Rocks from a Glass Castle

DUNGEON FILE 005:

ROCKS FROM A GLASS CASTLE

Many legends have been told about the great well in the Silver Land. I am told that teachers and historians have declared it thus:

"A pit where the wretched are cast, where the worst of our kind go to rot for eternity. A sacred monument to the peace of The Continent, forged by mutual disgust."

Such poetic phrasing for what is, essentially, a hole full of corpses. Nevertheless, there is logic: The Continent only has so much land, right? So why waste any of it on graves for those who don't deserve it?

Naturally, I had memorized this ideology in childhood. They were spoken with such certainly, one might assume the well to be some divine gift for this exact purpose. Thus, the Treaty of the Well was enacted in the year 14XX, precisely one hundred years after the Silver Country fell in a most dramatic and suspicious fashion.

That, of course, is the polite political explanation. The one included in school primers and engraved beneath public statues in the Obsidian Empire.

No one of note—king, priest, or bureaucrat—appeared to question why there existed a hole ten thousand meters deep beneath the ruins of Silver Castle. Nor did they examine too closely the circumstances of the Silver Country's fall. Ignorance is bliss, after all: If no one truly knows what happened, it becomes easier to accept the narrative that they deserved it.

"It was said to be a land of vice and corruption!"

"They were punished by the Gods, and the country was destroyed."

"Debaucheries happened here, debaucheries happened there; wasn't this sort of punishment bound to be expected eventually?"

Yes, quite convenient.

Due to this logic, it certainly seemed a fitting grave for our modern criminals, Like tossing fresh garbage onto a century-old pile.

At least, that's what I was told.

I had no reason to question it. The descendants of the Silver Country were scattered like roaches. They became petty criminals, impoverished exiles, itinerants without nation or nobility. It was not my place to consider them further.

Or so I believed.

…Until I met Mendell.

One of those so-called "stragglers."

"My dear Aya," Mendell began, an insufferable smile upon his face. "Since you will be stuck here quite a while, I believe a history lesson is due for you, don't you think?"

Ugh, that smile.

"If it has to do with the history of the Great Well and the Corpse Treaty that is connected to it, spare me. Do not trouble yourself. I am very well-read. My family's tutor was quite thorough."

"Yes, I'm sure," Mendell continued with slight disinterest. "But do you know anything about the history of Silver Country? Specifically, before it fell. Nothing to do with the treaty nor its modern day situation."

"...Is this relevant?"

He didn't miss a beat. "Oh, quite. Considering that all those nobles who fell into that well a hundred years ago are still here breathing, I would say it is quite relevant. Also, your terrible prejudice against the Silver-born is quite blatant. I'm sure many people around here are less patient than I am to your insensitive words."

Oh.

That's...jarring.

So does that mean the mad king of the Silver Country might be out there somewhere in this Dungeon?

I would certainly come back to that thought. But as for his comment about my "prejudices"... that accusation stung more than I cared to admit.

"I'm telling you," I huffed, lifting my chin. "The Obsidian Empire is one of the most generous nations to Silver refugees. Some of my best friends back in childhood were Silver-born… I am not 'prejudiced'."

"Yes, you are," Mendell shot back flatly. "Oh, be honest, Aya, you absolutely hate me already."

"I don't hate you because you're Silver-born; I hate you because you kill people!"

…There was a brief stare of discomfort.

"Ah, I see, then that's fair..." Mendell laughed nervously, then his smile faded again. He seemed serious. "Perhaps I'm a bad example. But you said the Obsidian Empire helps the Silver-born, right? What does that mean exactly?"

"We give their families jobs with the nobility. Butlers, maids, servants, cooks... and in return they're given food and shelter."

"What if one doesn't wish to scrub nobles' floors all day?" His voice was sharp. "It seems they don't even get a salary. What other options does one have if you want something more than a slave?"

"Well…" I hesitated. 

So, strictly speaking, he had a point. Silverborn refugees were not allowed to do anything else unless it was service of a noble… That was the law. 

"Perhaps you're right about that. But it's not so dreadful," I continued, desperately retrieving my composure. "They would starve otherwise, would they not? The Silver Country has no proper government, no economy. If they live by the other Empire's graces, what need have they for money?"

Mendell's expression darkened like a storm cloud.

"Answer the question properly," he said in an icy voice. He stepped forward… I took a step back.

"Well, fine, you're entirely right. They have no legal right to do anything else," I admitted in a low voice.

"Why not?"

"Because!" The official justifications tumbled out, the ones drilled into me since birth. Perhaps I had begun to believe them…"Because if they had equal rights, they might try to get into politics or seize power in the economy! It could put Obsidian society at risk, or damage local businesses to have foreign influences. Why wouldn't we protect our country from that? Look what their people did to their own country!"

"Takeover? Really?" Mendell looked half amused, half terrified. "That's exactly what I mean. Do you really think the Silverborn are plotting to take over the world, based on the actions of some corrupt old rich men from a century in the past?"

"Who's to say the survivors aren't just as tainted? Driven by spite? Of course, they'd try to reclaim what they lost, drag everyone else down with them! They probably envy stable nations! If they gained power and the Gods decided to unleash another smiting…" My voice trailed off, the image genuinely terrifying.

Mendell's gaze was filled with a profound weariness, like this was something he's heard countless times before.

"Gods damn it, Aya," he whispered, the anger replaced by a raw, aching plea. "We're just trying to live!"

"Do you even know what the Silver Country looks like now? It's hunger that gnaws at your ribs. It's working until your hands bleed just to grow crops in dust. It's walking barefoot through snow with clothes that barely qualify as cloth. It's children who stop dreaming before they even learn to write."

His voice trembled. "And Gods help the one child who does dream—because they'll just be told they're the descendant of sinners and nothing more than a servant for life. Do you know what that feels like? To be born and immediately chained?"

"I…"

Well... Damnit, He wasn't wrong.

That feeling… being stripped of your future… 

"…Mendell," I muttered, somewhat reluctant to admit this still.

Then, steeling myself—because a Lady of the Obsidian Empire does not wallow—I straightened my spine.

…A Lady faces her mistakes, no matter how unpleasant!

"Perhaps that… was presumptuous of me. My sincerest apologies, Mendell! A true Lady should listen to the people. But I suppose… It's hard to hear voices that were never given the right to speak in the first place. I'll do my best to understand from now on."

I looked him in the eye.

"I made assumptions based on generalizations. I won't do that again, I owe you that much."

"O-Oh," Mendell blinked, genuinely startled. He seemed honestly shocked by my sudden change of heart, considering the man had been so serious merely a moment ago.

"Well, You don't owe me anything. As you've said, you do have valid reasons to dislike me genuinely, and I'm well aware of my... less than ethical… ways. I only want you to know this so you don't judge people who don't deserve it, even if you didn't intend to. I just… didn't want you to treat the rest of us like me. I'm not exactly the best example of a Silver-born, you know, and… That is all."

I wanted to refute that. To tell him he was wrong, or at least that I hadn't been so cruel, but I opted for silence instead. 

Silence bloomed between us like a bruise.

"Aya," he murmured after some time, nearly silent. "I've been meaning to tell you—"

There was suddenly a thoughtful, almost hesitant quality to his voice.

Eep. Honestly, the vulnerability was almost completely unbecoming of him and, dare I say, disturbing. 

I don't want to be friendly with this guy!

As if possessed by the stupidest instinct imaginable, I immediately interrupted whatever it was he was about to say:

"I see… In that case, I believe a history lesson on your homeland would be wonderful, Mendell!" I jumped in as if I hadn't heard him at all. "If you're still offering, of course. How exactly did the Silver Country's fall come about, then?"

"Ah. History, yes," Mendell blinked, as if he just then realized the same thought as me. The moment passed. "I did harp on about its importance, after all. So…" 

Mendell cleared his throat, brushing a gloved hand across his jaw as if physically wiping away whatever it was he'd almost let slip. He gave me a look—half amused, half resigned—but didn't press. Like a practiced storyteller, Mendell began to speak.

"The Silver Castle was once the crown of the country, gleaming quite literally—white-stone walls, massivewindows framed in wrought iron vines, silver-veined marble floors, an abundance of whatever you could want. But prosperity is a poor teacher, and its people… especially the nobility, King Haghni and the Lords of the towns… they grew used to excess. Worse, they came to believe it was their right."

"Oh," I muttered, more to myself. I did know the type. I'd lived under entitled old rich people, though this did sound significantly more extreme.

"Thus, the Gods punished them, as you know. Right here. Beneath the castle itself. The ground tore open. The earth screamed. The Castle, the Lords, the servants, the children… everyone inside, guilty or innocent, plunged screaming into the darks, 10,000 meters straight down into this Well."

He tapped the floor.

"The world opened up and devoured them."

"…W-What? So suddenly?"

"Just like that. One moment, feasting and scheming. The next, falling into infinite night." He shrugged, a chillingly casual gesture. 

"And that, my dear Lady Aya, is why things are the way they are down here. They didn't find peace in death. Oh no. They just kept fighting. The Lords turned on each other, desperate to claw back power, to rule over scraps of rock and pools of slime. Their afterlife became a mirror of their wretched lives—endless violence, betrayal, torture. A suitable punishment, isn't it? Even that despicable bastard King Haghni can never die here."

"Oh right, you mentioned that earlier. So according to the curse's logic, he's alive somewhere in this Dungeon like us, 100 years later?"

"Oh yes. Though I can't say his mind remained much intact. He's known as one of the 'Four Sinners' down here, the most loathsome beings in this Dungeon who have come to be called 'Bosses' amongst us descenders. If someone were to defeat one of the Four Sinners, even once, the amount of [Essence] gained would be enough to make you a king of this Dungeon in strength alone!"

"...That type of power seems right up your alley, Mendell."

He giggled. "Flattering. But no, I don't have what it takes. I've only been down here sixteen years. And I wasn't much of a swordsmaster back on the topworld, so compared to the best of the best here, my stats aren't as developed."

More developed stats than Mendell? So what the fuck kind of brutes am I going to be dealing with in this Dungeon, exactly?!

"I'd love to tear the [Essence] out of that royal bastard's soul one day," he mused with a dreamy little sigh. "But I'll probably go Unbound—Y'know, lose my mind to the dungeon,— before I ever get that strong. So for now, I'll just keep killing new descenders in the Ravine!"

"Agh, stop talking about killing defenseless people so cheerfully again!" I snapped, shuddering. "Doesn't that make you just as bad as that King if you don't even feel remorse for it…? " 

Seriously, the whiplash with this guy!

Mendell ignored the question without even giving it a thought, of course. He waved a dismissive hand, utterly unconcerned.

"Details, details. Look, the point is, this Dungeon is crawling with enemies—dungeon beasts, other descenders, things that have festered down here for longer than your Empire has existed. Topside, peace makes getting strong slow work, not enough violent conflict to farm serious [Essence], not to mention death is permanent. But down here? It's an all-you-can-kill buffet, infinite supply!" He leaned in, his gaze intense. "So heed my advice, Lady Aya: get strong. Fast. Or you'll be caught in a death loop the second you leave [Sanctuary]."

Tch. Annoying!

Why does he have to keep reminding me how screwed I am?! Even if I do want to get stronger, hearing it phrased like that… Ugh.

Best just to ignore his morbid commentary.