"So that was it," I murmured inwardly.
Royal blood.
In the original game, the condition to clear this dungeon had always felt strangely anticlimactic.
Bring the prince.
Trigger the script.
End of story.
When the original protagonist arrived here escorted by the imperial heir, the dungeon practically collapsed on itself in submission.
One dialogue choice.
One glow of authority.
And everything was forgiven.
---
[Your transgressions are absolved.]
---
The moment that line appeared, the boss vanished without resistance, dissolving into light and leaving the treasure chamber untouched—loot neatly arranged, artifacts intact, not even a scratch on the environment.
Back then, it felt cheap.
Now?
Now it was terrifyingly logical.
"This world really does run on narrative authority," I muttered.
But things had changed.
The dungeon was no longer just a game system responding to flags and scripted bloodlines.
It was reality—one that could be bent, but only if you understood how.
And instead of royal blood...
I had used something else.
---
[Skill Activated: Bluff]
[Effect: Lies gain heightened plausibility and persuasive weight.]
---
A familiar sensation washed over me—subtle, almost imperceptible.
Like nudging the flow of a river rather than forcing it to change course.
I’d used this skill before.
To deceive Velra.
To calm her.
To steer her emotions just enough that she wouldn’t notice the blade hidden beneath my words.
This time, however, the effect was far cleaner.
More... elegant.
- --
[Dungeon Clear Condition Updated]
Original: Imperial Pardon
Current: Persuade the Guardian to abandon their duty of their own will
---
"...You’ve got to be kidding me," I whispered.
So that was the loophole.
The dungeon no longer required authority—
it required conviction.
Not an order from above.
But a decision from within.
I looked at the figure before me.
The lich stood motionless, skeletal fingers gripping the staff embedded in the floor. Ancient runes pulsed faintly along his ribcage, their glow flickering unevenly now—as if uncertain.
He wasn’t attacking.
He wasn’t moving.
Good.
I took a step closer, careful not to appear threatening.
"The empire has long since abandoned you," I said evenly.
"There’s no reason to continue this research under their banner."
The words themselves weren’t special.
What mattered was how they landed.
The Bluff skill didn’t force belief—it amplified doubt.
It took whatever cracks already existed and widened them just enough to let light in.
The lich’s skull tilted.
"...What are you trying to say?"
Good. Now he’s caught in my skill.
After that it was child play for me to deceive him.
I reached out and placed a hand against the stone pedestal anchoring his phylactery.
Not threatening.
Not claiming.
Just acknowledging its existence.
"You fulfilled your duty," I said quietly.
"Far longer than anyone had the right to ask."
For a long time, nothing happened.
Then—
A sound like cracking ice echoed through the chamber.
The lich’s grip loosened.
His staff slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground.
"...If the empire no longer remembers me," he said slowly, "then my vigilance is... meaningless."
I nodded.
"You don’t need forgiveness from a nation that forgot you," I said.
"Only permission to stop."
The glow in his runes dimmed.
His posture slumped—not in defeat, but in release.
"...I abandon my post," he declared.
The words echoed unnaturally, as if the dungeon itself were listening.
And accepting them.
---
The lich’s form began to unravel—not violently, not painfully—but peacefully, like ash carried away by a gentle wind.
---
[Dungeon Guardian has relinquished its role.]
[Dungeon successfully cleared.]
---
The chamber fell silent.
The walls remained intact.
The treasure remained untouched.
The systems didn’t reset.
And more importantly—
Everything was now mine.
I straightened slowly, exhaling through my nose.
"Perfect," I muttered.
No bloodshed.
No pursuit.
No collateral damage.
Just a single conversation.
I glanced at the treasure pile, then at the empty space where the lich had stood.
"Persuasion, huh..." I said wryly.
"If they believe it—if they choose it —that counts."
I smiled faintly.
"That’s basically my job description at this point."
And with the dungeon silent and compliant behind me—
I stepped forward to claim the rewards of a victory earned not by force...
...but by understanding how this world really worked.
’Man... I really do feel like some kind of schemer.’
The thought crossed my mind as I stood in the aftermath of it all, but unlike guilt, it didn’t linger for long.
The dungeon had been cleared.
The threats were gone.
And most importantly—
I’d monopolized the rewards.
From any practical standpoint, this was a flawless victory.
"So it’s all good," I muttered under my breath.
The hidden chamber was quieter than I expected. The echoes of battle were long gone, replaced by the low hum of lingering mana and the faint crackle of magical devices still running on residual power.
Shelves lined the walls—ancient, reinforced with spellwork—packed tightly with tomes, scrolls, and research logs. Some were damaged by time, others preserved so well they looked freshly bound.
"Wow," I said honestly. "There are a lot of useful books here."
That alone said something.
Even Velra—who had dismissed most of the royal library earlier with thinly veiled contempt—had gone silent.
She stood near a stone desk, several thick volumes floating around her, pages turning on their own as she skimmed at inhuman speed. For someone who normally criticized everything human-made, her focus was unusually sincere.
"...Hmm."
She closed one book, then opened another.
"The level of human magic," she said slowly, "is not bad at all."
I blinked.
High praise.
From her, that was practically a standing ovation.
"I didn’t expect this degree of refinement," Velra continued. "The theory is crude in places, but the creativity... it’s impressive. You compensate for short lifespans with reckless innovation. It’s enlightening."
The court magician, who had been hovering nervously nearby, stiffened at first—then visibly relaxed.
"I-I’m glad you find it worthwhile, Lady Velra," he said, bowing awkwardly. "Please... feel free to take any materials you deem useful. They were sealed away anyway."
Velra glanced at him.
"...You humans are strangely generous when cornered."
"That’s called self-preservation," I said dryly.
She huffed, but didn’t deny it.
Truth be told, the books weren’t my main target. Most of the advanced theory went over my head, and trying to brute-force understanding right now would just fry my brain.
So instead, I wandered deeper into the lab.
That’s when I felt it.
A pressure.
A quiet pull on my mana.
At the edge of the chamber, half-buried beneath collapsed stone and protective sigils, sat a pedestal.
Resting atop it was a sphere about the size of my palm, glowing softly with a deep blue light. Even in the dim cavern, it was impossible to miss.
I reached out.
The moment my fingers brushed its surface, translucent text unfolded before my eyes.
─ ──
[Project: Immortality]
• A culmination of long-term research initiated by select members of the royal family.
• Immortality is directly correlated to mana capacity.
• This essence was created by condensing the life force and mana of renowned court magicians such as Ken, as well as exceptional knights.
• Consumption will permanently increase mana capacity.
• Magic Power +1
• Grants enhanced magical proficiency.
───
I exhaled slowly.
"...So this is it."
The true reward of the hidden dungeon.
Not gold.
Not artifacts.
But growth.
Permanent growth.
For a novice magician—someone who had only just begun to touch the fundamentals of magic—this was priceless. No amount of training could replicate its effect.
I looked back at the sphere.
’There’s no need to hesitate.’
That was my honest thought.
If I was going to face demon kings, ancient nobles, and whatever nightmare came next, then half-measures would get me killed.