In the beginning, when the dungeons first appeared, everyone watched from a distance, hesitant to act. However, once word spread that defeating monsters yielded treasure, ordinary citizens ignored government restraint. They took up arms and swarmed the dungeons in droves. Governments were unable to contain the movement, leaving them powerless to manage the unfolding chaos.
As a result, a catastrophic situation began to manifest across Africa.
In the presidential office, an exhausted President of a certain country sat at his desk, receiving a report from his Presidential Aide.
"How many dungeons does the military currently control?"
"...Unfortunately, I believe we have secured only slightly more than half of those that have appeared."
"Only half... Which means the rest are completely unchecked."
"Yes, sir. Due to budget and personnel shortages, we lack the manpower to explore every dungeon within our borders. We have mobilized the military and police to secure those near major population centers, but it is currently impossible to suppress dungeons that have emerged in the savannahs or deep within the jungles."
"...And this is the result."
His face a mask of despair, the President picked up a document from his desk. It contained a rough map of the African continent, where red and yellow zones bled across numerous national borders.
"An outbreak of lethal pathogens—Ebola and others. A pandemic."
"...Yes. Regrettably, there is no end in sight."
"Damn it! This is all because of those cursed dungeons!"
Enraged, the President slammed his fist onto the desk.
The Presidential Aide watched him with a somber expression before bitterly recounting the cause of the disaster.
"Because the government prioritized securing dungeons near populated areas, we inadvertently allowed those seeking profit to venture into the deep jungle. We never imagined they would push so far into such primitive, dangerous territories..."
"Of course they did. Of all places, they went into the heart of the wilderness—the literal breeding grounds for these pathogens..."
"But once we lost control of the movement, a situation like this was bound to happen sooner or later—"
"Don't say it."
The President sharply cut off the Presidential Aide's pessimistic observation.
"What's done is done. Right now, our top priority is halting the spread and stabilizing the situation. What is the current status on the ground?"
"...It’s grim. The WHO’s International Medical Corps is working tirelessly, but the number of medical professionals is overwhelmingly insufficient for the patient load. Furthermore, because dungeons have appeared globally, the supply of volunteer doctors and medical goods has slowed to a crawl."
"To hell with it! It haunts us at every turn!" the President spat, his voice thick with frustration.
During the pandemic years ago, aid from around the world had provided the breakthrough needed to resolve the crisis. This time, however, the global chaos triggered by the dungeons meant that the necessary support was nowhere to be found. The generosity of the past had only been possible because the rest of the world had been stable.
The dungeons had caused the pandemic, and the dungeons were preventing them from receiving aid. To the nations of Africa, these anomalies were the literal embodiment of the devil.
"...However, Mr. President, there is one piece of good news. According to reports from the medical teams, the recovery potions produced within the dungeons are effective in treatment."
"What?"
The President, who had been staring dejectedly at the floor, snapped his head up.
"To be clear, it isn't a miracle cure for the pathogen itself. Rather, the recovery potion has proven effective as a form of symptomatic treatment."
"I understand that. But how exactly does it help?"
"A recovery potion... well, it is a medicine that repairs physical deficiencies caused by external factors. A cut disappears, a broken bone knits back together, and so on."
"..."
The President listened in silence, his sharp gaze urging the aide to skip the preamble and get to the point.
"It heals wounds. This means that internal damage caused by the virus, such as internal hemorrhaging, can be repaired by the recovery potion—provided the damage hasn't progressed too far."
"...!?"
"Of course, the potion only heals the damage. It does not eradicate the virus within the body. However, it buys the patient enough time for their own immune system to fight back. That is the consensus from the medical teams."
A glimmer of hope finally crossed the President's face. The Presidential Aide took a breath and continued reading from the report.
"The medical teams believe that if a patient in the early stages of infection takes a recovery potion once a day, they have a high probability of recovery within a few weeks."
"...Only those in the early stages?"
"Yes. The report indicates that effectiveness can be expected for those in the early and early-to-mid stages. However, for those in the mid-to-late or terminal stages, the internal damage is too extensive. The recovery potion cannot keep pace, and the patient's natural recovery cannot be relied upon."
"I see."
The President’s disappointment was brief; he quickly composed himself and looked his aide in the eye.
"How many recovery potions do we currently have? Can we maintain a stable supply for the infected?"
"...A stable supply is impossible, Mr. President. We have fewer than a hundred units, all of which were samples secured by the military during the initial dungeon surveys."
"What? Then what about buying them? Can we secure the potions currently on the market?"
"It is impossible to acquire enough to cover the current number of confirmed cases. Even if we tried, we would have to commit the vast majority of our national budget just to purchase them."
"..."
The breakthrough they had finally found was immediately stymied by a lack of stock and a depleted treasury.
"Is it possible to send the military into the government-controlled dungeons specifically to farm recovery potions?"
"It is possible, yes. However, we cannot guarantee the military can secure the necessary volume. We don't know the drop rates for items, and even when an item does drop, there’s no guarantee it will be a recovery potion."
"Right... Of course."
The President fell silent, staring intensely at the documents on his desk for several long moments.
Finally, he made his decision.
"Deploy the military and police into the dungeons to secure recovery potions. Simultaneously, purchase as many as possible from the market within our budgetary limits."
"Understood."
"Also, coordinate through the United Nations. Negotiate with other nations to trade our other dungeon resources for their recovery potions. Prepare for those talks immediately."
"Yes, sir. I’ll see to it at once."
"And one more thing..."
The President fired off several more rapid-fire instructions.
Then, after a momentary hesitation, he gave an order in a strained voice.
"Announce to the public that recovery potions can suppress the symptoms and allow for natural recovery."
"! Mr. President, if you do that—!"
"I know! I know exactly how the people suffering from this infection will react!"
"...Then why?"
"Is there any other way? The government alone cannot secure enough potions to save everyone. Even if negotiations with other countries succeed, it will take months for the supplies to arrive. Think of how many will die in that time..."
The President’s expression was one of pure, bitter regret, leaving the aide with nothing more to say.
"In any case, securing the necessary volume of recovery potions is our top priority. Make the arrangements."
"...Yes, sir."
Given the gravity of the situation, the aide had no better alternative. He accepted the proposal with reluctant consent and set to work.
But ironically, this decision—made to save lives—became the catalyst for even greater tragedy.
Once the government announced that recovery potions were effective, the news spread like wildfire. Citizens with dying relatives were desperate to get their hands on the medicine and flocked to the dungeons. However, since the military had locked down the city-adjacent dungeons for their own harvesting operations, ordinary people found it nearly impossible to enter. When they turned to the market, the supply was nowhere near enough to meet the overwhelming demand.
Consequently, the masses charged toward the dungeons in the wilderness. These remote sites became overcrowded, and violent skirmishes over recovery potions broke out everywhere.
"Oh? You want this? Then pay up. Don't worry, I'm not asking for much. Look."
"Damn you! You’re bleeding me dry!"
"If you don't want it, I'll just sell it to the next guy. Bye."
"W-Wait! I'll pay! I'll pay whatever you want, just give me the recovery potion!"
As long as things were settled through negotiation—even through blatant price-gouging—the situation remained relatively civil.
But it didn't stop there.
"Hand over that potion!"
"Don't be stupid! I went through hell to get this! I'm not giving it to anyone!"
"I need it to save him!"
"So do I!"
Those too poor to buy potions began attacking those who had them, attempting to take the medicine by force. Some succeeded; others were killed in the attempt.
Eventually...
"Ugh... D-Damn it all..."
"Heh. If you’d just handed it over, you might’ve lived."
"..."
"Later."
It reached the point where people were committing murder for a single vial. In any dungeon not strictly managed by the military, the law of the jungle became the only law that mattered.
Yet, the gravest issue of all was that many of those diving into the dungeons were already infected. Early-stage patients who had run out of money after only a few doses would enter the dungeons themselves to farm the rest. Because of the potions they had already taken, they were able to move and fight, but the pathogen was still very much alive inside them. Normally, an infected person would be too incapacitated to move, preventing them from spreading the virus. However, the existence of recovery potions created "mobile carriers"—infected individuals who were healthy enough to travel and spread the disease. As these patients operated while shedding the pathogen, they infected countless others in the same dungeons. People entered the dungeons to find a cure, only to be infected in the process. It was the birth of a horrific cycle.
This trend continued until massive shipments of aid finally arrived from abroad, but by then, the pandemic had already grown far beyond its original scale.
The pandemic only began to show signs of subsiding nearly a year after the dungeons had first appeared. Between the international aid and the military's own harvesting efforts, the government finally secured enough recovery potions to treat the known infected.
"It looks like we might finally see the end of this pandemic."
"Yes, sir. We have secured the necessary volume for the current phase. Assuming, of course, that no new outbreaks occur..."
"...We can't afford to be optimistic."
"No. Necessary though they were, our policies contributed to the expansion of the infection. We cannot afford another failure."
At the aide's bitter remark, the President closed his eyes as if suppressing a wave of nausea. His decision to prioritize human life had resulted in the catastrophic blunder of expanding the infection zone. Even if the emergence of "mobile carriers" had been unforeseen, his regret was palpable.
"I know. We must avoid another mistake at all costs."
"Yes, sir."
"So, what is the status of our stockpile? Can we respond if the infection flares up again?"
"We have a certain amount in reserve, but it's precarious. If we use the imports for active treatment and funnel the military's dungeon hauls into the stockpile... within six months, we should have enough to handle an outbreak on the scale of the initial wave."
The Presidential Aide provided a quick mental calculation of their inventory.
"I see... Then make those arrangements. We must be prepared for the next emergency so we don't repeat this disaster."
"I'll see to it immediately."
With the end of the pandemic finally in sight, the President and his aide allowed themselves a moment of relief, believing they had finally secured a path forward.
However, only a few days later, their vision for the future was shattered by the resumption of conflict in the Middle East. Fearing a wider crisis, nations began hoarding their own recovery potions and slashed the amount sent as aid. Their ability to build a stockpile evaporated. There was no more talk of future visions—only the desperate, renewed scramble to find the potions necessary to keep the pandemic from returning.