DUNGEON FILE 011:
BURN A BRIDGE AND BURN A BOAT
"Aya. For the sake of both our goals, we must make an accord."
Mendell muttered this all of a sudden in our conversations, his tone so vague it only further confused me.
Accord? What is he talking about now? We just had a whole heart-to-heart… kind of!
Mendell speaking like a businessman out of nowhere is kinda scary.
"An accord? What does that even mean?" I tilted my head.
"I have business with an associate on the Fourth Layer," he explained. "If you followed now, you would die repeatedly. Or—respectfully—be little more than a burden. I can't afford to waste time dragging your corpse around until the Dungeon safely revives you."
Ouch. Critical hit to the ego.
"But you've proven you can at least kill something, now. For both our sakes I propose this pact: Survive down here, on your own, for the next three standard days. Reach [Level 20] in that time. Do that, prove you're not completely useless, and I will take you with me. Assist you in descending properly. As a formal [Party]."
Level 20?
In 72 hours?
Starting from basically zero?!
...Actually, yeah. It sounded pretty fair. If this dungeon was really as merciless as he said, surviving on my own for three days would prove whether I was anything more than (literal) dead weight.
"Fine. It's a logical idea. I accept!" I said, before my pride could tackle me to the ground. "I shall officially be at that level in three days. In that time, we will reunite at the [Well] at the Sunken Ravine [Sanctuary] so I can prove my progress!"
"Good." He produced another one of those glowing pink crystals from a pouch, identical to the [Stat Check] one Niamh had given me, except this one pulsed with a slightly different energy.
He held it out. "Here. [Quest Bond]. A spell crystal for shared objectives." He handed the glowing pink trinket to me. He held a second identical crystal in his hand which he kept as well. "I can assign a quest name, objective, challenges and rewards with this, so you know I'm true to my word. And also so you can check in on your progress by stating the quest's name and [Check] at any time!"
He held his own crystal high. "Ready?"
"Ready."
CRACK.
We crushed the crystals in unison. Mine shattered into warm, neon-pink dust that flowed over my wrist, coalescing for a breathtaking instant into a shimmering, ethereal chain before sinking into my skin, leaving only a faint warmth behind.
Did I hear bells? Or was that just the blood rushing in my ears?
[New Quest Notification!]
The 'Proving Grounds' Quest!
Objective: Reach Level 20 in 72 hours.
+Timed Quest: 71:59:58
Rewards: [Party] Eligibility: Mendell
⟪ ACCEPT QUEST? Y/N ⟫
"…You know what? Screw it."
⟪ QUEST ACCEPTED ⟫
The soft chime echoed in my head again as the [System] confirmed the pact.
"Well then," Mendell said briskly, turning away for good this time. He casually stepped onto a large, flat-topped rock nearby —a rock that, I swore, hadn't been there a second ago and seemed to glide slightly as he shifted his weight onto it.
He stuck his estoc into a crevice on its surface like an anchor. "Survive well, Aya!"
The rock began to slide away smoothly into the darkness. "You have potential. It's just buried under several layers of cowardice and terminal naiveté right now."
"Wait! You're leaving so suddenly! What if a Nautilus gets me on my way back to the [Sanctuary]?! Also, how are you moving away like that on a rock…? That's not normal!"
"Geez, you sounded so confident a second ago! What happened to wanting to prove yourself and solo-grinding?" He didn't stop sliding away, instead dismissing me with a casual wave. He totally ignored my questions, too. "Point is for you to learn! Failure is the best teacher down here. I left you alive and with a decent weapon. That's more of a head start than most poor sods get."
The rock slid around a bend in the canyon, taking him out of sight.
Ah.
So that was his idea of mercy.
Fair enough.
Honestly, I was afraid. I was terrified, even.But it would be a lie to say I wasn't angry, as well.
Not at Mendell, not at the Dungeon (mostly), but at myself.
Stop being so damn reliant, Aya! My mind insisted. Stop waiting for someone else to solve your problems!
Ha. If only it were that easy. That little voice of reason was usually drowned out by the louder ones screaming about cowardice and incompetence.
I knew my weaknesses all too well. Weak spirit. Cowardly instincts. Selfish desires.
Perhaps my skillset in politics and history served me excellently on the surface, but what good is that knowledge now?
Wasn't I fundamentally unsuited for this brutal world?
What good is my existence now?
Even if I could become the strongest, even if I somehow achieved the impossible—got high levels, found Ardenne, lifted the curse, made it back to the Topworld, reformed the entire damn Continent that inadvertently created this hell…
Was I really the best person for this task? The most capable?
If I'm truly so worthless in all of my skills, why should I even try?
Not that it mattered.
Metaphorically, figuratively, and literally speaking, giving up was not a choice.
If quitting wasn't allowed, then the only path was forward. Level 20 is a start…
"Survive well, Aya."
It's a test. Like when he pushed me down the ravine, or all those times he called me useless, or when he told me to kill newcomers. He was just being an asshole all those times, sure, but this is…
This is the real start of my trial to prove my worth.
Right. Alone now. Utterly alone.
Mendell's footsteps were long gone, off to whatever horrors inhabit the fourth layer. The air was cold, and the sharp, scratchy surface of the walls tore at my already frayed dress. I just had to get back to the Sunken Ravine [Sanctuary] first.
I had a genius-level strategy, after all. A very simple one!:
1. Get back to the [Sanctuary] without dying horribly.
2. Find that [Well] again.
3. Dump all 150 [Essence] points I just earned into… something. Whatever seemed most useful for killing snails.
4. Find the Nautilus nesting pool again.
5. Kill Nautiluses non-stop for three days straight.
Yes, that was the plan worthy of a master strategist!
Why waste precious time scouting for different, potentially dangerous high-[Essence] beasts with complex attack patterns? Grinding the easiest possible enemy repeatedly for 72 hours was clearly the most efficient path for someone like me!
This isn't madness, it's dedication, thank you very much.
Memorizing the attack patterns of beasts and how to counter them is Mendell's specialty, not mine. I'd become stronger by sheer brute-force grinding the easiest thing possible: My path to power was paved with infinite snail corpses.
My feet splashed through shallow tide pools as I walked. Blue light from the ceiling crystals reflected off the water. It was pretty, if you ignored the feeling that something might crawl out and eat you.
"Okay, the exit back to the main Ravine… should be around here somewhere…" I muttered, peering into the oppressive gloom.
And then...crunch.
My foot landed on something hard, but with a weird give beneath the surface. It wasn't a rock or a shell.
"...Huh?"
The 'rock' under my boot suddenly trembled.
"Wha-what?! Stop this instant!"
It wasn't a rock. It was a crab...
A huge, blocky crab-like creature with lichen and filth stuck to its back like camouflage. Its body was covered in coral-like ridges.
Two huge claws clicked rhythmically as the crab started to sprint forward, at breakneck speed. It didn't seem to mind that I was standing upon it.
No, wait.
My eyes widened in dawning realization as the crab-rock scuttled rapidly away into the darkness. That flat back… the smooth movement… Was THAT the same type of 'rock' Mendell stepped on?! Did he ride away on a giant, grumpy CRAB BEAST?!
"[Stat Check!]" I exclaimed instantly. I had to know what exactly I was dealing with here, after all!
CRAGBACK HERMIT
LEVEL
15
TOTAL ESSENCE:
750
READ NOTES?
[CONT.]
I choked on my own breath.
Level 15?! Five times stronger than the last thing I killed!
"...Y-yeah, no. Not fighting that."
Mendell said the Nautilus I had killed was Level 3. Level 3! And that nearly skewered me through the gut.
Though if I took it out now, I'd get a whole 15 levels from the [Essence] alone, but that's assuming I could pierce its literal rock of a shell.
No, I'd need more [Strength] before being able to do anything close to that, or at least more [Haste] so I could catch up to it.
Oddly enough, in a section apart from the actual stats, there seemed to be a "NOTES" feature in which one could use mana to write a comment about a creature.
What is this?
I elected to look through them.
BUXOMVISIGOTH: Tip for the Sunken Ravine -- use [Stat Check] before walking into a tide pool to check for these idiots.
BARDLYAWAKE: Literally using my last MP to leave a note just to say fuck these things.
GENERIC_DESCENDER: Actually kinda cute if you squint? No? Just me?
SPELLEOLOGIST: Such fascinating neutral critters! Did you know that if you offer a sword to their pincer, you can mount them and they'll even attack for you? Rather weak, but I find them useful for carrying large amounts of goods! They can carry up to 10x their weight, how jolly!
The NOTES section of the description seemed useless as well. It seems random Dungeon inhabitants took the time out of their day to add to this description just to complain—Except someone with the pseudonym of "Spelleologist".
Tameable? Maybe? Did it... want a weapon? Seriously?
"…You like weapons?" I asked aloud, feeling utterly ridiculous talking to a giant crab-rock.
It made a low clicking sound, tilting its massive rock-shell slightly. I pulled my jian from its sheath.
My only weapon.
It was weak in my hands, sure, but it was mine. And if I gave it up, I'd have nothing until I killed something else.
"Fine!" I sighed, feeling a pang of betrayal towards the inanimate object. "But you better not just run off with it, you overgrown barnacle!"
Sliding carefully off its surprisingly stable back, I drew the jian. With deep reluctance, heart hammering, I extended the blade towards one of its massive, stony claws.
The moment the polished steel touched the crab's appendage, the Hermit froze completely. Then, faint purple lines, like glowing veins, pulsed softly across its rocky shell.
Progress? "Alright, uh… take me to the Sunken Ravine [Sanctuary]?"
It tilted its shell slightly.
Then, with a low gurglk sound, it started moving again—this time slower, smoother, and without trying to kill me. I relaxed just a little, letting the damp air cling to my skin. Maybe… things were finally going to be okay.
"Fine, if you're going to have to borrow my sword, I'd hope you know how to use it in case anything happens… I don't get why you like weapons so much, but I think I should call you Parry!"
Parry burbled in a way that seemed happy enough with the title.
Fifteen minutes of awkward, silent travel later, carried on the back of the surprisingly comfortable giant crab, I realized something terrible.
"...Wait a minute." I peered at a distinctively shaped stalactite dripping water onto a specific patch of glowing lichen. "This is the exact same spot we passed ten minutes ago."
Don't tell me…
An hour after that... passing the same stalactite for what felt like the fifth time…
I blinked. Looked around the identical-looking passage. My eye twitched.
"Oh no." I stood up and shouted at the crab. "Parry… You're supposed to know how to navigate this type of area, dumbass rock-lobster!"
Godsdamn it, now I was really in a jam thanks to this giant clam.
This is ridiculous.
Parry burbled again.
"Don't give me that tone! I trusted you!" I slumped against its shell and pointed in a random direction. "Just… go that way. That way feels like [Sanctuary]. Probably."
It obeyed. Sort of.
Trudging down the narrow tunnel, a heavy fog rolled in, thicker than before, pressing against my face like a damp shroud.
The familiar lavender Ravine glow vanished. Darkness deepened, pierced only by the faint purple glow emanating from the Hermit's shell where it held the jian. The air grew heavy, stale.
It wasn't until the crab passed under a strange stone arch that I realized something was wrong. The walls weren't jagged anymore; they were constructed of fieldstone brick.
We passed under a crumbling stone archway, and the ground beneath Parry's legs changed from rock to cracked, uneven flagstones. The walls were no longer natural cave formations but worked stone bricks, ashy white with age and decay.
The Hermit stopped abruptly, making a low chrrrk. Ahead loomed a massive, broken wooden door, adorned with faded silver and blooming lavender flowers, hanging precariously ajar off massive hinges.
This wasn't the Ravine. This wasn't the [Sanctuary]. Where in the Gods' name were we?
Against every screaming instinct telling me to grab my sword (if Parry would even give it back…) and run blindly back the way we came, morbid curiosity—or perhaps just sheer bewildered paralysis —propelled me forward.
I slid off Parry's back and hesitantly stepped through the gaping doorway.
My breath caught.
I stood in a hall of staggering size and tragic beauty. Long, broken columns lined the sides of the hall, some collapsed, others still standing with chunks missing.
A tattered violet carpet ran down the center, dirty and burned in some places.
The walls were cracked, like they had been clawed at for years.
A few chandeliers still hung from above, but most had crashed to the floor, shattered like bones. Their crystal shards glittered on the floor like broken teeth.
White-stone walls, massive windows framed in wrought iron vines, silver-veined marble floors… All the abundance one could ever desire.
It felt like a grave.
Oh Gods. This had to be it.
Mendell's stories… the castle swallowed by the earth… When the Silver Castle fell, it must have landed somewhere, right? Presumably near the top of the Well?
Damn my curiosity! Damn this useless crab! Running seemed like the smart choice, but where? Back into the maze that got me here?
…What's the worst that could happen?
Death?
A [Mark] spell inscription flashed before my eyes:
[SILVER CASTLE HALL - EAST]
HIGH RISK
Yes, confirmed.
This was the Silver Castle!
I took a step forward, Parry following at my side with my sword still in its claw. Dust rose from the carpet. I sure hope the Hermit can wield the jian better than I can if something jumped us right now…
Fear was a cold knot in my stomach, but honestly? I was already terrified of everything down here. Running felt… counterproductive.
Getting more lost in a High Risk zone sounded like a fast track to ending up in a death loop. No. Better to hold my ground, at least for now. Assess. Survive!
One hallway contained cascading fountains built into arched stone alcoves, the water running so clear it looks like flowing glass.
All around, doors made from ancient, pale wood (like weathered oak treated to a silvery hue), banded with straps of tarnished iron or polished steel led to who knows where.
I saw entrances to interior gardens solely containing plants with naturally grey or silver foliage—Dusty Miller, Lamb's Ear, Artemisia, white roses, beneath the shade of the Dungeon's mysterious white-gnarled trees.
So, I took a deep breath and decided to make the best of it. I reached onto the floor and grasped one of the shards of stained glass. With it, I began carefully picking at some mushrooms and ferns growing along the edges of the cracked walls.
Later—how much later, I couldn't say—I sat cross-legged on a relatively intact flagstone near the edge of the vast, ruined corridor.
The pale glow of the false sky above cast an eerie light over the entire area.
My ceremonial gown, what remained of it, at least, was spread out in front of me, billowing in the hall's faint breeze, even more tattered and mud-stained than when I'd first got here.
Thanks to Parry's kidnapping scenic detour, I'm sure.
Well, it's not like anyone's going to miss this dress, I thought to myself, tugging at a strip of shredded red cotton. It's been nothing but a nuisance, snagging on rocks and such.
And it's not like I'm getting invited to any temple ceremonies down here. Might as well make something useful out of it…
I picked up one of the thinner, sharper glass splinters again. Its edge gleamed wickedly, and I tested it against my fingertip.
Normally, using broken glass as a tool would be suicidal, risking infection or deep cuts. But down here the Dungeon's strange 'curse' seemed to handle minor wounds instantly, so it should be fine. A shallow cut from the glass would sting, maybe bleed for a second, then seal itself up.
One small, perverse upside to eternal torment, I supposed. If this glass can scratch me, it can definitely handle silk and ayate fibre.
Carefully unwinding a long thread from the hem of the ruined gown, I managed to thread it through a tiny chip in the glass splinter. It wasn't easy, but desperation is a powerful motivator.
"Huh. Maybe I am good at something."
Using the shard-needle, I began the slow, laborious process of transforming useless finery into functional gear. Poke hole, draw thread, tie knot. Repeat. I painstakingly poked holes into the larger pieces of fabric, threading them together into something resembling a tunic.
After an hour of careful work, the dress began to take shape—or, more accurately, to lose its shape. It wasn't pretty, hell, it wasn't even completely symmetrical, but it was light and flexible, and it didn't drag along the ground like the ceremonial dress had.
The upper layers of the dress lay in a pile of red cotton scraps beside me. I used the longest strip of fabric to fashion a makeshift sash, cinching it tightly around my waist to. Another piece became a rough sort of cloak.
Honestly, the entire garb reminded me more of something a male warrior in the Obsidian Empire might have worn instead of a noblewoman—These sorts of cloaks were something to be earned, and I would know, because I had made many of them before.
It almost felt completely improper for me to wear… something like this.
My mind drifted as I worked, fingers moving almost automatically. I remembered the weaving room back home, bathed in golden afternoon light, the scent of serpent-fritillaries drifting in from the gardens. My mother's voice, soft but firm, correcting my clumsy stitches.
"A lady must know how to sew and weave, Ayauhcihuatl. It is an art. You will need it to repair a hem or stitch a tear in a man's delicate fabric one day without the clumsiness in which you handle… everything else."
"I'm not a seamstress," I had retorted once, earning a withering glare. "You said it yourself, I'm a lady. So isn't that the kind of thing we commission artisans for?"
"You'll never master it like that, my dear," Mother had chided.
I had been impatient then—still was, I supposed. I never had the patience to make something beautiful beyond the simplest of tilmàtlis, something only a commoner warrior would wear. Funny how life, or, uh, afterlife worked out like that.
Stitch it together, Aya. Make it work.
Just like Mother said. Though I doubted she envisioned this…
With that, I tied the cloak around my shoulders, feeling its rough, comforting weight settle against my skin. The gown's ostentatious upper layers were now just a pile of red satin scraps. I wonder if I can use [Stat Check] on gear..?
"[Stat Check]," I murmured, just in case
As I adjusted straps, a familiar, metallic ding sounded in my mind, followed by a series of flashing stats illuminating the stitches of the fabric, which I then expanded:
[Tunic of Shredded Red Silk]
+2% Normal DMG Resistance
[Torn Pants of Shredded Red Silk]
+2% Normal DMG Resistance
[Gauntlets of Shell Shards]
+1% Normal DMG Resistance
[Tattered Cloak]
+2% Normal DMG Resistance
[Scraps Armor Set]
Set Bonus: +2% All DMG Resistance
Oh! So all that effort paid off!
Seven percent Normal Damage Resistance, plus another two percent All Damage Resistance from the set bonus! It wasn't much, probably, but it was something. Something I made.
I grinned, twirling around in my scrappy cloak as if it were a new ballgown.
I tucked the shard-needle carefully into a pocket sewn into the rough trousers.
Okay, what next? My eyes fell on the pile of harvested mushrooms. One had a particularly large, flat cap… An idea, equal parts stupid and brilliant, sparked. Any stat upgrade is good, right?
Taking the shard, I began to carve into the soft flesh of the mushroom. It took a while, but finally, I'd hollowed out the mushroom cap, leaving just the outer rim intact. The hollowed interior was smooth and just big enough to fit snugly on my head.
I tried it on for size, wincing as the edges of the mushroom scraped against my skin. It was an ugly thing. Ridiculous, even. Perfect.
The mushroom cap sat awkwardly atop my head like some weird crown, and I sighed as I adjusted it. Pulling more of the red cotton from my ruined gown—what was left of it, anyway—I tied it around her chin to secure the mushroom hat in place like a bonnet's ribbon. "[Stat Check]!"
[Crown of Fungi]
+3% Poison Damage Resistance
I stared at the stats, eyes wide with glee. Look at that!
Twelve percent total damage resistance across the board, plus extra poison resist! With a playful giggle, I skipped around in circles, tapping the gauntlets made of nautilus-shell and twirling the cloak.
The mushroom hat perched jauntily on my head, and the red silk ribbons fluttered in the breeze.
I'm such a genius, I thought with a satisfied smile. My hands rested on my hips, and I gave myself imaginary applause.
Maybe I should make a matching hat for Parry, too!
I sat upon my rock, next to the crab that looked like a rock, making final stitches and adjustments, humming in peaceful satisfaction for what felt like hours.
This was… nice.