Isekai Dungeon Architect

[Non-edited.]

The inn smelled faintly of the usual booze and firewood when I stepped inside, the kind of cozy, bitter, and adult scent that should've promised relaxation. Instead, I was already grumbling before I even made it halfway to the stairs.

'Three days. Three whole days, and that elf still hasn't let me corner him once.'

The bartender— my mysterious, stupidly handsome, "why does fate hate me" elf— was still doing his level best to dodge me.

Either he was deliberately evading or the gods above were enjoying their private comedy show at my expense. Every time I came down to the counter, he was too busy with some drunk mercenary or had disappeared to the cellar with suspicious timing.

And when our eyes did meet across the room? He just slid away like a shadow, as if I had Predator tattooed across my forehead.

'I'm as harmless as bees and as cute as baby snakes.'

Moving back, I tossed my cloak on the chair, and dropped onto the bed with a dramatic flop. The mattress squeaked in protest, but feathers didn't cry.

Then, slowly, I dragged a hand down my face, muttering to myself, "I swear, one of these days, I'm going to sit right on his bar and refuse to move until he talks to me. Let's see if he can slither out of that."`

But my stomach was too full from earlier, my legs too heavy from dungeon stress, and my brain too fried to chase elves tonight. Instead, I shuffled over to the tall glass wall on the far side of the room. It overlooked the city's rooftops, and beyond them, the endless darkness of the tower dungeon looming on the horizon.

The night sky stretched above, jeweled with stars—but what stole the view, as always, were the moons. Three of them, hanging like a cosmic riddle.

The largest was pale silver, casting soft light over the city. The second, smaller but bright blue, shimmered faintly like a jewel dipped in water. The third… the smallest, blood-red, its glow faint but sinister, as if it didn't belong among the others.

They were beautiful, but every time I looked at them, a question gnawed at me.

'Why three? Why here? Why now?'

I pressed a palm against the glass, feeling the coolness bleed into my skin. My reflection stared back at me, golden eyes faintly glowing, a reminder that I wasn't the same clueless girl who stumbled into this world.

My gaze dropped to the ID card lying on the desk.

The golden star etched on its surface gleamed like it was mocking me. Rank Seven, Support class. Adventurer Recognition badge. A title, a status, a shiny achievement I didn't ask for.

And yet… it felt heavy. Not in my hand, but in my chest.

I remembered Cass's shy smile when he'd thanked me earlier, his voice shaky but proud. "I never would've gotten my license without you, Miss Aria. Thank you." He was Rank Nine, battle mage—battle mage, of all things, when the kid clearly had more porcelain-doll vibes than sword-and-fire. But the Association had decided, and who was I to argue?

He'd clutched his new ID like it was the first real step out of his cage, and maybe it was. He deserved it. He'd be fine… so long as I stuck close until he grew some dungeon instincts.

I sighed, turning the star-shaped badge over in my fingers.

"Support class, huh?" I whispered to the moons. "But what kind of support am I, really?"

The dungeon's memory rushed back—mana veins like arteries, pulsing walls like lungs, the way the entire place breathed. I could see it, fix it, even tug on it, though last time nearly blew my head off. Still, I wasn't just another adventurer swinging a sword or tossing fireballs. My role wasn't to fight. It was to shape.

Which brought me to the question I'd been circling since leaving that cursed place.

Why do dungeon architects make dungeons?

Was it just for resources? Mana, crystals, herbs, gold—the easy answer. Or maybe for sport, the sick thrill of watching fools risk their lives inside a maze of traps. Maybe it was a game, a creative outlet, a challenge to see if you could outwit the living engine of a dungeon itself.

I swallowed. The glass reflected a girl with a furrowed brow and too many thoughts.

And what about me? Why would I want to make a dungeon?

Money? Sure, who doesn't like money? But I wasn't desperate.

Resources? Useful, but not inspiring.

Fun? Okay, maybe a little. But was that all?

No. The truth was harder, scarier.

'I want to build because it's mine. Because creating is my passion.'

In my old world, I designed clouds in digital space, lines of code turned into simulations that lived only on screens. I poured myself into them, but in the end, all I got was betrayal, exhaustion, and a corporate leash. Here… here I could really create. Not fake skies, not borrowed dreams. Real dungeons. Structures that breathed, traps that thought, ecosystems that grew from my own spark.

Here, I could build something that represented me.

Individuality in stone and mana. A monument no one else could claim.

My lips quirked, half-smile, half-grimace. "Aria Solona, Dungeon Architect. Has a nice ring to it."

But the answer wasn't complete. Not yet.

Because when I asked myself again—why build—the only real answer that echoed back was simple:

'I don't know. Not yet.'

The only place I'd find it was the same place I nearly exploded last time.

The dungeon itself.

I turned back to the looming silhouette of the tower in the distance. Its shadow stretched across the horizon like a challenge waiting for me.

Tomorrow, I'd enter as an official adventurer for the first time. Not a proxy. Not a hidden examinee. An adventurer, with a badge, a rank, and a star that could paint a target on my back.

Cass would be there too, fumbling and stammering and holding his staff too tightly. Reddy would be watching, protective and sharp-eyed. And me?

I'd be walking straight into the jaws of the very thing I wanted to understand.

My hand clenched around the ID card, knuckles white. I could feel Rosaviel humming faintly in the back of my mind, quiet, patient. Waiting.

"Tomorrow," I whispered to the moons, "we'll start finding answers."

For now, though…

I flopped back onto the bed, the soft sheets swallowing me whole. My eyelids drooped. The city outside was still alive with noise, but in here, in this tiny inn room, it was just me, the golden star, and three moons watching over a girl too stubborn to stop asking questions.

Sleep took me before I could make another joke.

But even in dreams, the dungeon's veins pulsed at the edges of my thoughts, waiting.