By the time Arin returned to the Steel Belly, the sky had begun to soften into the early hues of evening.
This time, he entered as himself.
The iron helmet rested inside the worn cloth bag in his hand, its weight familiar but no longer needed. Along with it, he carried a thick book—bound in worn leather, its edge slightly frayed from use.
It wasn't cheap.
One silver had gone into buying it from a bookstore on his way back to the tavern.
An investment.
The moment he stepped inside—
"Welcome back, Mister Arin."
Kiri's voice came first, bright and immediate as always. She slipped between tables with practiced ease before stopping near him, her eyes dropping instantly to what he carried.
"What's this?" she asked, tilting her head slightly. "A book?"
A small smirk followed.
"You don't look like the studious type."
Arin shifted the book slightly in his grip.
"I figured I should know more about what I'm walking into," he replied calmly. "Dungeons. Monsters. The world itself."
A brief pause.
"…It's time I learned properly."
Kiri blinked once, then let out a soft, amused breath.
"Well, look at you," she said, folding her arms lightly. "All serious and responsible now."
Behind the counter, Helgarth didn't look up immediately.
She was writing something into a thick ledger, her movements steady, deliberate. Ink scratched softly against parchment as she turned a page.
Only then did her gaze flick briefly toward Arin.
"Right choice," she said.
Her attention returned to the ledger.
"People think strength keeps them alive out there," she continued, her voice calm but firm. "It doesn't."
"Knowledge does."
The tavern noise carried on around them, but her words cut through it cleanly.
"You don't need to be stronger than everything you face," she added. "You just need to know what you're dealing with."
Another line written.
"Most don't bother."
A small pause.
"They die for it."
Silence lingered for a moment.
Arin gave a small nod.
"I'll keep that in mind."
The moment passed naturally.
Then—
"Miss Helgarth," he said, shifting the books slightly, "about the blacksmith you mentioned…"
Her pen stopped.
Just for a second.
"…I'd like to meet him."
Helgarth closed the ledger with a soft thud, finally looking up properly this time.
She gave Arin a brief glance.
"Morning," she said.
"No rush in the tavern then."
She leaned back slightly.
"I'll take you."
Arin nodded once.
"Understood."
Kiri, who had been quietly listening, looked between the two of them, curiosity flickering across her face.
"…Blacksmith?" she muttered. "That sounds exciting."
————-
The tavern had settled into its evening rhythm by the time Arin returned to the main hall.
Warm light spilled from hanging lamps, casting a steady glow over the wooden beams and crowded tables below. Laughter rose and fell in uneven waves, mugs clinked against each other, and the rich scent of cooked meat and spiced broth lingered in the air. Adventurers filled the space—some loud, some quiet, some already lost to drink—yet none of it felt chaotic. It was a kind of order born from repetition, from lives that moved between danger and brief moments of rest.
Arin had begun to understand it.
After washing and changing into a loose, more comfortable set of clothes, he had chosen not to remain in his room. There was no reason to. The quiet no longer held the same appeal it once had.
Instead, he made his way to the corner table near the window—the one he had taken for himself without ever saying it aloud.
It was empty.
As it always seemed to be.
He set the book down gently and took his seat, leaning back for a moment as the faint evening breeze slipped in through the open window. His hair was still slightly damp, a few strands falling loosely across his forehead, catching the soft light from above.
For a brief moment, he simply sat there, letting the noise of the tavern settle around him.
Then he reached for the book.
The cover was worn but sturdy, its leather binding thick, edges softened by time and use. The title was embossed across the front in faded lettering:
Bestiary of the Known Depths
It had cost him a silver.
Not a small expense.
But as his fingers traced lightly over the surface, he felt no hesitation about the purchase.
If anything—
It felt necessary.
He opened it.
The first pages were not filled with monsters.
Instead, they carried something else entirely.
History.
Not the kind written to glorify kings or record wars—but something older. Broader. A record of the world itself.
Arin's gaze moved steadily across the page.
"It is said that there was once an age when monsters were driven to near extinction."
His eyes slowed slightly.
"What followed was not peace—but decline."
The words carried weight.
"Magic began to fade. Crops failed. Creatures weakened. Even humanity stood at the edge of collapse."
Arin's brow tightened just a fraction.
This was not how the world was supposed to work.
Not how he had imagined it.
He read on.
"For this world does not stand apart from monsters—it is sustained by them."
That line lingered.
"All energy, all growth, all magic flows within a single cycle. To disrupt one is to weaken all."
Arin leaned back slightly, the book still open in his hands.
"…So monsters aren't the problem," he thought.
"They're part of the system."
His gaze returned to the text.
"It was during this collapse that the Primordials emerged."
The name stood alone.
"No records confirm their number. No kingdom claims their origin. Yet their work remains."
Arin's attention sharpened.
"They constructed vast, layered structures across the world—known today as dungeons."
The next lines came slowly.
Deliberately.
"These were not natural formations, but engineered domains—each divided into floors, each governed by fixed rules."
Arin's fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the page.
Engineered.
That word mattered.
"Within these dungeons, creatures are restored over time, regardless of prior extermination. Once a floor is cleared, it enters a restoration phase. All entities—including the floor guardian—are returned."
Not born.
Not like the monsters outside, which lived and reproduced naturally.
They Restored.
Arin exhaled quietly.
"…So it's controlled."
The book continued.
"The largest among these structures descend beyond one hundred floors. These are commonly referred to as Primordial Dungeons."
His eyes moved faster now.
"Within the Valerion Kingdom, among the many smaller dungeons, three such Primordial Dungeons are recorded—one beneath the capital city of Aldervale, one near the city of Greyhaven, and one under the authority of Silvermist Academy in Cliffhaven, the most prestigious magical institution in the kingdom, where nobles, royals, and elite scholars are trained."
Arin's gaze paused at that.
Greyhaven.
So close.
Closer than he had expected.
A faint shift passed through his expression.
"…That means…"
He didn't finish the thought.
He didn't need to.
He continued reading.
"These dungeons serve not merely as hunting grounds, but as stabilizing structures. Their continued operation ensures the persistence of magical energy throughout the world."
A quiet realization settled in.
This world wasn't simply dangerous.
It was constructed.
Balanced.
Maintained.
And every adventurer walking into a dungeon—
Was stepping into something deliberately made.
Arin closed the page halfway, his thumb holding his place as he leaned back slightly in his chair.
"…This isn't just survival," he thought.
"…it's participation."
After a moment, he lowered his gaze again and turned the page.
The tone shifted.
The writing became more practical.
Structured and useful.
A table of contents stretched across the next few pages—cleanly divided, carefully organized.
Arin's eyes moved through it, and for the first time since opening the book—
A faint spark of excitement appeared.
The monsters weren't listed randomly.
They were categorized.
Not just by type—
But by progression.
Floors 1–10
Floors 10–20
Floors 20–30
Each section carried its own grouping, its own expected encounters.
"…So it's mapped."
Not perfectly.
But enough.
Enough for someone who paid attention.
His fingers shifted slightly as he turned another page.
The details expanded.
Each creature wasn't just described—it was broken down.
Behavior.
Strength.
Weakness.
The location of magic stones within the body.
Precise instructions on extraction.
Even notes on how different parts could be used—hide, bone, blood.
Nothing wasted.
Nothing left vague.
Arin's focus deepened.
There were even strategies.
Not grand, heroic techniques—
But simple, practical methods.
Where to strike.
When to retreat.
How to avoid unnecessary risk.
It wasn't written for glory.
It was written for survival.
And that made it valuable.
"…This is good," he thought.
"Better than I expected."
His grip on the book steadied.
The noise of the tavern faded into the background once more—not because it had quieted, but because his attention had narrowed.
This wasn't just reading.
This was preparation.
Real preparation.
The kind that could make the difference between walking out—
Or not walking out at all.
Arin's eyes lowered to the next section, ready to begin properly.
This time—
Not skimming.
But studying.