Live Dungeon! – Chapter 7, Preparation and Observation

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Translator: TipToe

Translator (October 1, 2024 Version): Barnnn

 

After departing the Guild, Tsutomu made his way directly to his Magic Stone Exchange of choice. Though the Guild offered a counter to cash in stones as well, he preferred not to linger there when alone. The city, with its bustling exchanges, felt more welcoming, even if it came at the cost of slightly lower prices.

 

The Guild’s rates were often more stable, but the thought of enduring the stifling atmosphere in that hostile den weighed heavier on him than losing a handful of coins elsewhere.

 

Besides, city exchanges weren’t always worse; for rare or in-demand Magic Stones, they sometimes offered higher prices. Of course, there were plenty of places that tried to fleece those who didn’t know better.

 

Garm had cautioned him to rely on the Guild until he could assess the value of Magic Stones with confidence. But Tsutomu, unwilling to bear Garm’s drooping ears of disappointment again, opted for the city’s chaos over the Guild’s sharp-edged scrutiny. It was a small price for peace of mind, especially when the whispers of “Lucky Boy” still clung to him like a bad smell.

 

He passed by signboards displaying fluctuating rates before heading toward the exchange Garm had recommended. It had the look of a fortress rather than a business, with wooden crates stacked in orderly rows and workers hauling them back and forth under the watchful eyes of spear-wielding guards pacing the grounds.

 

The counter itself was nothing more than an austere slab of stone, flanked by two statuesque guards. Behind it, a small girl sat perched on a stool, her brow furrowed in concentration as she peered through a lens at a Magic Stone the size of a fist. As Tsutomu approached, he slung the Magic Bag off his shoulder and offered a polite greeting.

 

“Good afternoon. I’d like to exchange some Magic Stones.”

 

The girl, her short brown hair bouncing as she glanced up, gave a brisk nod and stepped behind the counter, opening a creaking door as she did.

 

“Smaller ones in the bucket. Larger ones here on the counter.”

 

Her voice was light, almost delicate, but she moved with practiced precision, hauling out a water-filled bucket nearly as tall as herself and setting it before Tsutomu with a resounding thud. She was a Dwarf, her strength unmistakable despite her petite frame. Tsutomu couldn’t help but marvel at her effortless display of power.

 

Tsutomu untied his bag, filled with Scrap and Small Magic Stones, and tipped its contents into the bucket. The sound of stones splashing into the water rang out satisfyingly, the process repeated until he had emptied the bag three times.

 

“That’s the lot,” he said, stepping back.

 

The girl hoisted the heavy bucket without breaking a sweat and carried it to the back where the real workspace lay. In the meantime, Tsutomu reached into his Magic Bag again, pulling out larger stones — some small enough to fit in his hand, others nearly too large to carry. When the girl returned, she raised an eyebrow at the sight.

 

“Got a big haul today.”

 

“Yeah, made it down to the fortieth layer,” Tsutomu replied, feigning nonchalance.

 

“Huh…”

 

Her interest was fleeting, her response more automatic than deliberate. She moved quickly, appraising the stones with efficiency. One by one, she set them aside until she came upon a rare, purple-colored Magic Stone. She paused, swapped out her basic lens for a more refined one, and examined it closely.

 

“Well, well, what have we here… As expected from the ‘Lucky Boy,'” she murmured with a smirk.

 

“Ahaha…”

 

Tsutomu scratched his cheek, caught in the awkwardness of her gaze. But her focus was already back on her task. She handed him a wooden token without another glance.

 

“Be ready by sundown.”

 

“Got it. Oh, and I’d like some Fire Magic Stones too — 3,000 Gold worth of small ones, and 50,000 worth of medium.”

 

“Hold on…” She shouted into the back, “Fire crates! Small and medium!”

 

A soot-covered man, burly and shirtless, acknowledged her call with a wave from the depths of the workshop.

 

The girl scribbled down the transaction on a slip of paper and sealed it inside a red pouch, pressing a wax stamp embedded with a red Magic Stone into it. A thin wisp of smoke rose as the wax cooled, the faint scent of charred embers reaching Tsutomu’s nose.

 

Soon, two men emerged, each carrying a large crate filled with red Magic Stones. They cheerfully greeted Tsutomu and set the crates down with care. The girl gave them a nod, sending them hurrying back to their workstations.

 

The girl, sleeves rolled up, grabbed fistfuls of the stones and tossed them into the pouch. Though her movements seemed hurried, Tsutomu knew from experience they were precise. The weight and value would match perfectly, down to the last coin.

 

“Check it yourself,” she muttered without looking up. Tsutomu gave the contents a cursory glance, then tied the pouch shut. Pocketing the receipt token, he left the exchange.

 

Next, Tsutomu made his way to the Potion shop, a well-known establishment nestled near the city’s colossal monitor. Its fame stretched far and wide, for it was run by the legendary Forest Apothecary, an Elf renowned for her unparalleled mastery of Potion-making.

 

As Tsutomu stepped inside, a faint tinge of herbs and alchemical brews greeted him, cutting through the shop’s scrupulous cleanliness. He rang the bell on the counter, and from the shadowy back of the shop came a voice, rough but warm. As Tsutomu fished a large bottle from his Magic Bag, the sound of shuffling footsteps drew closer. The door creaked, and an elderly woman appeared, leaning heavily on a staff.

 

Her golden hair, threaded with silver, framed a pair of elongated ears that peeked out from beneath the soft strands — a telltale sign of her Elven heritage. She was no ordinary apothecary; she had founded this place, a living relic of an era that preceded most other humanoid races’ current lifetime.

 

“Good afternoon,” Tsutomu said, offering her a polite bow.

 

“And a good afternoon to you,” she replied with a smile that radiated warmth, as though the very sun had bestowed it. “Here for more of your Blue Potion, I presume?”

 

Tsutomu nodded, handing over the bottle.

 

“Yes. As much as this bottle can hold, please.”

 

The Elf chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling with bemusement. “You’re quite the curious one, aren’t you? Blue Potions — week after week. I’m running low on ingredients, though. Last week’s batch cleared me out.”

 

Tsutomu scratched the back of his neck, sheepishly apologizing, then offered his help in gathering what she needed. The Blue Potions she brewed were unlike any others — soothing in taste and potent in restoring mental energy. He didn’t mind lending a hand if it meant keeping her stock replenished.

 

The old woman laughed and waved off his offer. “No need, young man. Your patronage is already more help than you know. Clears out the shelves, you see. These days, everyone clamors for Green Potions. Blue ones? Not so much.”

 

Tsutomu hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe Black Mages still need them, but typical White Mages… not as often.”

 

“Exactly,” she nodded. Her gaze flicked over his attire. “And I’d wager you’re a White Mage yourself. Be careful, young man. The Dungeon can take more than you expect. Don’t push yourself too hard — too many have lost their minds down there.”

 

“I’ll… try to keep that in mind,” Tsutomu replied, his eyes drifting aside. He wasn’t sure he could promise more than that; his life here was already too tangled up with the Dungeons — and so were most of his teenage years back on Earth, in a way.

 

“A non-committal answer if I’ve ever heard one,” she muttered, unimpressed by his evasive response, tapping her staff against the floor with a sigh.

 

Just then, the pot on the counter began to glow faintly, a green Magic Stone nestled within it pulsing. The old woman busied herself, attaching a long spout to the pot and placing the empty bottle beneath it. She pressed down on the pot, and the blue liquid bubbled forth, pouring smoothly into the bottle until it brimmed.

 

Tsutomu sealed the bottle with a firm twist, wrapping it in a soft, cushioned material that had the texture of Slime, then carefully stowed it away in his Magic Bag. He paid the fee and set a pouch marked by the Magic Stone Exchange on the counter.

 

The Elf accepted the pouch with a twinkle in her eye. “You’ve saved this old woman more times than you know.”

 

“I’d say it’s the other way around,” Tsutomu replied with a smile. Their arrangement was mutually beneficial — whenever he helped her source Magic Stones, she was generous enough to offer him a slight discount in return. “Until next week, then. Will you need more Magic Stones by then?”

 

“Yes, please. Water and Wind, if possible.”

 

“Understood. And please make sure to prepare more Blue Potions for me!”

 

She chuckled as she waved Tsutomu off. “Mixing the same old healing Potions gets dull after a while. This will keep my old brain from rusting away!”

 

With a nod, Tsutomu turned and left the shop, the familiar warmth of her parting words lingering with him as he disappeared into the busy streets.

 

At the bustling market near the Monitors, Tsutomu wove through the crowd, his eyes drifting over the many food stalls that lined the streets. Each offered a dizzying array of exotic delicacies, and the vendors put on elaborate cooking performances to catch the attention of passersby.

 

But Tsutomu had learned his lesson. After an unfortunate “jackpot” experience at one of these stalls, he now preferred to stick to the safer, more familiar options — dishes that were thoroughly cooked and devoid of culinary surprises.

 

His stomach growled in protest, so he made his way to a stall offering a simple but hearty meal: a steaming bowl of soup brimming with meatballs and rich broth. After exchanging a few coins, he took his seat at a nearby counter and accepted a fork from the vendor. The meatballs were piping hot, and he huffed to cool one before taking a bite. The savory richness of the broth warmed him from the inside, and he soaked a piece of bread in the thick liquid before savoring the combination.

 

Once he’d drained the last of the soup, he handed the empty wooden bowl back to the vendor, stood up, and continued his leisurely exploration of the market. Sturdy stalls lined the streets, their goods displayed on makeshift tables or spread out on the ground. He browsed without urgency, taking in the sights, until eventually, the buzz of the market wore him out.

 

Finding a bench near one of the medium-sized Monitors, Tsutomu sat down and pulled a stack of memo papers and a pen from his Magic Bag. His attention shifted to the screen, where the explorations of various Clans played out in real time.

 

The larger, more famous Clans — as well as their good-for-nothing imitators — used the brute-force approach, relying on Potions to power through battles. Their methods held little interest for Tsutomu, who quickly turned his focus to the smaller mid-tier Clans.

 

It was in these groups that creativity often thrived — unique strategies and unusual party compositions that aimed to minimize Potion expenses. Tsutomu noted that in recent weeks, most of these parties consisted entirely of Attackers, with no Healer in sight. Some groups used Heavyweight Warriors to anchor their defenses, or Black Mages to cast support spells and debilitate monsters with status effects. Once, he even saw a team of Beastkin with an actually competent White Mage.

 

Today, his attention was caught by a mid-tier party making their way through the Swamp layer. The group, all women, had run into trouble on the twentieth layer — the beginning of the treacherous marshes. Their supply of Antidote Potions had run dry, and they’d decided to retreat. As they trudged back through the muck, a sluggish Mud Slime trailed behind them.

 

The Mud Slime, resistant to physical attacks, had drained the mental reserves of their two Mages, leaving them exhausted. Down two members, the party struggled, their movements slow and labored as they pressed on toward the Black Gate.

 

The camera zoomed in on the party’s leader, a Black Mage who led the way with a hoarse voice, her tone heavy with fatigue. Behind her, the Heavyweight Warrior stumbled, her armor caked in mud. Relief flickered across their faces as the Black Gate finally came into view. But just as they neared it, the Heavyweight Warrior collapsed dramatically into the muck, her strength spent. The camera, angled from above, panned downward.

 

The other Mage at the front turned, attempting to pull her comrade from the mud, but the thick swamp had seeped into her armor, making her movements clumsy and slow. She managed to lift the Warrior’s face from the swamp, but the Mud Slime had caught up.

 

The leader hesitated, exchanging a few words with the fallen Warrior. With a heavy sigh, she wiped the mud from her face and took the small Magic Bag that hung at her waist. The Mage tried again to help the Warrior, tears brimming in her eyes, but the leader turned away and moved toward the Black Gate. The camera switched between the struggling figures and the two others slipping into the Black Gate’s safety.

 

As the camera zoomed in on the Heavyweight Warrior’s face, now streaked with mud again, she realized she was being shown on the screen. Her lips curled into a grin, and she winked to the audience.

 

The focus shifted as the two remaining party members disappeared into the Black Gate, their bodies dissolving into particles. Meanwhile, the Heavyweight Warrior, left to her own devices, braced herself against the swamp, trying to free herself. But the Mud Slime, relentless in its pursuit, began to climb her legs, pressing down on her back with its suffocating weight.

 

Unable to withstand the pressure, her face sank once more into the murky swamp. She struggled, muscles straining against the thick mud, but her movements grew weaker as the seconds ticked by. After a minute and a half, her resistance ceased. Her body, heavy with exhaustion, dissolved into particles. The Mud Slime, now motionless, hovered where she had fallen, and with that, the footage cut to another, unrelated party.

 

[A perfectly practical sacrifice, all things considered… but how do they manage such cold resolve? Could I ever be that composed?]

 

In the heat of battle, when death loomed large, the most logical choice would be to pass any valuables to your companions and draw the monsters’ attention — acting as bait until you were inevitably struck down. Resurrection was always possible in this Dungeon, after all. But Tsutomu couldn’t shake the gnawing doubt: could he really stay that calm if he were the one left behind?

 

The notion of self-sacrifice, of banishing fear, fascinated him. Their tactics weren’t particularly sophisticated, but there was something to be learned in the way these Explorers honed their minds. It was a far cry from the safety of a computer screen, where fights were mere simulations, and all it took was a click of the mouse or a smack on the keyboard.

 

Even now, though he had honed his combat skills to a respectable degree, Tsutomu knew he was far from perfect. His healing, his ability to manage aggro, his split-second decision-making — it all still felt clumsy. He couldn’t zoom the camera out to observe from above; he was always in the thick of it, feeling the breath of monsters on his neck. The use of each skill required careful thought, unlike the automatic ease of a keyboard shortcut. Every now and then, even the lightest hit from a monster sent a tremor of fear through him, freezing him in place.

 

The ideal solution, of course, was to avoid situations that demanded sacrifice altogether. But mentally preparing for the worst was still crucial.

 

The sun had begun to set, casting a dim glow across the streets. As Tsutomu walked back toward the Magic Stone Exchange, his thoughts turned inward, clouded by uncertainty.

 

Inside the Exchange, the dwarf appraiser lounged behind the counter, her small hands resting behind her head. She straightened up as Tsutomu approached, handing her the wooden token for his queue.

 

She glanced at it, then fetched an appraisal certificate.

 

“The small ones are mostly Colorless and poor quality — a few thousand will have to do. If you’re unhappy with that, take it up elsewhere.”

 

Tsutomu shrugged. “That’s fine.”

 

“Right. Now for the medium and large stones.” She spread them across the counter. “Two low-grade mediums, four mid-grade, three high-grade. Total so far: 204,000 Gold.”

 

“…That works for me.”

 

“And for the large ones,” she continued, “they’re all Colorless, mid-quality — 400,000 Gold. But this purple one… This one’s something special. How about… say, 1.2 million Gold?”

 

“The Colorless ones’ price is reasonable, but…” Tsutomu’s eyes lingered on the purple Magic Stone. He knew its worth, and he let her know as much with a slight tilt of his head. “I’ll take this CURSED Magic Stone to the Guild instead.”

 

The girl’s rough, calloused hand shot out, grabbing Tsutomu’s just as he was retrieving the stone.

 

“…1.6 million Gold.”

 

“The Guild’s offer isn’t far from that. I’ll pass.”

 

“Ugh… Fine! 1.73 million!”

 

“Now that’s more like it. I’ll take that.”

 

As he withdrew his hand, the girl snatched up the purple stone with a huff, clutching it close. She shot him a rueful look.

 

“You knew, didn’t you? Thought you were one of the nice ones, but you’ve got some nerve.”

 

“Big words, coming from someone who just tried to swindle me,” Tsutomu replied with a smirk. “Amy does most of my appraisals, you know.”

 

The girl groaned, her face a mask of frustration as she counted out the coins. “Dammit! I thought it was just Garm running with you — didn’t know that perfect appraiser was in your camp too! There goes my chance at splurging on some fine ale tonight…”

 

Amused, Tsutomu watched her expertly juggle her frustrations while handling the transaction. He considered buying her that drink she so desperately wanted, but decided against it — for now. With a wry smile, he left the Exchange, now 2,334,000 Gold richer.

 

That night, he settled into his usual room at a modest inn. The next day passed much the same: watching the Monitors, taking notes, and preparing for whatever the Dungeon threw his way next.

 

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Silavin: I’m playing around with the time a little. Trying to have a gauge on when is the best time to post this novel. For these two days, it will be at +8 GMT 2am

 

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