Ren wandered aimlessly through the winding streets of Alms, letting his feet take him wherever. The city was calm—quiet in a way he wasn't used to. No traffic. No crowds. Just the sound of wooden wheels creaking, birds chirping, and the occasional vendor calling out discounts on vegetables or smoked meats.
Eventually, he found a quiet spot. No one else was around. Perfect.
He stretched his arms overhead, cracked his knuckles, and looked at his hands.
"Alright," he muttered.
Nathan had been a Mage Swordsman—an odd but powerful class. Hybrid of sword and spell. He could wield a blade while slinging fireballs, which Ren had to admit sounded insanely cool. Unfortunately, he hadn't grabbed his sword when he left the house this morning. But that didn't mean he couldn't test the magic.
He closed his eyes, trying to feel it— mana, It wasn't hard. It was like breathing. Instinctual. Effortless.
A sphere of flame flared to life in his palm, warm and humming with energy. His eyes widened slightly. It felt real. Heat radiated off it, flickering like a live thing. He lifted his hand and fired it into the sky. It streaked upward, a glowing comet, before dissipating into the clouds.
Ren grinned.
"Okay... that was awesome."
He tried more—wind, water, earth. Each one came just as easily, like muscle memory. Wind blades sliced clean through a wooden post, and small stone spikes jutted from the ground at his command.
It wasn't training.
It was play.
And for a little while, that's all he did.
By the time he looked up, the sky had shifted into dusky pinks and oranges. The sun hovered low, casting long shadows over the quiet field.
His grin faded slowly.
So that was day one. Some conversation, some existential dread, and now some fancy fireworks in a field. Not nothing, but not quite the start of a grand adventure either.
Maybe the dungeon tomorrow would offer something more.
He turned and started walking back, his boots crunching softly over gravel and grass. As the streets grew familiar again, his thoughts drifted back to Bell's offer.
Livia.
Peace. Retirement. Settling down.
It made sense. Nathan's story had already been told. The hard battles were over. The hero's journey had concluded. This was his happily ever after.
But Ren wasn't Nathan.
He had just arrived.
He hadn't fought anything. He hadn't climbed any mountains or achieved any world peace.
He didn't want to settle. Not yet.
Still, it didn't feel right to walk away from Nathan's friends. They had clearly cared about him—trusted him. And whether he deserved that trust or not... he felt responsible for them now. Like he owed them something, even if it wasn't his debt to pay.
At the very least, he could accompany them to this Livia kingdom.
Ren eventually reached the house—a modest stone-and-wood place tucked between two larger buildings, with ivy curling up its side like lazy green snakes. He pushed open the door, and the smell hit him immediately.
Warm food. Real food.
Inside, Laura, was waiting with a tray of dinner. She looked up from setting the table and smiled.
"Welcome back," she said gently. "You missed lunch."
"Yeah," Ren said, trying not to look too awkward. "Lost track of time."
They exchanged a few words—pleasant, simple. She handed him a bowl of stew and sat across from him as he ate. Ren did his best to act natural, nodding where appropriate, laughing when she said something light. And honestly? The food was amazing.
But then came the part he'd been dreading.
After dinner, after cleaning up, after the soft flicker of lanterns filled the house with sleepy light—they got ready for bed.
Together.
Ren stood by the edge of the bed, staring at it like it was some final boss.
'It's fine,' he told himself. 'Totally normal. You're a couple. You've done this before. Technically.'
Laura pulled back the blanket and climbed in with practiced ease, yawning. "You coming?"
Ren blinked. "Uh... yeah."
He sat on the edge of the bed, trying not to look like a deer in the headlights. His heart thumped awkwardly in his chest.
He was going to sleep in the same bed as a girl.
A real girl.
And not just any girl—Nathan's girlfriend.
She rolled over and reached for the lamp, dimming it with a quiet click.
...
..
.
.
Ren woke with a sharp inhale, his heart thudding like it had remembered something his brain hadn't yet caught up to.
His eyes darted around.
Wooden ceiling. Soft linen sheets. A quiet room, kissed with the early light of dawn seeping through the curtains.
And beside him... Laura.
She lay peacefully, her breathing slow and even, one arm draped across the blanket. Her nightclothes had shifted in her sleep—her shoulder bare, collar slipping slightly, strands of golden hair tangled against her neck.
Ren stared for half a second too long before snapping his gaze away.
"Okay. Nope. Nope nope nope."
He sat up quickly and slipped out of bed, trying to be quiet but failing. The mattress creaked faintly. Laura stirred but didn't wake.
Ren tiptoed toward the basin, muttering under his breath. "This is fine. Totally normal. Sleeping next to your fantasy girlfriend while inhabiting her boyfriend's body. What's the worst that could happen?"
He grabbed a cloth and doused it in water.
Bathing here was... rudimentary. You sat on a stool and wiped yourself down. In theory, magic and mana helped keep people cleaner than in his own world. According to magic researchers, mana expelled impurities from the skin naturally.
Still, Ren scrubbed harder than necessary. Some things couldn't be left to magic alone—especially if you were going into a dungeon.
Today was the day.
He strapped the sword to his waist next. The all-silver blade gleamed even in the early light, faintly humming with dormant power. Not decorative—functional. Lethal.
"Okay," he muttered, adjusting the strap over his shoulder. "Sword. Bag."
...
..
.
The walk to the city gates was short. The guards waved him through without question. Of course they did—he was Nathan Crest. Hero's Party. City Defender. Local celebrity.
He didn't feel like any of those things. Not really.
Fifteen minutes later, the outer edge of the city faded behind him, and Dungeon Fifteen rose from the earth like a wound in the landscape—its black stone exterior wrapped in thick vines and moss, guarded by ancient statues long worn smooth by wind and rain.
Bell and Lyrien were already waiting at the entrance.
Bell stood tall, wearing a polished chestplate engraved with a lion sigil. His sword hung at his back, massive and worn from years of battle. Lyrien, by contrast, looked as relaxed as ever, her white hair catching the breeze, a new string on her lyre shimmering with enchantment.
Ren approached, and their faces lit up.
"Nathan!" Lyrien called.
Ren offering a small grin.
Bell clapped him on the shoulder with a warm laugh. "Good. You're fired up."
Behind them stood the rest of the Hero's Party.
Lira White—the Sage—wore flowing white robes lined with arcane glyphs. Her staff glowed faintly, and her sharp eyes softened when she saw him.
Kiel Whisper, the tracker, stood with arms crossed and twin daggers strapped to his thighs. His eyes were narrow and calculating, but a subtle nod was enough to say welcome back.
Benige Tempest, the assassin, leaned against the dungeon wall like he'd been born there—hood low, eyes hidden, body language unreadable. Still, he gave Nathan a fist bump, like old times.
Seven members, minus one.
Ignis Quasar, the tank, had died in the final battle against the Demon Lord six years ago. The absence still hung in the air like a missing beat in a familiar song.
They all embraced him in turn. Small moments. Clasped shoulders. Inside jokes. Half-said phrases that Nathan would've understood—and Ren did too, now, thanks to the memories.
And yet, something about it made his chest tighten.
This was family.
...
..
.
They didn't waste time.
After a final check of supplies and weapons, Bell nodded to the others. "Alright. Last floor. Let's not get cocky."
Benige snorted.
The gates groaned open with a hiss of ancient magic, revealing the spiraling stairs down into the dungeon depths. Torches lit automatically as they descended, casting orange light on their path.
The deeper they went, the colder it became.
Dungeon Fifteen was infamous for its vertical design—150 descending floors stacked like an inverted tower. Each level more dangerous than the last. And now they were going straight to the final one.
Ren stayed near the middle of the group, trying to act like this was all routine. The memories helped—but they didn't prepare him for the real thing.
The stone was cold underfoot. The air damp and thick with mana. Magic pulsed in the walls, ancient and wild. His fingers tingled from the ambient energy.
Floor 30 was their first fight.
The moment the doors opened, a trio of cave lizards emerged from the shadows—long, sinewy things with serrated jaws and glinting red eyes.
Bell didn't hesitate. He nodded.
They split instantly.
Bell charged the largest lizard, his sword glowing blue as he cleaved through its midsection. Lyrien strummed her lyre, sending a shockwave of sound that disoriented the second beast. Benige flashed across the room, his daggers a blur of motion, vanishing and reappearing behind the third to slit its throat in one clean motion.
Ren raised his sword—too slow.
By the time he took a step forward, the fight was over.
"Damn," he muttered.
Lira walked past, staff spinning. "Relax. That one was just a warm-up."
...
..
.
On Floor 100, they faced a stone golem with glowing runes etched across its shoulders.
Kiel distracted it with hit-and-run tactics, darting between its legs and slashing at the joints. Lira muttered a complex chant and sent waves of heat pulsing through the floor, softening the stone.
Bell landed the final blow—driving his blade through the golem's chest and ripping free a glowing mana core the size of a melon.
Even Ren couldn't help but whistle.
"Still got it," Bell grinned.
Ren managed to kill one goblin. It came charging out of the darkness with a rusted axe, screeching. Ren stepped forward, fire already crackling in his hand.
Fire Lance.
A spear of flame shot from his palm and skewered the creature mid-leap. It fell, still twitching.
Benige raised an eyebrow. "Huh. You don't usually use that spell unless you're pissed."
Ren shrugged. "Just brushing off the rust."
But inside, he grinned.
Finally. A taste of action. A taste of being someone in this world.
They pressed on, and soon, they reached the massive stone archway that marked the final floor.
A carved inscription above it read:
"Beyond this gate lies the soul of the dungeon. Only the worthy may tread."
Bell stepped forward, sword drawn. He turned back to the group and smiled.
"One last time."