In a new day, a new dawn, we once again see a young man walking through the bustling streets of Orario.

  -"It's hard to believe that in just a few years ago, this place was practically in civil war" - he thought to himself, observing the lively crowd as he made his way toward the Dungeon entrance.

  It didn’t take long for him to reach it, watching people enter and exit the massive stone hole, guarded on all sides.

  Surprisingly, there was no line at the moment, perhaps because he had woken up far too early or because the guards were particularly efficient.

  Approaching one of the guards, he silently presented his permit, nodding in recognition but saying nothing.

  Unfortunately, he had clearly chosen the wrong person. The guard immediately scowled at him and snapped:

  — Get lost, kid! Come back when you’ve grown some hair on your chest! —

  He sighed. Of course, he had to have one of those encounters.

  — Look, sir, I already have approval from the Guild and my Familia to enter the Dungeon. So, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll be on my way. —

  He moved to enter the Dungeon, ignoring the indignant look on the guard’s face.

  His body instinctively shifted to the side, dodging a hand that had reached out to grab his shoulder.

  He frowned, turning toward the guard, who now stood frozen in surprise, his hand still suspended in the air.

  — Hey! What’s going on here? — Another guard approached, scrutinizing the scene, prompting the first guard to react.

  — It’s this kid! He’s trying to enter the Dun- —

  The young man interrupted sharply, displaying his permit to the guard that had just arrived

  — I have the permit, but this sir here is trying to stop me against my will. —

  His voice carried a hint of irritation, but given his young age, no one took it too seriously.

  The second guard sighed, giving a stern look to his colleague before slightly bowing to the boy.

  — My apologies for his behavior. It won’t happen again. You’re free to proceed. —

  — Wait, what?! He’s just a kid, Thomas! —

  — That’s not our concern. If he wants to get himself killed, that’s on him, n- —

  Their voices faded from his ears as he descended into the Dungeon, ignoring them completely after being said he could proceed. Slowly, the boy descended the long stone staircase that led to the first floor.

  -------

  In the darkness, surrounded by faintly bluish stone walls, Bellphegor moved cautiously, doing his best not to make any sound as he walked.

  His xiphos hung at his hip, while he clutched his new bow tightly in his hands.

  To be honest, he was terrified—utterly petrified—which was why he took such care with every step, dreading the possibility of encountering a large group of monsters or, for some unknown reason, annoying the Dungeon.

  But down inside the Dungeon, there was no time to dwell on fear. Soon enough, in the shadows, three figures emerged: slightly pudgy, with large heads, noses, ears, and a dark green skin.

  The weakest creatures in the Dungeon: goblins.

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  They were still a fair distance away, but Bellphegor swallowed hard, his grip tightening on his bow.

  He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.

  "It’s now or never. Either you fight, or you live as a coward forever."

  He nocked an arrow, his hands trembling slightly as he tried to calm himself.

  "Steady… steady… you can do this."

  Repeating this mantra in his mind, he worked to center himself with measured breaths. Although his hands still trembled a little, the growing panic began to subside.

  He blinked once before letting the arrow fly.

  SWISH

  The arrow soared through the air, igniting mid-flight in dark orange flames.

  He watched, holding his breath, as it struck its target—a goblin’s shoulder—engulfing the creature in fire.

  Quickly, he drew another arrow, shooting it at one of the confused goblins standing near the first, which was now screaming in agony from the flames.

  This time, he hit the goblin’s head, instantly ending its life. The creature disintegrated into dust, almost simultaneously with its burning comrade.

  "Just one more. Come on, you can do it!"

  He pulled another arrow as the final goblin frantically tried to determine where the attacks were coming from, to no avail. And then…

  PLOP

  A flaming arrow struck the creature’s throat, making blood splatter as he died almost instantly.

  Bellphegor let out a sigh of relief.

  "Seems like this bow’s damage is super effective. Thank the gods I didn’t miss a single shot."

  He cautiously approached the area where the magic stones lay scattered on the ground—a walk that took longer than he would like to admit.

  See, there was a very good reason why the goblins never even saw him before being wiped out. He had been attacking from over 60 meters away, like a sniper, a sharpshooter... or a coward.

  How? Well… let’s just say that combining a 4-star bow with a significant visual buff from a 5-star enhancement wasn’t exactly fair.

  Bellphegor swiftly collected the magic stones, storing them in his inventory with one hand while glancing around warily.

  And then, without a single warning, a sound escaped him—a short, high-pitched noise. It was brief but soon it grew into small bursts of laughter, one after another, until suddenly he was laughing uncontrollably, hysterically, as though something within him had cracked or escaped.

  Clenching his fingers around the bow’s shaft, he bit his lip, his laughter dying down as shame and frustration filled his eyes.

  — DAMN IT! Why the hell am I being so cautious!? — he shouted at the Dungeon ceiling, angered at himself

  "I said I wouldn’t give in to fear! I said I wouldn’t be a damn coward! So why the hell am I acting like this?!"

  He was angry, frustrated, and terrified.

  Always terrified, because that cursed feeling had been a constant in her death and even now, in his new life.

  He was tired of being afraid, tired of feeling anxious, of thinking about that cursed place… his inevitable future.

  Bellphegor just wanted to be like the protagonists of the novels he loved so much, fearless in the face of battle, in the face of adversities. But he…

  He was still chained to his fear.

  And he doubted he’d escape it so easily.

  GROWL

  The sound pierced the air, cutting through the Dungeon’s darkness and freezing the blood in his veins.

  Bellphegor raised his bow hastily, aiming at the source of the sound.

  Kobolds.

  Four of them, to be precise.

  All less than 20 meters away, closing in fast after being drawn by Bellphegor’s laughter and scream. He let a trembling arrow fly toward one of the kobolds, but it ducked, dodging the shot and charging even faster towards him.

  "Damn, damn, damn! Worst fucking time for a breakdown!" he cursed mentally, retreating as he prepared another arrow and fired.

  One of the kobolds burst into flames, the arrow striking its shoulder.

  But it was already too late. The creatures were too close. Bellphegor quickly stashed his bow in his inventory and drew his xiphos, swinging it at an approaching kobold.

  Luckily, due to its momentum, the kobold couldn’t dodge, and he managed to land a blow on its shoulder, severing its arm.

  At that moment, his body moved on instinct, panic triggering his self-preservation reflexes.

  He stepped forward, spinning to dodge as two kobolds attacked where he had just been.

  Using the spin’s momentum, he landed a clumsy slash on another kobold, leaving a long gash across its back.

  The last unscathed kobold turned to him, slashing with its claws in quick a succession, but Bellphegor dodged each swipe, sensing where the creature would strike and moving just in time to dodge it.

  Before he could counterattack, the kobold he’d slashed earlier lunged at his stomach.

  Without hesitation, adrenaline coursing through his veins, he struck its claw mid-swing, cutting it in half and driving his xiphos up the kobold’s arm, from paw to elbow. Almost failling in pull back just in time to dodge another attack from the uninjured kobold.

  The creature growled at him, its companion writhing in agony, while the other two had already disintegrated into dust.

  Bellphegor raised his xiphos toward the unscathed kobold, attacking sloppily but quickly, barely grazing its throat as it leaned back to dodge what would have been a decapitating blow.

  In mere seconds, the creature too turned to dust. Bellphegor turned to the last kobold, who was still writhing in pain, and swiftly drove his xiphos into its chest, ending its suffering before it could retaliate.

  And there he stood—a 12-year-old boy surrounded by dust and four magic stones, with no wounds on his body and only slight fatigue in his right arm.