Full Verse Review: Dungeon Diver: Stealing A Monster’s Power. By KaeNovels.

Have you ever done something you truly regret? I don’t mean the casual, “Ah, I could’ve handled that better,” kind of regret. I mean the real kind. The kind that wakes you up in a seedy motel room at two in the afternoon on a workday. You scan the room; empty Bud Light cans litter the floor. The wedding ring’s missing. A stranger’s in the bed. You lean in for a closer look—your face turns white.

It’s your cousin.

Your actual cousin.

Not twice removed, but twice remained.

There’s nowhere left but the mountains now. And even they don’t understand. Because what you’ve done is wrong. Not just legally or morally—but cosmically, spiritually, existentially wrong.

Have I painted a picture? Is it clear in your mind?

Good. Hold on to it. Let it reframe your expectations.

Because I’m relieved to say—reading Dungeon Diver is nowhere near that bad.

(He says, writing from the mountains.)

But I’ll admit—I didn’t enjoy the novel to begin with. It took me three separate attempts to get past the fifth chapter. Not because the prose is impenetrable. It isn’t. In fact, it’s almost offensively readable—childishly simple, with obnoxious onomatopoeia, shallow internality, and no real rhythm.

No, I didn’t enjoy the novel for the same reason I don’t enjoy boiled goose with warm water and cucumbers: it was bland. Technically filling. Texturally unpleasant. And served with all the charm of a sopping, open-handed smack to the face.

(An experience I gained from the ex before leaving for the mountains.)

With that said, I carried on. So far, in fact, that I reached the seventy-third chapter before stopping to review. And I have to tell you—something strange happened as I read.

I started to enjoy myself.

I couldn’t explain it at the time. It was baffling. The issues I had with the intro didn’t go away—and I didn’t stop noticing them. They just stopped mattering as much, buried under the weight of pure, unfiltered grind.

That’s what this story gives you: grind.

Dungeon Diver is, at its core, a LitRPG. You know how it goes. You take a young so-and-so, slap a UI on their soul, and throw them into a world where daily life is ruled by stat sheets and levelling up.

You know—no different from our regular lives.

(And if that’s just me—well, I picked the wrong Biom. Not as many trolls in the mountains as you’d think.)

Now look, I’ll be upfront. This won’t make my top ten. Probably not even my top thousand in terms of quality or craft. But there’s a reason it has over twelve thousand followers and more than twenty million views.

We’ll come back to that reason later.

But I can tell you this much—it certainly isn’t the…

CHARACTER & VOICE:

We follow the journey of one: Jay Soju. There’s much to say about this young man. Too much, in fact. Far too much to ever fit on the page.

He’s twenty years old. That’s a fact about the character.

He enjoys comic books and light novels. There—we’re up to two facts. Maybe three, depending on how you count them.

Did I mention the part about him being twenty? I did?

Oh… then I suppose we’re done.

Turns out there wasn’t as much to say about him as I thought.

I suppose we can talk about his aspirations.

Just as I yearn to one day find redemption and come down off this mountain, Jay’s dreams are no less lofty—but for him, far more attainable. He longs to be the strongest there ever was.

“ “Yeah! Next time we face a dungeon together, I’m going to be the one saving you! Got that?”…A hero… what is a hero? Someone who saves? Stops evil? Makes the world better? Or is it just… someone who is the strongest. That’s the best type of hero. … They don’t answer to anyone except their own moral compass. … I don’t have to be a hero. I just have to be the strongest. That’s my new goal.”

Jay isn’t a complex character. He’s not meant to be. He’s not wrestling with grief, duty, identity, or any internal paradox. He wants power. He gets power. And he tells us this plainly.

For some readers, that’s enough.

For others, it’s like watching someone pour protein powder on a comic book and calling it fine dining.

Jay doesn’t wrestle with mortality or morality. But it isn’t played straight. He’s not a psychopath. He doesn’t view himself as beyond such earthly things. It just feels like an oversight. Like the author didn’t stop to consider how a regular person might react to watching his entire team get murderfied to death by a mutated goblin.

(Yes, that happens. No, Jay ain’t phased.)

As far as I’ve read, this character lapse doesn’t really get better as the story progresses. Its not inconceivable that when the chapters reach triple digits, this shifts. But by the seventy-third chapter, there’s little sign that it does.

“My eyes went wide. So monster’s skills aren’t the only ones I can absorb… I used this power on a human because it would be a waste not to. Plus, the only reason I killed those men was self-defense. I won’t make a habit of it… but if someone attacks me and I have to defend myself… their skill is 100% up for grabs. That’s my self rule. I awkwardly shook my own hand by twisting my right hand to meet my left… it kind of hurt my wrist. I laughed out loud… but also nodded in serious agreement like I just signed a pact or something.”

What of the side characters, you might ask? There’s no getting around it—they’re equally bland. They’re more function than friend. Heck, some of the potentially more interesting characters—like the merchants Jay sells his loot to—don’t even get a name. He just calls them “old man.”

You get a host of purely platonic romantic interests. They’re there. There’s not much more to say about them, but they are there.

Take Maria, for instance. She’s lined up as the romantic wink without promise. She’s sweet, I suppose. She’s caring—we’re meant to believe. But she has the personality of a twelve-year old boy’s Canadian girlfriend. Nothing about her comes across as real. She’s written like a juvenile dream. But every moment she’s on-page feels like a waking nightmare.

“Maria eyed the sword on my back… “Can I hold it??? Please Jayyy.”…“You are really strong… that’s so amazing Jay. I’m going to be a strong hunter like you soon! My exam is on Wednesday… I can’t wait to get an ability!!” She started punching the air and making sounds like she was fighting off imaginary monsters.”

Personally, I like my characters to have character—that’s missing in this fiction.

But I’ll say this: for readers chasing clean dopamine hits without getting trudged down with deep internal conflict, motivation, or the sort, Jay delivers just that. You get stats. Pure stats. Everything else is just garish decoration.

You’re not looking for complex. I respect that.

Hell, after binge-reading the work, I stopped looking for that too. Turn off your brain and go along for the journey. If you can do that, it’s one hell of a ride.

(When one finds oneself in the mountains, one learns one better not think deep thoughts.)

NARRATIVE & STRUCTURE:

There is no narrative. There is only grind.

(You grow wise in the mountains.)

Perhaps that’s not entirely fair…

I haven’t learned a thing during my mountain exile.

As for this story? There isn’t one. There are events, sure. Perhaps even continuity. But what I’ve yet to catch wind of—during my seventy-three chapter binge—is anything approaching a compelling narrative.

Jay meanders from dungeon to dungeon, killing monsters and gaining levels and loot. There really isn’t much more to it.

The arcs I’ve read so far don’t touch on existentialism, genuine threat, emotional strife, or anything else of substance. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again—this story is pure grind. The only arc you’ll find is the grind.

Jay wants to advance his rank as a hunter.

Why?

So he can grind in harder dungeons.

He wants to gain more skills and gear?

Why?

So he can grind more powerful monsters.

Every story beat I’ve read so far has been in service to that end—the end of grind.

This is the part where I should analyse the pacing. But is there any point in talking about the pace when the story’s going nowhere?

As it turns out, there is. And as it happens, this is exactly where Dungeon Diver hides its appeal.

The “story” moves at a rapid pace. But since there is no story, what that really means is that you get a whole lotta grind, very, very quickly.

Jay gains levels faster than one picks up an STI when one becomes bedfellows with one’s cousin.

He gets loot more rapidly than one packs for the peaks when one’s wife learns the truth.

(Ain’t nothing gained by asking who “one” is)

I have to be honest with you. I didn’t hate it. I hated myself for not hating it—but I didn’t.

It blew my mind.

Warped my perception…

The cousin does crazy things with candles when high out her mind on uppers and smack.

Oh?

You meant the pace of the story?

Yeah, that kinda worked too.

Like the proverbial frog in the proverbial pot, by the time the water’s rolling over, you’re already cooked.

The best way I can describe it is a weird strain of Stockholm syndrome. You know you’re not supposed to enjoy it—the characters and story give you no reason to—but you do.

You get carried along in a powerful wave. The kind that negates structure and form—crushing everything down to pure levelling.

If you haven’t swum as far as you can possibly go by chapter fifty, you’ll find this is the hook. It’s the reason—the sole reason—that despite my better judgment, I actually started enjoying myself with this read.

WORLD BUILDING & THEMES:

The “story” is set twenty minutes in the future. There are some mana-enhanced technological breakthroughs here and there, but as a whole, their society isn’t much different from ours.

Well, there are some minor changes. Goods are exchanged for metallic coins—but the cost of bread is still getting higher. Adventuring is now a legitimate career goal… but not one many stick to, for reasons, I guess.

Oh, and the world all around is basically a video game.

Everyone gets a UI. Everyone can level up.

“Most people become hunters when they turn 18 or 19… It’s pretty normal in society… Over half of the population is, or was, a full-time hunter at some point in their life… Most people hunt for 2–4 years while they’re studying in school… even if you’re going to work in the corporate world.”

Now I want you to picture Solo Leveling.

Done? Good. We’re finished.

It’s just like Solo Levelling. Except in Solo LevellingSung Jin-woo is the only character who can grow stronger, Jay is the only character who can readily gain new skills.

And honestly? That’s a decent hook.

It gives a built-in explanation for why Jay outpaces his peers. It’s not because he’s special in some vague, protagonist-glow kind of way—he literally has a unique ability that lets him collect monster powers like the cousin collects cease & desists, royalties from the exposé she had published, and rambling mail—couriered down by Sherpa—with my latitude, longitude, and lingering hope tucked inside.

While most in this world need to elevate one skill, Jay can gain as many as he wants. It feeds the dopamine loop. He fights a strong monster, he gain its skill, he becomes stronger. Rinse and repeat.

CRAFT:

The moon has risen high in the sky. My time in the mountains has taught me respect for the humble coyote.

Just as the scavenging beast tears its prey apart, so too has the author desiccated the corpse of the written word.

Well… that isn’t altogether fair.

The prose is simplistic. I’ve told you that already. For all the action and physical anguish that should bleed through the writing, it all feels just a little too sterile.

“She ran past me… I saw my own arm falling to the ground with the sword in hand. She sliced off my arm… what a clean hit… I barely felt it.…I fell to the floor…My vision was getting blurry…. This is the end I guess…I was really killed by a human… I didn’t even get to save the world while dying… what a sad excuse for a hero’s journey.”

The novel is written in first-person past tense… or present tense. It’s difficult to tell for sure, since it swerves in and out like a drunken teen on a joyride.

The dialogue is serviceable, but flat. And exposition is handled with all the subtlety of my cousin’s second book.

I won’t harp on with this. Most of what I have to say has been covered one way or another elsewhere in this Full Verse. Suffice it to say, the craft of it all wasn’t for me.

None of that’s to say it can’t be enjoyed. If you’re looking for quick and easy prose—and you’re resilient against everything I’ve already mentioned—there’s a lot to appreciate in how this story is told.

CLOSING THOUGHTS:

I won’t sugar-coat this: it’s not a master of narrative, worldbuilding, character, or craft. It’s not even an apprentice. It’s the failing student stuck in remedial classes.

But here’s the thing. I don’t think any of this is a surprise to the author. I don’t think they sat down to write a masterpiece. I think they’re just looking to entertain—to carry the reader away from their worries and indulge in pure, mindless escapist fantasy.

In that, Dungeon Diver is a triumph.

There are chapters aplenty to binge. And once you’re in—properly hooked—you can wave away your slow Sunday mornings once and for all.

This review isn’t here to dissuade you from reading the fiction.

It’s here so that, if you choose to engage, you go in with your eyes wide open.

This story isn’t for everyone.

But if you’ve read this far, I’m fairly confident you already know whether it’s for you.

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