was waking up.

And it wasn’t happy.

Spencer’s grip on his machete tightened, his body tense, every muscle coiled like a spring ready to snap.

They all felt it.

A presence.

Something was on the other side of that door—watching them, feeling them.

Mr. Cakes exhaled sharply, his expression grim. “So, uh… we all agree that opening this thing is the worst idea imaginable, right?”

“It’s already opening,” Chiba muttered.

Royal Pin gritted his teeth, checking his pistol. “Great. So what do we do when it comes out?”

Woodrow rolled his injured shoulder, his knife ready in his good hand. “We kill it.”

Spencer wasn’t so sure that was possible.

Then, the door shattered.

BOOM!

A violent shockwave erupted outward, the force so powerful that it sent Spencer and the others flying.

Spencer’s back slammed against the stone floor, the impact knocking the air from his lungs. Dust and debris filled the chamber, a massive gust of wind rushing past them like the very breath of the dungeon itself.

Then—silence.

The dust settled.

And the thing stepped out.

At first, all Spencer could see was a tall silhouette, standing amidst the ruins of the broken door, its form unnaturally slender and elongated.

Then, the glow of the dungeon’s veins flickered, casting just enough light for Spencer to see its face.

A grinning mask, painted in deep crimson, its surface cracked and worn with age.

Its body was wrapped in a twisted mockery of a jester’s garb, the fabric torn and tattered, adorned with bells that didn’t ring. Its arms were too long, its fingers ending in razor-sharp claws, twitching as though eager to carve through flesh.

And then—

It tilted its head.

Not like a person.

Like a puppet being controlled by invisible strings.

Something was wrong with its movements.

Too fluid. Too unnatural.

Like it wasn’t meant to exist.

Spencer’s breathing was shallow.

His instincts were screaming.

This thing wasn’t like the Alpha.

This was something else entirely.

Something older.

Something hungry.

Then, without a sound—

It moved.

It was fast.

Too fast.

One second, it was standing amidst the ruins of the door—the next, it was on top of them.

Spencer barely had time to roll to the side before the creature’s claws ripped through the space he had just occupied.

SCCRREEEEEEEEEECH!

The sound it made wasn’t a roar.

It was laughter.

Warped, distorted, like something that had never heard what real laughter sounded like and was only mimicking it.

And then—it attacked again.

Royal Pin fired first.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

Three shots.

Each one aimed dead center at its head.

The bullets hit—but instead of tearing through flesh, they simply passed through, like the thing wasn’t even fully solid.

Then, it turned to Royal Pin.

And smiled.

“MOVE!” Spencer roared.

Too late.

The creature lunged, covering the distance in the blink of an eye. Its clawed hand snapped forward, grabbing Royal Pin by the throat—

And lifted him off the ground.

Royal Pin gasped, struggling, his legs kicking wildly as the thing held him effortlessly in the air.

Then, in a single, horrifying motion—

It tossed him.

Hard.

Royal Pin’s body slammed into the far wall, the impact cracking the stone. He collapsed onto the floor in a motionless heap.

Chiba and Woodrow rushed forward, trying to flank the creature from both sides.

Woodrow went low, aiming his knife for its legs, while Chiba leapt toward its back, a sharpened steel spike in his hands.

The thing simply tilted its head again.

Then—it vanished.

Spencer’s eyes widened.

Where—?!

A whisper of movement.

Then—it was behind them.

Chiba barely had time to turn before the creature’s clawed fingers wrapped around his forearm.

Then—it snapped his wrist backward.

Chiba screamed, the steel spike falling from his grip, clattering to the floor.

Woodrow tried to strike, but the creature simply backhanded him, sending him sprawling across the floor.

Mr. Cakes lunged forward with his machete, slashing wildly—

But the creature caught the blade mid-swing.

Then, slowly—it pulled the machete from his grip.

Like it was taking a toy away from a child.

Mr. Cakes took a step back, his face pale. “Oh, we are so—”

The creature slashed.

A deep gash ripped across his chest, blood spraying onto the dungeon floor.

Mr. Cakes staggered, gasping.

And the creature just laughed.

Spencer moved.

He surged forward, machete flashing upward, aiming for its mask.

The creature didn’t dodge.

It let him hit it.

The blade carved into the mask’s surface, splitting it down the center.

And for the first time—

The creature stopped moving.

Spencer stepped back, panting.

The others were groaning, injured but alive.

The creature just stood there.

Its head tilted downward, looking at the crack running through its mask.

Then—

It laughed again.

Spencer’s stomach twisted.

This time, the laugh was different.

Not mocking.

Not cruel.

Excited.

Like it was having fun.

Like the real fight hadn’t even started yet.

Then, the air around them shifted.

The dungeon’s green glow flared violently, pulsing in time with the creature’s jagged breathing.

Then—

It moved again.

Faster than before.

Stronger.

Angrier.

Spencer barely had time to shout a warning before it attacked.

The dungeon pulsed.

The walls trembled with an unnatural rhythm, the sickly green veins that ran through the stone pulsing faster, mirroring the creature’s erratic, frenzied breathing.

It wasn’t just fighting anymore.

It was enjoyingthis.

Spencer gritted his teeth, rolling his aching shoulders as he tightened his grip on the machete. His body screamed in protest, every muscle on the verge of collapse, but he didn’t let himself think about the pain.

Because he was the only one left standing.

Mr. Cakes lay face-down in a pool of his own blood, his breathing ragged, the wound across his chest still leaking.

Royal Pin was sprawled against the far wall, his body limp, his pistol shattered beside him.

Chiba’s wrist was bent at a sickening angle, his usually sharp eyes now glazed with pain.

Woodrow was out cold, his knife lying uselessly beside him, his body barely moving.

Spencer was alone.

And the Jester knew it.

The creature tilted its head, its mask now cracked in two, revealing glimpses of something shifting underneath.

A grin that was too wide.

Teeth that were too sharp.

It lifted its arms, its razor-sharp claws twitching, its bell-covered sleeves swaying silently, despite the movement.

Then—

It lunged.

Spencer barely had time to react.

He threw himself to the side, dodging the first deadly swipe, but the Jester was already moving again.

It was faster now.

More aggressive.

Each movement was erratic, almost like it was glitching, its body twisting at unnatural angles, attacking from directions that made no sense.

Spencer blocked a strike with his machete, but the force behind it sent him skidding backward, his boots dragging across the stone.

He needed a plan.

Because if he kept this up—he was going to die.

The Jester didn’t give him time to think.

It vanished.

Then—

SLASH!

Pain erupted across Spencer’s back as something sharp tore through his uniform, blood splattering onto the floor.

He grunted, barely keeping his balance—but the Jester was already behind him again.

Another slash.

Then another.

It was playing with him.

Toying with him.

And laughing.

Spencer’s breath came in ragged gasps.

His arms were heavy.

His legs felt like lead.

But he refused to fall.

Because if he fell—they all died.

The Jester twisted through the air again, its mask flashing in the dim green glow, its claws raised for the killing blow.

Spencer moved on instinct.

He ducked low, letting the creature sail over him, then spun on his heel, swinging his machete as hard as he could.

CLANG!

The blade slammed into the Jester’s side, slicing through its fabric-like flesh, a deep black mist spraying from the wound.

The creature jerked violently, but instead of screaming—

It laughed.

Even as its blood hit the floor.

Spencer didn’t hesitate.

He charged.

His machete flashed in the darkness, each strike aimed with precision, each movement fueled by pure survival instinct.

The Jester countered, its claws clashing against his blade, but Spencer didn’t stop.

Didn’t let up.

He swung again.

And again.

Until finally—

The Jester staggered.

It was only for a moment.

A single, brief hesitation.

But Spencer saw it.

And took it.

With a furious cry, he surged forward, gripping the machete with both hands—

And drove it into the Jester’s chest.

For the first time—

The laughter stopped.

The creature’s body jerked violently, its hands clawing at the blade embedded deep in its torso.

The black mist poured from the wound, its glowing green veins flickering erratically, its form twitching as if its entire being was coming apart at the seams.

It let out a single, shuddering breath—

Then—

It collapsed.

Spencer stood frozen, his breathing heavy, his body trembling.

The Jester’s lifeless form twitched one last time—

Then went still.

For a long, agonizing moment, Spencer didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Then—

He let go of the machete.

And the dungeon fell silent.

The Jester’s body twitched one final time, its grotesque, elongated form still shuddering as its strength faded. The black mist that had once poured from its wounds began to thin, its unnatural green glow flickering erratically like a dying flame.

Then, the descent began.

Its body started to crumble, not into dust, but into fragments of pure energy, breaking apart like shattered glass, dissolving into the dungeon floor. The air around them shifted, the dungeon’s once-violent hum growing calm, as though it, too, had just exhaled in relief.

Spencer’s legs finally gave out.

He collapsed onto the stone, his vision swimming, his limbs heavy with exhaustion. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, but no matter how much he fought it—

Darkness overtook him.

And then—

He awoke somewhere else.

The first thing Spencer noticed was the silence.

Not the kind that came from being deep underground or the stillness of an empty battlefield—this was something else entirely.

A void.

A place where sound didn’t just disappear—it had never existed.

He stood on what felt like solid ground, yet when he looked down, there was nothing beneath him. Just an endless expanse of shadow and light, shifting like a massive, unseen ocean.

And then—

A voice.

“You have done well, Spencer Dracowski.”

Spencer’s breath hitched.

He knew that voice.

It was the same one he had heard after killing the Alpha.

And then—it appeared.

A silhouette, standing before him, taller than any human, its form flickering between solid and formless, its body humanoid but utterly featureless.

Then, it spoke again.

“I am the Admin of this dungeon.”

Spencer swallowed hard, gripping his aching arm. “The Admin?”

The being nodded. “Yes. A long time ago, this dungeon was created for a singular purpose. Over the centuries, it has changed hands, but none have ever claimed it for themselves. Until now.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes. “And the Jester?”

The Admin paused. Then, with a voice as hollow as the void around them, it answered:

“That was an ancient demon known as Harlequin.”

Spencer’s blood ran cold.

A demon.

This wasn’t just another dungeon boss or some high-level monster.

This thing had a name.

A history.

And it had been trapped here.

For who knows how long.

Spencer’s fingers twitched slightly. “So what happens now?”

The Admin’s voice remained calm.

“You have killed the Jester and freed the dungeon from its taint.” It raised a single glowing hand, and suddenly, golden energy swirled around Spencer. “As such, I now grant you its Ownership.”

Spencer’s mind froze.

“Wait. What?”

“The dungeon is now yours,” the Admin repeated. “All resources within it—be it minerals, mana, or artifacts—belong to you.”

Spencer’s pulse quickened.

He had just won a goddamn dungeon.

A resource so valuable that entire nations had gone to war just to control one.

And now he had it.

The Admin continued, its voice unchanging.

“Should any nation, company, or guild wish to mine, extract, or explore its depths, they will have to request your permission—and pay accordingly.”

Spencer exhaled sharply. “Well… damn.”

This was huge.

Not just for him—but for the world outside.

If word got out about this, powerful people would come for him.

And right now, he was still too weak.

Spencer clenched his fists. “That’s great and all,” he said slowly, “but I’m not strong enough to defend this.”

The Admin studied him, its form flickering slightly.

“I understand,” it said. “Then I shall reward you accordingly.”

A sudden weightless sensation filled Spencer’s chest.

Then—

His status screen appeared before him.

[REWARD: Skill Points Received – Enough to MAX OUT 3 ABILITIES]

Spencer’s breath caught.

He could max out three abilities.

Not just increase them—completely maximize them.

This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.

He took a deep breath, steadying himself.

He had to choose wisely.

“I’ll max out Intelligence first,” Spencer said.

Immediately, a surge of power coursed through him. His mind expanded, thoughts becoming sharper, faster, clearer.

Then—

“Stealth,” he added.

His body felt lighter, his presence quieter, as if the world itself had just stopped noticing him.

But before he could decide on the third, the Admin spoke first.

“I recommend you max out Magic.”

Spencer hesitated. “Magic?”

“Yes.” The Admin’s voice was firm. “It is your greatest untapped potential.”

Spencer frowned. He had never been able to use magic.

His magic stat had been zero since birth.

But now…

He had a choice.

And so, after a moment, he nodded.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

The second he agreed, a wave of raw energy flooded through him.

It was unlike anything he had ever felt.

His veins burned with raw power, his mind filling with knowledge of spells, runes, incantations—

But it was overwhelming.

He staggered, barely staying on his feet.

The Admin raised a hand, stabilizing him.

“You have gained magic,” it said. “But remember—your abilities are maxed, but your skills must still be learned.”

Spencer took a shaky breath. “Yeah. That’s why I maxed Intelligence—it increases my learning speed fivefold.”

The Admin was silent for a moment.

Then—

It laughed.

“Your foresight is admirable,” the Admin said. “You will master your skills far faster than others.”

Spencer exhaled, nodding. “So… what now?”

The Admin gestured outward, and Spencer felt another shift.

“You will awaken soon,” it said. “But before you do, I shall grant you access to the Skill Tree.”

Spencer’s eyes widened.

“The Skill Tree?”

“Yes. Only priests may view it. But now, you shall as well. It will show you the requirements for unlocking new abilities.”

Spencer smirked. “That’s gonna be useful.”

The Admin nodded.

“Then awaken, Dungeon Master. Your journey has just begun.”

With a final pulse of energy—

The world faded to black.

And then—

Spencer woke up.