Fun Dungeon Exploration! (3)

I hope I'm not going to end up screaming and dying because I trusted this guy.

Just as I was coming to grips with the shocking and dizzying secret of the event cut scene, the tomb raider leader, who had been leading the way, stopped in his tracks. We had reached the entrance of the underground sewer, which reeked of dampness.

As expected, the heavy iron grate fell as it did last time, and the trickling water led into the darkness beyond. The deeper and darker it got, it almost felt like the gaping throat of some massive beast.

The tomb raider leader inserted a key into a brass box affixed to the wall. Once he opened the box, the group of raiders grabbed the chain inside and pulled with all their might, lifting the iron grate upwards.

Clang, clang.

As the bars rose smoothly, water splashed down in a steady stream beneath them. Leonardo and I stood in silence, watching the scene. We had entered in such an undignified manner.

Soon, nine men in total lined up and entered. After Leonardo and the others went in, the chain was pulled taut inside, and then released. The iron grate came crashing down with a thunderous sound.

Thud!

Then, as if nothing had happened, the entrance was sealed shut. Almost as if it had been waiting for this moment, shattered letters began to appear before my eyes.

[Scenario Area Access Approved: Entering .]

[This area is unstable, so extra caution is required.]

But this time, it was subtly different from before.

[Warning: ■■■■■■ is detected in the current area. Please be cautious.]

[Alert: ■■■■■■ ■■■…]

The warning message subtly changed, and that caught my attention. But a labyrinth in the underground? Not Sinistra's underground waterway?

Perhaps it was because the word 'labyrinth' immediately brought to mind the Minotaur's maze, the Labyrinth of Crete. A labyrinth always carried the strong connotation of "something being trapped inside, unable to escape." Does that mean something is lurking deep beneath this vibrant city, right under my feet?

Something that could be compared to the man-eating monster, the Minotaur…

No, I'm getting ahead of myself. There's no need to get lost in my imagination. The literal meaning of a labyrinth is more about winding, unnecessary paths designed to slow down an enemy's advance—a military strategy, in a sense.

There's also the possibility that the underground waterway, which was a refuge and a key stronghold during the chaos ten years ago, might have been called a labyrinth. I forced myself to stay calm and collect my thoughts.

What is this, some kind of horror game?

Anyway, this world of the story has an eerie, unsettling edge to it. It doesn't need to be overtly uncomfortable; it just keeps poking at you in the back of your mind, making you feel uneasy.

At that moment, I suddenly sensed someone approaching from the side. It was Leonardo. He lowered his voice, making sure no one else could hear, and whispered.

"You seem uneasy."

Me?

I've been hit with so many things, I barely have time to catch my breath.

Should I go over just today's events again?

Let's see. I don't even remember it, but now I have this chilling scar on my wrist, and according to my assumption, it feels like the world's been reset without me knowing. The role of Orlie, a character in the story, is highly suspicious, making me uneasy and giving me a stomachache. Just recently, I almost got a hole blown through my lung by a throwing dagger.

Wow. Is this really how much is going on?

I let out a breath with a smile that felt like air leaking out, my shoulders shrugging. Thankfully, I had an excuse.

"I told you last time, didn't I? I don't really have any good memories of ten years ago or this place."

"…Right. I haven't forgotten."

"Exactly. It's nothing that's going to cause a problem."

Leonardo had been quietly watching me, then reached out. Beneath the heavy folds of his black cloak, he gripped my wrist. His rough hand, which had recently started to show signs of hard labour, held mine. He pulled me closer and whispered softly in my ear.

"When the anxiety is bad, it's good to remind yourself of reality."

"Reality?"

"Yeah. There's a big gap between the anxiety in reality and the fear you cultivate in your mind. Monsters are the scariest when they stay in your imagination, without any real form."

Leonardo glanced toward the group of tomb raiders walking ahead and took a step closer. In a voice so low it was almost inaudible, he began to speak again.

"…I once happened to overhear a story about a hunter. She was a woman who lived alone in the forest. She had been widowed some time ago and had no children. One day, something came to her, imitating her deceased husband. The hunter stabbed the person who looked like her husband to death and threw it into the stream."

I didn't expect the story to take this turn.

"But back then, she didn't know how to properly deal with those things. So, she didn't kill it completely. After that, the thing that had imitated her husband returned every night, drifting back up the river against the current."

"..."

Splash.

I accidentally stepped into a puddle that had formed on the ground.

"When the hunter heard the sound of wet footsteps in the middle of the night, and the sound of water dripping from wet sleeves as someone knocked on her door, she immediately reached for her axe."

"She killed her husband ninety-nine times. It was a good thing that a knight happened to find her cabin before the hundredth time. But even after that, the hunter couldn't sleep for a long time. She was afraid that the man she thought had died would return again."

I wanted to ask if this was just a ghost story, but in a fantasy world where monsters can imitate people, it seems unlikely that this is merely a fable.

"When the nights of sleeplessness grew longer, do you have any idea what she did?"

"… No idea."

"The hunter took a shovel and went to her husband's grave. She dug up the remains, and all that was left was the skeleton."

Leonardo said this quietly, and a chill ran down my spine.

In my imagination, the hunter gently handled the white bones. Grasping the smooth skull and the hollow eye sockets as if she were holding a bowling ball, she pressed it against her forehead. She stared into those empty eyes as if watching for any malicious insects crawling inside the bones.

"They say she fell asleep every night while looking at the skeleton. That way, she was constantly reminded that her husband had died long ago and that the ones she had been seeing were just fakes. After that, she wasn't afraid anymore."

"After that, she started sleeping well?"

"That's what they say."

It was a rather chilling way to tell the story, but I understood what Leonardo was getting at.

If you drag the fear from your mind into reality, the terror won't grow beyond its actual form. Fear is at its most terrifying when it stays in your imagination.

"So, what you're saying is that we need some kind of anchor to remind us of reality?"

He nodded. An anchor to help us stay grounded in reality.

"I'd prefer not to use the bones of the dead, though."

Ha, I let out a dry laugh and hesitated.

The sting of the wound on my forearm, the anxiety about survival, and the suspicion about this crudely constructed world all coiled up in the corner of my mind, tightening around my heart.

Was it all just my imagination? Am I dreaming all of this while in a vegetative state after an accident, lying in a hospital bed? There are stories like that, right? No one truly knows how the brain works.

Or could this be an extremely elaborate daydream?

Is it possible that my senses are deceiving me, and I'm wandering through absurd, nonsensical illusions?

It would be a lie to say I've never thought of it. Even while doing my best to adapt and move forward, there are times when reality feels so faint that my head throbs with confusion.

Does it even make sense? A person disintegrating into ash, the world being just this one city?

The reason I hadn't slept for days since coming here was, in fact, rooted in this anxiety.

Is there even an anchor that can quiet all of this fear and remind me of reality?

Then, suddenly, I felt Leonardo's rough hand wrap around my wrist. After a brief moment of hesitation, I slid my hand slightly, meeting his palm.

I felt a lukewarm warmth. The deep lines of his palms and the smooth texture of his skin, the rough calluses starting to form at the base of his knuckles—every sensation was clear, even when I closed my eyes.

This was the warmth of a living person. Not the warmth of some extra destined to turn to ashes, but the warmth of someone truly alive, breathing, with a heart beating every second. The solid presence of the protagonist in the spotlight.

I wasn't alone. In a world that felt like all a hallucination and a lie, I wasn't the only one left in isolation. At least I was alive. Alive.

Even if it was a blindfolded comfort, it was enough of a relief.

"Yeah."

I smiled briefly and tightened my grip around his hand.

"This definitely feels helpful."

When I held Vittorio's hand in the market, I felt the same warmth from his small hand. Maybe it was because he was still young, but his warmth had been a bit more intense.

Right. This can't all be a hallucination or fiction. After all, I'm this warm.

I exhaled, shaking off the heavy atmosphere, intentionally shrugging my shoulders. It was a form of self-assurance. I didn't want to make the moment awkward, so I playfully squeezed Leonardo's hand, pressing down on it repeatedly.

"Not bad, huh? You're good at comforting, too."

The quiet guy had put in the effort. He provided solutions, shared examples of how they worked. I could tell he cared, and I was grateful for it.

Leonardo hesitated before firmly grasping my hand. My playful attempts to tease him were easily countered, and before I knew it, his hand slipped in between mine, as if he was locking our fingers together.

Had he never played around like this? It felt like he had no experience with hand tricks—maybe he never tried that thing where you'd pretend to make static electricity by clenching your fist.

My little prank didn't work, and I felt a bit awkward, but more than that, I noticed the unfamiliar and slightly awkward expression on Leonardo's face. He looked like he was pondering something, like this situation was a bit new to him.

"Well, that's good. Did it help you?"

"More than I thought it would."

"I haven't really tried comforting anyone much… but I'm glad."

And then he smiled faintly.

'Why… that's a bit endearing.'

Is this what it feels like to be appreciated? Is this what a father feels like, or something? Not that I've ever raised anyone. I absentmindedly rubbed my chest, a strange feeling growing as I walked on, and soon I spotted a familiar ladder leading down to the second basement floor.

Click.

With the ticking of the pocket watch from my coat and the end of the scenario waiting time, I knew it was time to move on.

[Waiting time expired, a new scenario note has been assigned.]