My name is Ilya, Ilya Von Augusto and I'm a Level sixty-seven Thief. Level sixty-seven… sometimes I can’t believe it myself. Forty-two years old, and this worn leather feels more like a second skin than ever. Funny how things you take for granted become so important. The weight of my daggers… Old friends, reliable companions. These are the constants in my life.

  For years, adventure was my lifeblood. The thrill, the danger, the camaraderie… My hero party, we were a force. A band of misfits who somehow clicked. We faced the Demon Lord. That monster… still gives me nightmares sometimes. Our skills were a symphony of destruction. A well-rehearsed dance of death. Our bond was forged in the crucible of battle. Nothing strengthens a friendship like facing death together. But victory came at a price. Everything does, doesn't it? The hero returned to his world. His world… I wonder what it’s like. Leaving a silence that echoed in my soul. A silence that still hasn’t quite gone away.

  The world, once a playground of peril, settled into an uneasy peace. Relatively uneasy. The Demon Lord's influence, though diminished, hadn't vanished entirely. His scattered forces, remnants of his vast army, still roamed the land. Smaller bands, yes, but still dangerous. Their cruelty was undiminished, their hunger for power insatiable. And some… some were just lost, twisted by the Demon Lord's dark magic, no longer truly sentient, just vessels of pure malice. They lurked in the shadows, preying on the weak, a constant reminder of the darkness we had faced. And their numbers have been growing. In the last ten years, since the hero's departure, they've become more organized, more brazen. And something else… something far more sinister.

  When the Demon Lord was defeated, his physical form was destroyed. But his core, a nexus of dark energy, remained. It pulsed with malevolent power, and over the years, it has given birth to something new. Not a resurrection of the Demon Lord himself, but something… different. A new wave of darkness. New dungeons. Twisted labyrinths fueled by the Demon Lord's residual power, each one a festering wound on the world. They’re different from the dungeons of old. More insidious. More dangerous. They seem to… adapt. Learn. As if the Demon Lord's cunning lives on in these new creations.

  I found myself adrift. Like a ship without a sail. The thrill of the hunt replaced by a quiet unease. A dull ache in my soul. I joined the Adventure Guild. A sensible choice, everyone said. Seeking a new purpose. Trying to find something to fill the void. For five years, I’ve been their dungeon expert. The dungeon whisperer, some call me. My job is vital. So they tell me. Though it lacks the visceral excitement of my former life. Understatement of the century. I delve into the depths. Familiar territory, even after all this time. Mapping treacherous pathways. Every twist, every turn, I know them by heart. Analyzing monster lairs. Their habits, their weaknesses, their fears… I know them better than they know themselves. But it's not the same. These older dungeon creatures… they're nothing compared to what we faced during the Demon Lord's reign. And they are nothing compared to the horrors that now inhabit the new dungeons.

  My work is crucial. Absolutely essential. Adventurers rely on my knowledge. They trust me with their lives. A poorly charted passage, a misunderstood monster behavior… Could be a death sentence. Could mean the difference between life and death. A heavy burden to carry. I study ancient texts. Dusty tomes filled with forgotten lore. Decipher cryptic clues. A puzzle within a puzzle.

  And brave the darkness to gain the information they need. The darkness… it whispers secrets if you listen closely enough. I’ve become a silent guardian. A protector from the shadows. A protector of those who seek fortune and glory within the earth's depths. Foolish, brave, or both? It's a role that demands patience. Something I’ve learned over the years.

  Meticulousness. Details matter. And a deep understanding of dungeon ecology. Everything is connected.

  But the whispers of a new darkness are growing louder. The wind carries tales of the Demon Lord's remaining forces growing bolder. Ten years have passed since the last hero's triumph. Ten years of relative peace. And the Verdentia Kingdom, ever watchful, has summoned new heroes. Fresh faces, full of hope. I’ve seen them. Wide-eyed, inexperienced, full of potential. They have the raw power. Untapped, unrefined. The innate heroism. A spark waiting to be ignited. But they lack the experience.

  They don’t know what’s really out there. They don’t know the true depths of the darkness that now festers in the world. The knowledge I possess. Knowledge hard-earned, paid for in blood and sweat. They need someone like me. A veteran, a survivor. Someone who understands the subtle dangers of a dungeon. The traps, the tricks, the hidden threats. The intricate strategies required to survive. Knowing when to fight, when to run, when to hide.

  They need a guide. Someone to show them the way. And, more importantly, someone to warn them about the real dangers that now exist in this world. The dangers that lurk beyond the dungeons, remnants of the Demon Lord's army. Dangers that have been consolidating their power for the last ten years. And the dangers that lurk within the new dungeons, remnants of the Demon Lord's core.

  The kingdom has offered me a position. To guide these new heroes. My experience is invaluable, they say. And it is. But… a part of me, a big part, yearns for more. It’s not just about sharing my knowledge. It’s about being there. Beside them. Fighting shoulder to shoulder. Feeling the rush of adrenaline, the camaraderie, the shared struggle. My heart whispers that I should join them, not just lead them.

  But my head… my head tells me I’m too old. Forty-two. My reflexes aren’t what they used to be. I’m not the same Ilya who faced the Demon Lord. Am I? Can I still keep up? Can I still protect them? Doubt gnaws at me. But the call to adventure… it’s a powerful thing. And these heroes… they desperately need me. Not just as a mapmaker, but as a warrior. As a veteran. As someone who’s seen the darkness and lived to tell the tale. I can be their mentor. Their sensei, their guide. Their strategist. The one who plans the attack. Their unseen ally.

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  The shadow in the night. I can ensure their safety. As much as possible. Hone their abilities. Turn raw talent into deadly skill. And help them navigate the perilous path to victory. A path fraught with peril. It’s time to dust off my daggers. Time to get back to work. Not just for myself. Though a part of me yearns for the old life. But for them. They need me. My expertise is needed. More than ever. Not just in charting dungeons. Though that’s important too. But in preparing heroes to conquer them. To survive them. And to survive the shadows that now haunt the land, both old and new. It's time to step back into the shadows. My natural habitat. Not as a mere observer. I’ve been on the sidelines for too long. But as a guide, a protector. A guardian angel, perhaps? A force to be reckoned with. They’ll learn to respect me.

  And maybe… maybe I’ll find that spark again. The one I thought I’d lost.

  Ilya stared at the dungeon entrance, a familiar mix of excitement and apprehension bubbling within him. Today was his last day as a dungeon scout, and he wanted a memento. This small, two-room dungeon—home to three goblins and a spider, with a level 2 goblin guarding a small treasure—was perfect. He wasn't interested in fighting; scouting was his job, not combat, though he knew he was capable. "Brains over brawn," he thought, a small smile playing on his lips.

  Activating his invisibility skill, he paid the entrance fee and slipped inside. The first room, with its two goblins and a spider, was easily navigated unseen. He wasn't here for a brawl. His focus was the second room, where the level 2 goblin and the treasure resided.

  He crept forward, invisible and silent. The goblin, seemingly bored, was idly kicking at a loose stone. It presented an opportunity. He wasn't a warrior; he was a scout. He was resourceful. He activated his "Steal" skill, a risky move, but perfect for his needs. "Hopefully this level 2 goblin isn't too perceptive," he thought, concentrating on the small, ornate chest nestled beside the goblin. It was made of dark wood, inlaid with silver wire, a beautiful piece.

  A mental click confirmed the success. The chest was now his. The goblin, still preoccupied with the stone, remained unaware. As he turned to leave, a loose stone shifted under his foot. He froze, heart pounding, but the goblin remained oblivious. He retreated as silently as he had come.

  As he reached the dungeon entrance, a line message etched on it.

  When I stepped outside the dungeon, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, I paused. I drew the small, ornate chest from my pack and, with a soft click, opened it. Nestled within the dark wood, gleaming in the fading light, was a golden ring.

  I slipped the ring onto my finger. It fit perfectly, almost as if it had been made for me. A faint warmth spread through my hand, a subtle thrum of energy that I couldn't quite explain. Intrigued, I focused my mind, activating my Appraisal skill.

  A wash of information flooded my senses.

  My breath hitched. A ward against curses? And plus two to Luck? For a thief like me, Luck was everything. It was the difference between a successful heist and a prison cell. A +2 bonus was unheard of. It was… incredible.

  I turned the ring over in my fingers. This wasn't just a lucky find. It was payment. The message on the wall echoed in my mind: "Can you promote my dungeon, and that ring is payment." I glanced back at the dungeon entrance. They wanted serious promotion, not just a casual mention. This was going to take time and effort. More than I initially thought.

  This was supposed to be my last job as an adventurer. I'd been planning to hang up my boots, finally settle down. After years in a hero party – the life of grand quests and epic battles – I was ready for something quieter. I’d even accepted an offer to guide a promising young hero. It was a steady paycheck, a chance to use my experience without constantly risking my neck. A chance to finally have a normal life. Or so I thought.

  But this… this changed everything. This ring, this message… it was too good to pass up. And the implications… guiding heroes to this dungeon… it was perfect. It was a way to stay connected to the adventuring world, to use my skills, and to… well, to make a lot more money than guiding just one hero. And more than that… it was a chance to be part of something bigger again. A chance to maybe, just maybe, join another hero party. To fight alongside them, to use this ring, and my skills, to face whatever – or whoever – was at the heart of this dungeon. Maybe even another Demon Lord.

  But it meant I needed to seriously promote this place. My other offer… well, it would have to wait. This was a much bigger opportunity. A chance to build something… something big. And maybe, just maybe, a chance to be a hero again.

  The fact that such a rare item was inside didn't surprise me. I'd done my research before checking this place out. Whispers and rumors had reached my ears – rumors about this particular dungeon. It was supposedly born from the core of a Greater Demon Lord. I had to see it for myself.

  A thought struck me. The message… unsigned. But who else could have written it? It had to be the dungeon core itself. A Greater Demon Lord’s core… a sentient entity, a nexus of raw magical power. Could it communicate? It seemed impossible, even in this world of magic. But the evidence was right here – the message, the ring, the strange, almost intentional feel of the whole situation.

  And yet… something felt off. From what I’d learned, this dungeon was barely a week old. Newborn, practically. Its structure was unstable, its magic raw. For a dungeon that young to already possess something like this… it was highly unusual.

  I tucked the thought away. For now, I had a ring, a message, and a task. Promoting the dungeon, possibly at the behest of its core, was a serious undertaking. But the reward… the Ring of Fortuna… it was more than worth it. I had a feeling this ring, with its subtle influence on fate, was going to be instrumental in whatever lay ahead. This wasn't just a job. It was the beginning of something new. Something dangerous, but full of incredible opportunity.

  While the demon lord is dangerous, dungeons offer a way for humans to grow stronger. Therefore, cooperating with a dungeon core is acceptable.

  And until I figured out how to juggle this with my… significantly delayed… hero-guiding gig. And the even more delayed… return to heroics.