Chapter 47 - The Sword of Warning
“You know,” the little brat said, puffing his chest out with pride, “lately there’s been a surge of dungeons growing stronger thanks to help from humans—but not a single one has surpassed me! Not yet!”
...Was that it? Had this little shota demon really shown up just to brag?
Well, good for you, buddy. Keep up the good work, Weapon Dungeon. You’re number one. Now go home. Shoo.
That’s what I wanted to say—but for some reason, my body wouldn’t budge an inch.
At that moment, Peta-chan’s voice rang directly in my mind.
“Master! Just by talking to a dungeon this massive, you rake in tons of points! Doesn’t matter if it’s just bragging or nonsense—let him ramble as long as possible, okay?”
And with that, the invisible hold on my body lifted.
Ugh. Peta-chan sometimes did things that made it painfully clear she had complete control over my life and death. It was a little terrifying, honestly.
Well, if that’s the case, I might as well keep him talking. Maybe prompt him to gush about some memory or dig up a bit of nostalgia…
“You’re right,” I said. “Weapons are essential for people whose lives revolve around combat. Of course adventurers and knights from all over the world would gather, seeking ever-better gear. It makes sense that you’d end up creating the world’s largest dungeon.
How did you come up with the concept? And what was the journey like to build something so massive?”
Not that I really needed to ask—I could more or less guess.
A dungeon that produced weapons and armor was the very definition of high demand. Naturally, it would draw in hordes of muscle-bound maniacs eager to test their strength.
Then those same adventurers, now armed with powerful dungeon-made gear, would delve even deeper.
Some would get cocky, drunk on the strength of their new equipment, and die gloriously stupid deaths. Meanwhile, more careful parties would survive and keep exploring for the long haul.
Killing off too many adventurers would be bad for business, but letting everyone survive wouldn’t be efficient either. A dungeon like that, with its perfect kill-to-survival ratio, was probably the most efficient point-farming machine ever conceived.
And by the time national armies started getting involved, human society would’ve already pushed the dungeon exploration to its very limits.
Honestly, the Weapon Dungeon becoming the world’s largest felt like a natural consequence of its concept. I couldn’t imagine it turning out any other way.
“Right? That’s what I thought too!” the boy grinned. “At first, I heard most new dungeon cores start off producing gemstones and stuff. But I figured that’d make me just like everyone else, so I avoided it on purpose.”
“Oh? So even when you were just starting out, you could talk to other dungeon cores? What about points—how’d that work?”
“Ohhh, you didn’t know, Master?” Peta-chan said. “If a core hasn’t made a dungeon yet—like newborn ones, or ones whose dungeons got destroyed—they can talk freely with anyone. No point costs at all!”
“Though,” she added with a sigh, “these days, a lot of cores got tired of being asked the same questions over and over, so they just shove a book at you and say, ‘Read this.’”
“That’s Uncle Iron Dungeon, isn’t it?” The Weapon Dungeon Core asked. One of the oldest, biggest dungeons around. “Most cores just tell newbies to go ask that old guy. I did too, and sure enough, he handed me the standard manual. Said, ‘Read this first if you’ve got questions.’
Same here, once I got big, the fresh cores started showing up asking me stuff too. Got annoying fast, so I just started tossing that same book at them.”
So this little guy had graduated to grumpy veteran status, huh?
Every company had someone like that—some kind, knowledgeable old-timer you threw the clueless newbies at. “Just go ask that guy, he’ll help you out.”
I hadn’t expected dungeons to have that kind of role too.
Even a dungeon—supposedly timeless and idle—had gotten so swamped with rookie questions that it had to throw together a manual and start tossing it around.
“So, while I was studying that beginner’s manual,” the Weapon Dungeon Core continued, “I also kept reading through that book—based on what adventurers were doing inside Uncle Iron’s dungeon. I watched them, took notes, and made these into my own kind of research materials.”
As he spoke, he pulled out something that resembled a book. When I took a peek inside, I found what looked like a manga depicting adventurers exploring the dungeon and fighting monsters, complete with dialogue.
The layout was crude—no proper panels, no speech bubbles, not even speed lines. It lacked any polish or artistry you’d expect from a real comic. Honestly, it felt like something from before Tezuka’s time—more like a comical storybook from the Edo period than modern manga.
“And that’s when it hit me,” he said. “Yeah, humans do come into dungeons mostly looking for valuables, so it’s no wonder everyone thinks the best approach is to give them gold and jewels.
But look at them! Every single one of them fights with weapons, protects themselves with armor. So I figured—why not give them more of that?
The other dungeons laughed. Said, ‘Why give them stuff they already have?’ But in the end, I was right.”
He started with something simple: a knife on the very first floor.
That alone was enough to attract swarms of adventurers. Then on the second floor, he introduced armor. Then swords. Then axes.
And with each deeper floor, he provided harder, stronger armor and sharper, deadlier weapons. And just like that, the dungeon ballooned into what eventually became the largest in the world.
Honestly, even just producing basic knives made it as valuable as a dungeon that spat out refined iron. Regardless of weapon quality, adventurers were bound to swarm the place.
It was the same logic as Peta-chan’s dungeon, which dispensed food adventurers were already carrying.
The difference was that while her dungeon spat out bland, barely edible rations, this one offered weapons—something people always needed, and never had enough of.
“I kept reading stories about people,” he said, “and seeing humans fight—like one holding a shield to block enemy attacks while someone behind pierced the weak point with a bow. Or someone charging in solo with a sword, slicing through foes like a whirlwind... After a while, I started thinking they were really cool!”
So I tried equipping weapons and armor myself! Cool, right? Don’t I look awesome?!”
With that, the Weapon Dungeon Core proudly swung a sword around.
And so, this little demon boy who looked like he was playing dress-up as a hero... came into existence.
Got it. I understand you now.
The truth was, you didn’t become the largest dungeon in the world through cunning or genius—your concept just happened to line up perfectly with what humans wanted. That was all.
Honestly, if a human dungeon master had designed a dungeon like yours, they probably could’ve built out thirty floors easily, just by adjusting the weapons and armor to match adventurer needs at each level.
Well, still. I learned a few new things, so I’ll count that as a win.
But seriously—what was the point of all this?
His bragging was done. His trip down memory lane was done.
And now he just stood there, puffing a little from all the excitement, frozen in place.
It was like he had completely forgotten what he came here for. His face said it all: “Wait... why did I come here again?”
“So... by the way, Weapon Dungeon Core-san... what exactly did you come to talk to me about?”
He blinked, as if suddenly remembering, Oh right!, and snapped back into action.
“This!” he said, pulling out that same sketchy manga from earlier. “These guys—these are knights from your country, right?”
I looked inside. Sure enough, there were drawings of Captain Touji and the rest, mid-conversation. They were talking about the Red Sword on the 20th floor, the blade on the 27th, the Hot Spring Dungeon... It was all there, faithfully recorded and drawn into pages.
Kind of fascinating, actually. Not the same as watching them through a monitor like I usually did—there was a different kind of charm to it. Maybe I should try turning the lady knights’ adventures into a comic too.
“Oh yeah, that’s definitely Sepans’ First Unit. What about ’em?” I asked.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on them for a while, since it’s rare to see a group of lady knights diving that deep into my dungeon,” the Weapon Dungeon Core said, frowning in confusion. “But—who the heck are these?! The faces are completely different! And what’s with their sudden power-up? What the hell happened?!”
The Weapon Dungeon Core looked genuinely baffled—like he didn’t know whether to be sad or angry.
Ah... I get it now.
This guy had gotten so obsessed with adventurers, to the point of pretending to be a hero himself, that he’d been reading about their journeys in manga format. In other words, he was a full-blown adventurer otaku.
So now he was acting like someone whose favorite manga character had suddenly returned with a completely different art style—and he couldn’t process the emotional whiplash.
He looked exactly like someone going, “HUH?!” after a mid-series artist switch.
To top it off, he must’ve overheard Captain Touji and her team talking about how, depending on the Hot Spring Dungeon, they might even be able to reach the 27th floor. That probably sparked his curiosity and made him come find me.
Well, fine then. In that case, I figured I’d kindly and thoroughly explain everything—about the Hot Spring Dungeon, its cosmetic benefits, and our entire backstory.
I heard the longer I talked, the more points I’d earn, after all.
So I began, slowly and carefully, to tell him everything I knew about the hot spring dungeon.
“...I liked it better when they were all rugged and cool-looking knights,” he grumbled afterward. “Why’d you have to go and mess that up?”
“That’s literally the concept of our dungeon, so can you not?” I replied.
What, it’s a crime now for your favorite knight to glow up into a beauty? A strong and gorgeous lady knight is just as good, if not better! Honestly, for a guy, you really don’t get it.
Then again, he was a cute-faced little boy himself. Maybe it made sense that he gravitated toward traits he didn’t personally possess.
The whole “battle-scarred squad of gritty lady knights” vibe probably lined up better with what this shota-core admired.
Still, when his faves came back stronger, he had honestly looked happy. He just didn’t know whether to celebrate or complain—so he panicked and ran over here.
“Hey, this sword they’re talking about—the one from the 27th floor, locked away in Kingdom of Marponware’s treasury and not allowed outside—what kind of sword is it, exactly?”
As I casually flipped through the pages of the book he’d brought, I tossed the question back.
“Hehehe... That was a commemorative floor I created when I officially became the world’s largest dungeon!” he beamed. “So I made the greatest sword imaginable! Behold—it’s this one!”
With theatrical flair, he raised the sword in his hand high over his head.
...That thing?
It looked exactly like the kind of over-designed monstrosity a middle schooler with delusions of grandeur would sketch in their notebook. If I had to give it a name...
The Ultimate Sword I Thought Up All By Myself
That pretty much summed it up.
“Let’s see... was it sixty years ago? Maybe eighty? I don’t really remember anymore,” he began.
“Anyway, at the time, the entire Kingdom of Marponware sent tens of thousands of its finest soldiers, all fully equipped with weapons from my dungeon, to challenge the 27th floor. Almost all of them died.
But thanks to the sheer number of corpses, I harvested a massive haul of souls and left objects. That gave me enough points to build the 28th floor—where I created this, the ultimate set of armor I’m wearing right now! But even after all these years, not a single soul has made it to the 28th floor.
So I scrapped it. The 27th floor still exists, and once in a blue moon someone ventures in... but they usually die instantly.
In the end, when all those tens of thousands invaded, only one sword ever made it out of the 27th floor. I guess from that point on, no matter how good the weapons or armor were, human strength just couldn’t keep up anymore.
Also—what’s this ‘not allowed outside the treasury’ crap?! They’re not even showing the sword to the public?! That’s why no one’s coming to challenge the 27th floor!!”
So that was it. Maybe it wasn’t just that humans weren’t strong enough—perhaps they had simply learned their lesson from that sword...
When all you gained from losing the bulk of your elite forces was that chuunibyou-looking sword, the knights who died would never rest in peace. And for the king, it must’ve been more than enough to break his spirit.
I couldn’t help but feel genuine sympathy for that former king of Marponware—whose face I’d never even seen—several generations back.
♨♨♨♨♨♨
King Sod, the current ruler of Marponware, found himself reminiscing about the past.
It was the moment after he had undergone the royal succession ceremony—when he had been granted permission, along with his father, the former king, and several elders of the senate, to lay eyes on the sword sealed deep within the royal treasury, at the twenty-seventh level.
Back then, it felt like I was more thrilled by the fact that I finally had the right to see that sword than by the fact that I had become king.
Why had information about it been so tightly sealed? Was it really that powerful? Was it some doomsday weapon that could destroy the world?
At last, the time had come to find out.
And then, my father told me that during my grandfather’s reign, tens of thousands of knights had perished because of that ridiculous sword, and the nation itself had once teetered on the brink of collapse.
If the truth were ever made public, it might sap the will of knights from other nations who aspired to challenge the twenty-seventh floor someday. And so, the sword’s very existence was tightly concealed.
After leaving the treasury that day, my siblings—my sister and younger brothers—begged me in whispers to tell them about the sword. But I refused, no matter how much they pressed me.
“That sword... even to family, the truth must never be spoken.”
That was what I told them, face pale and worn with fatigue.
And of course, that only fanned the flames of speculation. Wild theories took root—people whispering that the king bore the solemn duty of sealing away a weapon powerful enough to end the world.
Before I ever saw it for myself, even I once thought that might be true. I even fantasized about using it to conquer the world.
How utterly foolish of me.
The moment I laid eyes on that sword, any smoldering ambition I’d had to forge a militaristic empire was snuffed out completely.
Now, what filled my heart was the sense of duty—to serve, above all else, the peace and stability of the realm.
Yes, that sword was never meant to be wielded. It was meant to be witnessed, generation after generation.
That sword’s name was The Sword of Warning.
A blade permitted only for the eyes of Marponware’s heirs—to serve as a warning, a sobering reminder to suppress any twisted ambitions they might bear as king.
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