Chapter 26: When All Seems Lost

Luke pushed himself up from the ground—barely. His body protested with every movement, trembling under its own weight, like a structure on the verge of collapse. His right arm was unrecognizable, a mass of blackened flesh barely clinging to the bone. Where his right hand had once been, there was now nothing but a blackened stump—burned away, bone exposed, fingers lost to the blast. His abdomen was scorched.

He could feel part of his right ear fused to his scalp. He vomited blood, thick, stringy, tinged with bile and acid. The acrid scent of burning flesh filled the air. And then he realized—his nose was gone.

Groaning through clenched teeth, Luke shifted his weight and braced himself on his left arm, the only limb still capable of support.

In the middle of the room, a chest waited.

The edges of his sight blurred to black. The room swayed around him, as if the crypt itself were twisting. Balance slipped from his grasp.

In a panic, he opened his status and dumped his remaining stat point into Vitality.

Updates Stats

Vitality: 34 -> 35
Health Points (HP): 8/340 -> 18/350

He took a shaky step forward, legs wobbling beneath him. His foot dragged slightly as he moved, like every part of his body had forgotten how to function.

It wouldn’t be enough. Even as the numbers shifted on his status screen, Luke knew—knew—his body was still failing.

He could feel the damage deep inside. Something vital had ruptured. His insides were hemorrhaging, his organs scorched beyond recognition by the fireblast. Every breath came with a wet rasp. Every step felt like it dragged him closer to the edge. As he staggered forward, his foot brushed against a soft mound—he glanced down.

A pile of ash, faintly glowing in the fading heat. That was all that remained of the Guardian of the Burning Crypt. Reduced to dust, while Luke himself was barely more than that.

“I’m going to die…”

He stopped at the place where Charlie had fallen—where her body had crumbled to ash, and where, in her final act, she had saved him.

The air there felt heavier, like the memory itself lingered in the dust.

For a long moment, Luke said nothing.

Then, voice hoarse and barely above a whisper, he spoke.

“Thanks, friend.”

That was all he could manage. No grand speech. No dramatic vow. Just quiet grief. He lowered himself beside the chest, his body giving out, his soul not far behind.

“Goddamn dungeon…”

He coughed up more blood.

“It could’ve just dropped me on the first floor…”

But then he remembered the criminals.

“I guess I was already screwed the moment I landed here. If the dungeon didn’t kill me, they would.”

He leaned back against the chest, letting its cold surface support what was left of his strength. For a moment, he closed his eyes—just breathing. Then, almost on instinct, he reached down and opened it. The lid creaked as it rose, and the moment he saw what was inside, a dry, bitter laugh escaped him. Gold. Jewels. Gleaming piles of coins. Strings of pearl necklaces.

“Of course…”

It made sense. A crypt.

A Guardian.

A treasure meant to guard the wealth of the dead.

He pulled out two gold coins and stared at them.

A memory surfaced.

“They say to enter the Underworld in Greek myth, you need a coin for Charon… one for me, and one for you, Princess Charlie.”

He tossed a coin onto the ashes where she had fallen—

And closed his eyes.

Damn it. I can’t believe I’m going to die to some random trash mob… after beating the strongest monster in this whole damned dungeon.

He stood—slowly, shakily. Then, without a word, he kicked the chest with all the fury he had left. Gold coins and gemstones spilled across the stone floor, clattering like broken promises.

He turned and began to walk, his limbs dragging, his body screaming. Every step was agony. Every breath tasted like smoke and blood. But he wasn’t finished. Not yet.

“It’s not over yet!”

He formed a plan—reckless, desperate, and probably suicidal. But it was the only path left. He would scour the entire floor, corner to corner. Hunt down anything that moved. Every monster, every threat. He had to force evolution—to level up his race and trigger regeneration.

As long as he had even a sliver of HP and breath left in his lungs, he would fight. Crawl if he had to. Bleed if he must. Even if it meant clawing his way up to the next floor, broken and alone.

He gripped a kukri in his left hand, dragging his broken body forward.

Suddenly, a sound—

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Glass rolling across stone.

He turned.

A red glass vial tumbled out of the chest.

His breath caught.

“No way…”

He stumbled, almost fell.

A healing potion?!

His hand trembled uncontrollably. Even the act of lifting his left arm sent sharp, crashing waves of pain ripping through his fractured ribs. But he didn’t stop. He crawled forward, dragging his broken body closer, inch by inch, trembling, reaching. The red vial glinted in the dim light, and doubt gnawed at the back of his mind.

Please don’t be a trap. Please don’t be poison.

With what little focus he had left, he activated Identify.

[Greater Healing Potion
Description: A special potion granted only to those who defeat the Guardian of the Crypt. Its effects are strong enough to heal deep wounds, regenerate lost limbs, and repair shattered bones. A rare gift—meant to help challengers continue their descent into the dungeon in search of the Statue Key.]

Luke narrowed his eyes.

“This sadistic dungeon… you only put this here because you want people to suffer longer.”

He drank it all in one go.

The taste was sweet, but not pleasant. Even swallowing burned—his insides were just as broken as the rest of him.

But then—

The pain vanished.

All at once.

It was like downing the world’s strongest painkiller. The change was instant. His body, which had been a battlefield of agony, went silent—still. The pain vanished, as if it had never existed. First, the burning in his throat faded. Then the tightness in his neck eased.

He felt his ear peel away from his scalp, the melted flesh separating with clean precision. One by one, the broken, burned parts of his body began to restore themselves—flesh knitting, bones forming, skin smoothing over raw wounds. It was both miraculous… and terrifying.