Is It Wrong to Want Luxury in a Dungeon? [5]

Ink, Paper, and Blood

The library of Twilight Manor was a cathedral of books—tall, imposing shelves stretching up to the ceiling, filled with ancient tomes, detailed maps, and enough literature to drown any sane person in ink and boredom. It was quiet, orderly, a scholar’s paradise.

It was Calista’s personal hell.

She groaned, slouching over the desk, her forehead dramatically pressed against an open book filled with symbols that may as well have been chicken scratches written by a drunken god.

“I don’t deserve this,” she muttered, voice muffled against the parchment. “This is cruel and unusual punishment.”

Riveria, sitting across from her with the patience of a saint—or perhaps just long-practiced tolerance for nonsense—did not look up from her own book. “It is called literacy.”

Calista lifted her head just enough to glare at her, quill still limp in her fingers. “I already know how to read.”

Riveria’s gaze flicked toward the parchment in front of her. “Then why haven’t you?”

Calista’s eye twitched.

She groaned again, dragging a hand through her hair as she looked back at the infuriating script before her. The symbols taunted her, unfamiliar and unforgiving. It wasn’t just that they were different—it was the audacity of them. They had no right to be this confusing.

“This is a scam,” she declared. “Words shouldn’t look like this. This is illegal.”

Riveria, utterly unfazed, turned a page in her book. “And yet, they do.”

Calista flopped back onto the desk. “Why can’t I just speak beautifully and have the world translate itself for me? That seems reasonable.”

“That is not how language works.”

“Well, it should be.”

Riveria exhaled through her nose, finally setting her book aside to regard her with that cool, unreadable expression that had probably terrified countless adventurers before her. “You are making this more difficult than it needs to be.”

“I refuse to learn in protest.”

“That is not how learning works.”

“It is if I commit hard enough.”

Riveria merely picked up her quill and, with smooth, practiced strokes, wrote something down on the parchment in front of Calista. The script was elegant, precise, almost too perfect compared to the monstrosities she had been scribbling.

“Read this.”

Calista squinted at it. The letters were distinct but still annoying. Some of them she vaguely recognized from earlier lessons, but the full phrase?

“…Fii… looo…” she muttered, dragging out the syllables like they physically pained her.

Riveria nodded. “Continue.”

“…Ro?”

“Ru,” Riveria corrected. “The ‘o’ sound is softened.”

Calista tapped the table in frustration. “This is a scam.”

“It is phonetics.”

“Same thing.”

Riveria, ever patient, tapped the next word. “Again.”

Calista sighed deeply before dragging her eyes over the next set of symbols. It looked… easier? Maybe? She tilted her head, rolling the sounds over in her mouth before trying, very carefully:

“…You are… beautiful?”

Silence.

Calista blinked.

Riveria blinked.

Calista’s lips slowly curled into a smirk.

“Oh-ho, Riveria,” she purred, leaning forward onto the desk, elbows planted, chin resting on her hands, eyes sparkling with delight. “If you wanted to compliment me, you could’ve just said so.”

Riveria, completely unimpressed, picked up her book again and slammed it shut with a resounding thud.

“I am regretting this already.”

Calista giggled. “Don’t be shy, my lady. I am beautiful, aren’t I?”

Riveria inhaled deeply, slowly, like a woman practicing extreme patience.

“That phrase was selected purely for phonetic structure.”

“So you’re saying it was a coincidence that the first thing I ever read was about my own beauty?”

“Yes.”

Calista beamed. “No need to hide your admiration, darling.”

Riveria set her book aside again, folded her hands on the desk, and looked at her.

Calista smiled.

Riveria smiled back.

Then, without warning, she picked up the parchment and flipped it upside down.

“Read it again.”

Calista’s face dropped.

Her lips parted. She stared.

“…What.”

Riveria leaned back, expression perfectly serene. “Go on.”

Calista squinted. She tilted her head. She tilted it the other way. The letters stayed the same, but suddenly, her brain refused to cooperate.

“…I hate you.”

Riveria smirked. “You’re improving.”

Calista dropped her head onto the desk with a thud.

Riveria reached for her book again, satisfied. “Next, we will work on your writing.”

Calista let out a low, agonized groan. “I thought you liked me.”

“I never said that.”

“This is abuse.”

“This is education.”

“I’d rather die.”

“Then you would die illiterate.”

Calista groaned again, louder this time, lifting her head just enough to glare at Riveria. “If I get ink on my sleeves, I will never forgive you.”

Riveria did not so much as blink. “I think I will survive.”

Calista pouted deeply, but, with extreme reluctance, she picked up the quill again.

She would never admit it out loud…

But she was actually starting to enjoy this.

...

Calista let out a long, dramatic sigh as she stretched her arms over her head, twirling the quill between her fingers before setting it down with a flourish.

“There,” she announced, placing her hands on her hips. “I have conquered literacy.”

Riveria didn’t even look up from the page she was reviewing. “You learned how to write your name.”

“And what a name it is.” Calista flicked a strand of hair over her shoulder, giving Riveria a smug smile. “A masterpiece of penmanship, if I do say so myself.”

Riveria finally deigned to glance at the parchment where Calista’s name was scrawled across it. The letters were legible, which was already an improvement, but there was a dramatic, almost flourished quality to the strokes—like Calista had spent more time making it look extravagant than actually practicing structure.

“You are insufferable,” Riveria muttered, shaking her head.

“Elegant,” Calista corrected. “Refined. A woman of unparalleled sophistication.”

“Arrogant.”

“Self-aware.”

Riveria exhaled through her nose, deciding that this was not a battle worth fighting. “Regardless, we are finished for today.”

Calista immediately stood, stretching luxuriously, her joints popping as she let out a satisfied hum. “Finally. I was starting to think you’d keep me here forever.”

Riveria stacked the parchments neatly. “Tempting.”

Before Calista could retort, the door creaked open, and a very wary Lefiya peeked her head inside. The elf looked as if she was checking for traps before stepping in, her blue eyes flicking toward Calista with something that might have been fear.

“It’s time to go to the Guild,” Lefiya said quickly, her posture stiff.

Calista grinned. “Why, if it isn’t my dear Lefiya! Did you come to rescue me from my scholarly suffering?”

Lefiya’s ears twitched violently. “No.”

Calista stepped closer, hands clasped behind her back, tilting her head. “Are you sure? You’re not secretly enamored with me, my dear apprentice?”

Lefiya made a noise that sounded dangerously close to a squeak before turning sharply to Riveria for help. “C-Can we just go?”

Riveria, looking as though she had no interest in intervening, merely nodded. “Yes. She needs to register officially as a member of the Loki Familia.”

Calista blinked. “Wait. This is about paperwork?”

Lefiya sighed, already exhausted. “Of course it is.”

Calista groaned. “Ugh, why didn’t anyone tell me? I would have stayed illiterate.”

Riveria stood, gathering the materials. “That would have made it rather difficult to sign official documents.”

“I could have drawn something!” Calista waved a hand. “Like a signature flourish, or a personal crest. You know, something noble.”

“You would have drawn a cat.”

Calista paused.

“…Maybe.”

Lefiya gave an exasperated sigh before motioning toward the door. “Come on, the sooner we get this done, the better.”

Calista sighed dramatically but followed, adjusting her sleeves as she fell into step beside Lefiya. “Do I at least get a grand entrance? A speech? A medal for my accomplishments?”

“You get to sign your name on a piece of paper.”

Calista scoffed. “Dreadful.”

Lefiya pinched the bridge of her nose, already regretting being the one to escort her.

Riveria, watching them go, felt absolutely no sympathy.

...

The moment Calista stepped into the Guild, she was greeted by the one thing she didn’t want to see—Rose Fannett’s deeply unamused stare.

The werewolf woman sat behind her usual desk, her sharp golden eyes flicking up the moment Calista approached. She didn’t look surprised.

She looked mildly disappointed.

“…You lived,” Rose said flatly, as if this were an inconvenience.

Calista grinned. “Surprised?”

Rose let out a deep, suffering sigh as she reached for a new parchment. “Annoyed.”

Lefiya, who had been forced to escort Calista, looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. “Can we just get this over with?”

Calista ignored her, leaning lazily against the counter. “I’ll have you know, my dear Rose, that I didn’t just survive. I thrived.”

Rose gave her a slow, blank stare. “You’re here for paperwork.”

Calista waved a hand. “A formality, I assure you.”

“Right.” Rose flicked through the parchment with practiced efficiency. “Name.”

“Calista Aldebrand,” she said smoothly, folding her arms.

Rose started writing, but then paused.

Her gaze flicked back to Calista.

“…Loki Familia?”

Calista smirked. “That’s right, darling. Second best Familia in Orario. Only because Freya Familia is a cheat code.”

Rose narrowed her eyes, scanning her like she had just noticed something suspicious. “…How?”

Calista gasped, placing a hand on her chest. “Are you doubting my charm? My capabilities? My sheer, overwhelming brilliance?”

Rose did not react. “Yes.”

Lefiya choked.

Calista frowned, muttering, “Rude.”

Rose tapped the parchment impatiently. “You expect me to believe that Loki, one of the pickiest gods in Orario, looked at you and said, ‘Yeah, let’s throw her into the strongest Familia in the city’?”

Calista tilted her head. “Well, when you put it like that—”

“She had trouble with the Freya Familia,” Lefiya cut in, exasperated.

Rose blinked. Her sharp eyes turned back to Calista, this time analyzing rather than dismissing.

“…You got rejected?”

Calista rolled her eyes. “Not even by Freya herself! Some glorified bouncer turned me away before I could even grace them with my presence.”

Rose just stared. Then, after a moment, she let out a short, tired huff.

“That tracks.”

Calista squinted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Rose ignored her, flipping the parchment around. “Sign here.”

Calista examined the paper very seriously before picking up the quill and signing her name with an obnoxious flourish.

Rose stared at the extra swirls for a long, painful moment.

Then, without hesitation, she crossed out the entire thing.

Calista gasped. “How dare you.”

“Write it again,” Rose said, not looking up.

Calista scowled but begrudgingly complied.

As she finished, Rose took the parchment back, gave it one last look, then stamped it.

“Done.” She set her quill aside. “Congratulations, you’re now officially registered as a member of the Loki Familia.”

Calista beamed. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

Rose’s eye twitched.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, reaching for another sheet. “Since you’re a new adventurer, you’ll be assigned a Guild Advisor.”

Lefiya perked up. “Oh! That’ll be helpful.”

Calista nodded along. “I do require proper guidance.”

Rose kept writing.

Calista waited.

Then, slowly, a grin crept onto her face.

“…Wait.”

Rose did not look up.

“…Rose, darling,” Calista purred, elbows resting on the counter, chin in her hands. “Are you my Guild Advisor?”

Rose’s grip on the quill tightened.

“…Unfortunately.”

Lefiya instantly stepped back.

Calista’s smirk stretched.

“Oh, this is divine.”

Rose set the quill down so hard it nearly snapped.

“I already regret this.”

Calista giggled. “You’ll grow to love me.”

Rose exhaled, her golden eyes dull with exhaustion. “Get out of my Guild.”

Calista graciously excused herself, Lefiya dragging her out before she could make it worse.

...

The Dungeon was… big.

Calista had expected something dramatic, but standing before the massive staircase leading underground, she realized she had underestimated just how massive the entrance actually was.

The sheer openness of it felt unnatural—a gaping maw carved into the center of Orario, waiting for fools to step inside. Stone archways framed the entrance, weathered but sturdy, as if they had seen countless adventurers pass through and still remained unchanged. Guards stood nearby, watching the steady flow of people entering and exiting, their expressions bored but alert.

She wasn’t the only one here, of course. Adventurers of all levels milled about—some returning with bloodstained armor and heavy sacks of loot, others heading inside with fresh weapons and eager grins. A few wore the hardened expressions of those who had seen too much, their movements precise, their gazes sharp.

It was organized chaos, a constant cycle of people heading in and hoping to come out.

“Well,” Raul said, adjusting his gloves nervously as he glanced at her, “this is it. Welcome to the Dungeon.”

Calista turned to him, one brow raised. “You say that like it’s some grand attraction.”

Raul Nord, Loki Familia veteran, Level 4 adventurer, and currently assigned Dungeon escort, gave her a sheepish smile.

“For some people, it is,” he said, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “For others, it’s the last place they ever see.”

Lefiya visibly tensed beside her. “Raul…”

“What?” Raul shrugged defensively. “She should know what she’s getting into.”

“I’m not scared,” Calista said, tilting her head toward the open stairway. “I’m just wondering why the biggest threat in Orario is conveniently accessible by public staircase.”

Raul blinked, then sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s not that simple. The Guild manages everything around the entrance, and the deeper you go, the less ‘convenient’ it gets.”

Lefiya nodded. “Even the first few floors can be dangerous if you’re careless. The Dungeon isn’t a fixed space—it reacts to people inside it.”

Calista’s smirk didn’t fade, but she filed that information away. She had read enough fantasy books to understand what that implied.

“So, if I say something offensive, will the walls get mad and collapse on me?”

Raul sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. “No, but if you get too comfortable, the Dungeon will remind you why that’s a bad idea.”

Calista hummed, gaze flicking toward the adventurers coming out. Some looked victorious, some looked barely alive.

This was a real battlefield.

That was fine.

She had no intention of being mediocre.

Raul must have noticed something in her expression, because he nodded toward the entrance. “First trip’s just to get you familiar with the place. Don’t try to be a hero.”

Calista flipped her hair over her shoulder. “Darling, I’m always the main character.”

Raul muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.

...

Descending deeper into the Dungeon, Calista felt the air grow thick with something unspoken—not quite fear, but tension, the kind that came before something inevitable. The stone corridors stretched out before them, twisting and turning in ways that made it easy to see how someone could get lost forever.

Raul led the way, though there was nothing particularly confident about it. His posture was tense, his eyes flicking to every shadow like he expected something to jump out at any moment. Lefiya stayed close, glancing around every few seconds, staff gripped tightly in her hands.

Calista kept her spear resting against her shoulder, fingers loose but ready.

She had never fought a real battle before.

She lived in a world that was relatively safe, where everything was predictable. But the Dungeon was different. It was alive, shifting, unpredictable.

And it wasn’t long before it reminded her.

A soft growl echoed ahead. Raul stopped so fast that Calista nearly bumped into him. He raised a hand, fingers twitching slightly.

Movement in the dark. Shuffling feet. Claws scratching against stone.

Then, stepping into the dim glow of the Dungeon’s crystals—three goblins.

They were ugly little things, squat bodies and long limbs, with yellowed fangs bared in wide grins. Their beady red eyes locked onto them instantly.

Calista almost laughed.

These were monsters?

She had expected something bigger, something terrifying. But these looked like pests.

One of them snarled and raised a rusted blade, pointing it toward them.

Raul let out a quiet, weary sigh, running a hand down his face. “Ugh. Goblins.”

Lefiya hesitated. “Shouldn’t we—”

“She’ll be fine,” Raul said, though there was uncertainty in his tone. He gave Calista a sidelong glance. “Probably.”

Calista smirked, twirling her spear in one hand.

Finally.

The goblins charged.

She stepped forward, spear leveling in an instant.

One of the goblins lunged, blade raised—

Calista’s spear struck first. A clean, practiced thrust—straight through the chest.

The goblin let out a wet gurgle, red eyes going wide. Its weapon clattered against the ground as it slumped over, twitching as life drained from its body.

Raul blinked. “Huh.”

But Calista wasn’t done.

She turned—just in time.

The second goblin was already on her, blade slashing toward her side.

She twisted, the attack missing by inches.

Her spear came up—too slow.

The goblin’s claws raked across her shoulder before she could bring the weapon down. Not deep, but enough to sting.

Annoying.

She gritted her teeth, kicked the goblin back, and thrust forward.

The spear struck true, slamming into its throat. The monster gurgled, shuddering, then went still.

But the third one was already in the air.

Lefiya gasped. “Calista, move—!”

Calista didn’t.

Instead, she shifted her stance, angled her spear up—

The goblin landed on it.

A clean impalement.

The thing twitched, its shriek turning wet.

Then it died.

Silence.

Calista exhaled, shaking the blood off her weapon.

Raul let out a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay… well… that worked.”

Lefiya, still holding onto her spell, blinked. “That was… fast.”

Calista rolled her shoulder, flicking a drop of blood off her sleeve. “They were weak.”

Raul frowned. “You say that now. Wait until they come in swarms.”

He crouched down, pulling a hunting knife from his belt.

Calista wrinkled her nose. “What are you doing?”

Raul looked up at her like she had just asked why swords were sharp. “Carving out the magic stones.”

Calista frowned deeper. “Can’t we just let them turn into loot piles?”

“That’s… not how it works,” Raul said, already looking exhausted. “You have to take out the magic stone yourself. The body doesn’t disappear until you do.”

Lefiya nodded. “That’s why adventurers carry knives. You can’t always rely on your main weapon.”

Calista watched, mildly disgusted, as Raul sliced open the first goblin’s chest. The skin peeled away easily, revealing a small, faintly glowing stone embedded inside. He pried it out, wiped it off, then moved on to the next.

Calista scowled. “That’s unsanitary.”

Raul sighed heavily, like a man who had given this speech far too many times. “Welcome to adventuring.”

He finished extracting the last stone, wiping his knife against his sleeve before tossing one to her.

She caught it, turning it over in her fingers.

It was warm.

Still humming with the energy that had once been a living creature.

She grinned.

“More.”

---

A/N: woah aren't these goblins a bit too weak?