DUNGEON FILE 010:
VEINS OF BLACK INK
Eughhhgggshhdhhf… Ew…
I never want to kill anything again, unless I reallyreallyreally have to…
Oh, wait, I will have to, won't I?
That's right… I don't have much of a choice…
If I can't die, maybe staying asleep forever isn't a terrible alternative…
Unfortunately, I woke up anyways.
Mendell's grating voice broke through my dazed thoughts.
"Get up, silly goose."
"Huh?"
"You killed something! It wasn't bad. Could've been more accurate if you hit the weak spot, but you didn't fuck it up. Good job! You do learn fast, I will say… I was expecting you to at least lose an arm for your first try." As much as I didn't want to hear it, he actually sounded sincere.
I tried my best to hide the fact I wasn't sure I could pull this off a second time with a laugh.
"Woww. Well, you did give me an entire novel on how to kill it before I even lifted my blade," I tilted my head teasingly… Time for a topic change. I wanted to talk about anything except death.
"Say, Mendell, do you know about every type of sword? You seem to have a lot of information."
"Hmmm…" Mendell scratched his chin in a thoughtful murmur. He was so intrigued, in fact, he didn't notice the fact I looked like I was about to retch and then faint again at the sight of my bloodied sword.
"I've studied every style I've come across, yes, though I wouldn't doubt theres plenty more fighting styles out there than the mere fraction I know of!" He was almost gushing at the topic, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.
"The way stance dictates movement, how grip changes leverage, anticipating an opponent's attack based purely on their weapon's limitations and strengths… Ahh, combat is endlessly fascinating! People are so predictable in their chosen styles, yet never truly boring!"
"And yet, despite seeing all that variety, your favorite is still the weapon and fighting style that comes from your homeland?"
"Hey!" Mendell raised a hand to his chest in mock offense. "If there's nothing wrong with it, why mess with perfection?"
"I don't know…" I raised an eyebrow, staring down his sword. "I might not know the first thing about swordsmanship, but it's kind of… plain. It doesn't even have an actual cutting edge, and it seems heavy. Can you even slash something with that?"
Mendell gasped, genuinely scandalized.
…Was he actually offended on behalf of his sword?
"Take that back! You clearly do not comprehend the sublime, mysterious, yet formidable convolutions of the estoc!"
"...Is it really such a big deal?" I glowered.
"Do you really want to know…?"
"…Well, yes, actually. You've unfortunately piqued my curiosity."
"Ahem!" Mendell loudly cleared his throat, making his way to the top of a rock in the middle of the tide pool. He seemed to be presenting himself like some sort of announcer, or even an overenthusiastic merchant?
He began to exclaim in a booming sing-songy voice:
——
"Are you tired of flimsy rapiers?
Sick of short pokey daggers with no reach?
Done with fancy lad-epees that snap when you breathe on 'em???
HAH! WELL BUCKLE UP, BUTTERKNIFE—
It's time to UPGRADE to the ESTOC. Introducing the estoc—the finest thrusting weapon the world has ever seen! It's the bestoc~!
Why settle for less when you could pierce through the rest?
Mail? Pierced. Gambeson? Pierced. Your enemy's pride? Also pierced. It does not care what you wear—it's goin' THROUGH!
Get poked, idiot!
Side effects include: Unhealthy obsession with piercing things, uncontrollable urge to yell 'En garde!' at inappropriate moments and severe coolness. Get an estoc. It's better than the rest-oc!"
——
He finished with a flourish, arms spread wide, beaming like he'd just delivered a world-shattering sermon.
Honestly, I was in awe.
"...Did you have that rehearsed?"
"No," Mendell's eyes twinkled vacantly. "Did you like it?"
"Honestly…" I gave an enthusiastic thumbs-up. "It was super convincing! You should get a little sign and become a street advertiser for weapons in the [Sanctuary]. I'm sure Niamh would sell a kidney just to have your face luring people to her creepy little hearse."
"Hah!" Mendell scoffed. "She wishes she could afford my good looks. She couldn't afford this face if she sold her whole inventory of stolen relics and weapons twice."
I laughed. I couldn't help it.
Maybe it was the exhaustion; Maybe it was the residual high of not dying.
"You could be a really good teacher, too," I added, half-joking but also half-serious. "If people knew how to take down Dungeon beasts, I'm sure people would pay good money for that knowledge! And maybe they wouldn't have to rely on becoming Hunters or preying on the weak, too… If you charged, I'm sure you'd make a killing. Literally."
The laughter died near instantly in the air. Mendell's smile remained, but it dimmed.
"A teacher?" he repeated, voice quiet. He seemed uncomfortable. "No, I don't think I'd be any good at that at all. I could hardly even be a good student, I hated being told what to do. Still do. If it wasn't something that interested me, I didn't bother."
"I see…" I was surprised at how seriously Mendell considered my recommendation that was meant to be more of a throwaway joke.
"And of course there's the whole 'being awful at communicating with other people' thing. I don't think I'd have the patience to deal with a class. I've always thought being a teacher was a bit like being a 'King': Both require management, wisdom, and great patience to see your people evolve. If there's one thing in the world I know I could never be, that would be a King."
"That's… awfully self-aware of you." I coughed awkwardly and thought up how I could steer the mood back to something more useful.
I perked up, remembering something important. "Oh! There is something else you can teach me—how do I get that [Essence] stuff, anyway? Is there, like… a trick to it?"
He nodded, his tone returning to that dull teacher voice he pretended he didn't have and pointing lazily to the cracked corpse of the Nautilus.
"It's the murky black blood-mist wafting out of the shell. Breathe it in, it'll drift to the nearest life form."
I stared at the swirling miasma, suddenly a lot less excited.
"…Wait. So you're saying I have to breathe it in? I thought that was just for show, like you being weird and dramatic about murder again. It's disgusting!"
Not to mention I'm also worried I'll maybe faint again…!
"Don't overthink it. It's basically beast corpse-scented incense."
"Ew…"
Steeling myself, I kneeled over the cracked shell, inhaling all the fumes of [Essence]. It drifted into my lungs like a fine mist, coiling and sinking into the skin.
It wasn't pleasant—Gods, no, it wasn't like breathing air at all.
It was consuming the lifeblood of the creature, dragging it into my body as if it were a vile liquid.
Burning, stinging, choking the creature's last breath into my veins like poisoned ink.
Ugh! Gross! Wrong! Make it stop!
I staggered upright, boots squelched against the gore-slick shallow stones of the pool. I didn't feel triumphant. I felt sick. Like something inside me had changed—and not in a good way.
The [System] Notification flickered across my vision like a cold glare.
[ENEMY FELLED: LUSTROUS NAUTILUS]
[+150 [ESSENCE] ACQUIRED!]
I wiped my palms on the hem of my gown. I didn't feel like celebrating. If anything, I felt like throwing up. With a shaky breath, I forced a semblance of composure, weakly glancing towards Mendell.
"You okay?" Mendell questioned, watching me.
"I'm fine," I lied, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. "Just... strange. How do you do this so easily?"
Mendell's shoulders then stiffened, but he let out a long, strained sigh and waved her off. "You'll get used to it! Don't ask too many questions about feelings or dumb stuff like that, Aya. Just focus on staying alive, not worrying about the morality. Didn't you say it yourself, things in this pit are here for a reason? I'm sure you can convince yourself they deserve it."
Sure, that was easy for me to say before I learned what death truly was.
Every execution I've witnessed back on the topworld, including my own, was treated like some kind of carnival. Death was hardly a serious topic—The Obsidian Empire in particular saw it as just a natural continuation of life, we even celebrated and honored the dead.
If a criminal in our Empire was killed off, it was "for the best anyways" for the sake of keeping peace, like pruning unpleasant branches off a tree.
I've never experienced death and pain like… well, whatever this was.
Maybe I really am too sheltered.
Then, as if he too had been holding onto the weight of his thoughts for too long, Mendell spoke again, his voice low and distant.
"I can tell you one thing, though. I deal with it using the knowledge that everything I've done is for the sake of finding him. I cannot regret a single choice that will lead to our reuniting, nor did I ever regret a single action that allowed me to find you in this place. Sixteen years has been far too long, and I cannot spend an instant of it more on regret for the path of achieving my goals... Might I ask, out of curiosity, did you ever think about him, after we disappeared? Ardenne?"
"...All the time," I admitted truthfully. "I've wondered where you and him ended up for years. After you 'disappeared', I never saw him out on the estate. He 'disappeared' some months later. I had always assumed you went to serve another noble or something…"
"Yeah," Mendell sighed. I nodded quietly, not wanting to interrupt. I could see where this was going, and it wasn't a place I was sure I was ready to revisit. "Just goes to show how 'peaceful' the supposedly perfect Continent is. There might not have been any wars between the countries in 400 years, but countless atrocities persist. I don't know what happened to him after my execution, but when I finally found out he was here, he was already one of the strongest bosses in the Dungeon. Something inside him broke, Aya, and I'm not sure I'll ever be able to fix it."
"I didn't mean what I said earlier, about everyone here deserving this fate," I confessed. "It was a biased belief, ingrained in me. After my own crime and execution, I thought… I thought I deserved this too."
"It's clear whatever you did to end up executed makes you feel like shit, but no one deserves eternal torment in this abyss, Aya, regardless of their past. Whatever earned you both the death penalty and the Mark of the Snake doesn't make a difference. But tell me, do you have any idea what Ardenne's crime might have been? Any clue about his behavior that could help us understand?"
"I'm sorry. I haven't the slightest idea. I barely saw him those last few months. He kept to himself after you disappeared, the other staff said he was 'quarantined' again."
"Then it might be as I've been fearing—Ardenne has always been a sickly child, ever since he was two, and I let him come to the Obsidian Empire with me. Gods, what an idiot I was! They discard the sick in that Empire, Aya! Toss them down here 'for the good of the populace' if a disease is considered dangerous enough. Maybe… maybe once I was gone, no longer there to cover for him, to protect him…"
"Mendell…"
"He did everything right. Everything noble. Maybe he thought if he climbed the ranks, he could protect us. Pull strings from inside. But the Dungeon doesn't let you stay noble. It eats you. Bends you. Warps you until you're something else entirely."
He looked up. It was all conjecture, nothing more than a narrative about what might have been, but his pale yellow eyes glimmered with something nonetheless—shame? Grief? Madness?
No, I swear, the smallest capillaries in his eyes seemed violet.
"Now he's on the Ninth Layer. One of the strongest bosses. A monster. Maybe not even human anymore."
"But you still think we can reach him?" I asked.
He was quiet.
"I have to." Mendell shook his head. "I have to find him. If there's even a sgred of the old Ardenne left, I'll drag him out of this abyss with my own hands."
"And if there isn't?"
Mendell's eyes burned like an inferno.
"Then I'll kill him myself."