For those dreaming of success as an Explorer, the system of Titles etched into the Status screen was of paramount importance.
As was evident from the description for the "Madman" Title that had suddenly cropped up on my Status screen, acquiring a Title allowed an Explorer to obtain a corresponding skill at Level 1.
Many Title-based skills were unique or powerful. Even if they weren't, being able to gain a skill without spending Skill Points was a massive advantage. Depending on the skill, even a Level 1 effect could be remarkably efficient.
However, Titles were not easily earned.
The reason lay in the specific requirements for acquiring a Title within a real-world dungeon.
In most games, Titles functioned like accessories obtained by unlocking achievements. These achievements might involve defeating a specific number of a certain monster, clearing a particular quest, using special equipment to kill a target in a specific way, or perhaps mapping out an unknown field. Since it was a game, the conditions were usually designed so that anyone could achieve them with enough effort—though MMOs and mobile gacha games tended to be outliers.
In a real dungeon, however, there were two major conditions for Title acquisition.
The first was "Achievement Unlocking," and the second was "Recognition from an unspecified large number of people."
For example, there was a Title called Goblin Killer. The requirements for it were twofold: first, one had to slay over one hundred Goblin-type monsters; second, one had to be clearly recognized by an unspecified large number of people as someone who excelled at—or possessed an abnormal obsession with—killing Goblins.
That second condition, "Recognition from an unspecified large number of people," was the real catch. One had to be perceived as such by a wide and varied demographic.
To put it bluntly, simply hunting Goblins for all eternity wasn't enough to satisfy the latter requirement.
This was precisely why so many modern dungeon Explorers livestreamed their activities online. They did it to secure as many rare Titles as possible, thereby gaining more powerful skills.
The government and the Association understood this well. To ensure the country maintained a roster of high-level Explorers, they actively supported and encouraged Dungeon Streamers. The existence of the site DungeonTube, provided by the Explorer Association, was proof of that.
While the primary purpose of DungeonTube was to serve as a network of body cameras and dashcams to maintain order inside the dungeons—which were effectively zones of extraterritoriality—it also served to bolster the growth of powerful Explorers.
Consequently, the more "hardcore" an Explorer was, the more likely they were to be an enthusiastic streamer. However...
"This makes no sense..."
Honestly, I hadn't given the slightest thought to succeeding as an Explorer. I was just an enjoyment seeker who wanted to raise my level. That was why I kept all the footage from my helmet camera private.
In the first place, even if one did stream, Titles were notoriously difficult to get. The standard approach was to view them as a lucky bonus that might happen while you were busy doing other things.
I hated relying on such uncertain variables. From the start, I hadn't aimed for Titles at all, narrowing my focus solely to efficient leveling. There was no reason for me to become famous enough to satisfy the requirements.
Even if I had somehow become famous by mistake, getting a Title like Madman was absurd. I wasn't a madman, after all.
"...Wait, is that how it works?"
A thought occurred to me.
Recognition from an unspecified large number of people was based on how others perceived me. It didn't actually have to be true. In other words—though it was regrettable and utterly baffling—if a hoax had spread claiming I was a madman, and if enough people had swallowed that lie, it was possible I had triggered the Achievement Unlocking condition and earned the Title.
So, the current situation was that a rumor about me being a madman was spreading.
I wanted to do something about it, but dispelling a groundless rumor was never easy.
"Hmm... well, whatever. It’s not like it causes me any real trouble."
I decided to look on the bright side. I’d gained a skill for free, so I wasn't losing anything.
"...Alright, time to get to Floor 2."
Shaking off the confusion, I prepared to move on. I pulled my smartphone out of my backpack and loaded the map for Shinjuku Dungeon Floor 1 from the Modern Dungeon Strategy Wiki.
Maps for the shallower floors were common knowledge online. My phone was a magic-comms compatible model, so it stayed connected to the internet even deep inside the dungeon.
I made my way through the first floor, killing about five Goblin-sans along the way, until I reached the stairs leading down. The flight of steps was so long it felt like the stone path leading up to a mountain shrine. I descended them and finally set foot on Shinjuku Dungeon Floor 2.
In one corner of the wide area at the bottom of the stairs, a single Magic Circle glowed softly.
These were called Teleportation Circles, and they were located on every floor. Stepping on one would instantly warp you back to the Teleportation Circle on Floor 1. No matter how deep you delved, getting home was easy.
However, these circles were strictly one-way. You couldn't warp from Floor 1 back down to the lower floors. If you wanted to dive deep, you had to do it on your own two feet.
I didn't need it yet, so I ignored it and headed down the passage. Before long, I spotted moving shadows at the far end of the candlelit corridor.
I strained my eyes to see. They were Goblin-sans, clad in fur loincloths and clutching wooden clubs. This time, there were two of them.
"Multiple enemies right away, huh..."
The Goblins on Floor 2 were higher level than those on the first floor. I would have preferred a one-on-one for my first encounter here, but there was no sense in complaining. I steeled my resolve and drew my sword.
"Gugyaruaaaaaaaaah!!!"
They noticed me. Letting out high-pitched screeches of delight, they came charging.
It was fine. I’d already studied how to handle multiple enemies—mostly through manga.
Essentially, I just had to maneuver so I wasn't surrounded. If I positioned myself so that the enemy I was currently fighting stayed between me and the second one, my current opponent would act as a shield. It would effectively turn one battle against two into two consecutive one-on-one fights.
"Woooooooooooooh!!"
I let out a roar that rivaled the Goblins' and sprinted forward.
"Hunnh!"
I slammed my sword into the nearest Goblin-san. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the second one trying to circle around me, so I shifted my weight to block its path.
"Hah! Hup!"
"Gugya!"
I needed to finish the first one quickly, so I rained down blows with my blade. However, its increased level wasn't just for show. It reacted quickly to my movements, using its club to parry.
Still, I managed to land two hits. The Goblin’s movements grew sluggish. One more strike would likely do it. I swung my sword with an "Oraah!" and cut the first one down.
And then—
"!? Ghugh!?"
Just as something flashed in the edge of my vision, a heavy impact slammed into my side.
It hurt. It hurt so much!
The agony made my vision blur. I coughed, but I didn't stop moving, forcing myself to put some distance between us.
I didn't need to guess what had happened. While I was focused on the first one, the second Goblin-san had closed the gap and bashed my ribs with its club.
So much for the "using one as a shield" tactic. They closed in way faster than I could kill them.
"Gugyaruaah!!"
The Goblin gave me no time to catch my breath, pressing its advantage with a relentless assault.
"You're nothing but experience points! Don't you look down on me!"
There was only one enemy left. Even if it was tougher than its Floor 1 cousins, it wasn't a match for me one-on-one.
"Hah! Hup! Take this! Oraaaaaah!"
My Strength and Agility stats were clearly superior. I intentionally slammed my sword against its club with all my might to break its posture, then followed up with a merciless flurry of strikes until the Goblin was dead.
"Haa... haa... ngh...!"
This was the first time I'd actually taken damage in a dungeon. Catching my breath, I pulled up my Status to check my HP.
HP 27/32
It hurt this much, and yet my HP had only dropped by 5...? If that was the case, what would 10 or 20 damage feel like?
"I see... no wonder so many people quit."
I finally understood. I’d read online that over fifty percent of rookie Explorers quit within their first month. The reasons varied—some couldn't handle the guilt of killing living things, others found it too physically demanding. But the most common reason was that the pain of a monster's attack was simply too much to bear. Their spirits broke.
It made sense. Most people had never been in a real fight or a martial arts match. Receiving an attack backed by genuine murderous intent would be enough to make anyone want to give up.
If I didn't have something to keep me going, I might have been in trouble, too. I checked a specific section of my Status screen.
Level: 3 | Experience Points to next level: 65
When I’d first arrived on Floor 2, I’d needed 115 Experience Points to reach the next level. That meant I’d just gained 50 Experience Points from that single encounter.
A Level 2 Goblin was worth 20 points, and a Level 3 was worth 30. One of those two must have been Level 3. In one fight, I’d earned as much as I would have from five Goblins on Floor 1.
As expected of Floor 2! The efficiency was on a whole different level!
"Nnnnnnghhhhh...!"
As the Experience Points flooded into me, a wave of pure, unadulterated pleasure washed over me. Pleasure substances flooded my brain, and the throbbing pain in my side simply vanished.
I see.
It seemed I could endure a fair amount of pain as long as I had that euphoric rush of Experience Points to look forward to.