A Steep Learning Curve

DUNGEON FILE 003:

A STEEP LEARNING CURVE

As I awaited my death, I thought once more of Mendell, that terrible cold indifference, just as satisfied to kill me in the end than not. 

Perhaps I had wanted this, and I'm sure I deserved it, but the tender gravity of death and pain had only dawned on me in these final moments. 

The world tilted; This would be my second death!

But then, I felt the ground beneath me give way, not in the manner I anticipated. My back should have broken. My ribs should have split open like a fruit on jagged stone, but the world had other plans. 

With a soft, sick squelch, I landed. I stared down, half-terrified to confirm what I thought I had felt, and saw that I had landed on a bed of thin, white flowers, their delicate petals crushed under my weight. 

A marsh. A field of half-flooded petals nestled in waterlogged grass and sponge-like soil. The delicate blooms were squeezed out beneath me, their white petals dimming half-submerged in the muddy murk as the weight of my aching body pressed into them.

The mud had worked its way into the folds of my gown as well, dampening the material and pulling it down with the force of my landing. The dress clung to my skin as the moisture of the bog squeezed out from beneath me, coating my back and legs in mud, the cotton fabric now heavy and soiled. 

However, I hardly had time to process this when an arrogant laugh echoed above me. Upon hearing that grating thing, the fact that I had not died did not bring the relief I might have imagined.

"You truly believed you would die, didn't you?" Mendell cackled. He landed beside where I lay with an effortless roll, dusting himself off like this was all part of his plan.

Well yes, he must have known this marsh was here, that bastard.

"I do hope that disappointment does not weigh too heavily on you. You will experience plenty of death in due time." 

"Nothing about this is at all amusing!"

"You're fine," he muttered, barely sparing a glance.

I was only able to gape at him. "You pushed me off a cliff!"

"And you're fine," he repeated as if that excused everything.

"You—what—why?! What is wrong with you?!"

He held up a hand, silencing me. "Plenty, but that is not the point. As you said before, you'd be dead if I wanted you dead. But I do not wish for it, so stop whining. It was merely a lesson so you would learn not to take things for granted, an effective one at that. Come on."

I had no choice but to follow Mendell, who had already turned away from me, moving forward without hesitation, and more than once I felt myself slipping as I struggled to maintain my balance on the waterlogged grasses and jagged rocks.

Of course I understood there was a certain 'kindness' in Mendell's attempt in trying to make light of terrible things, enough to prevent me from panicking over this situation for a second or third time. 

I still didn't find it amusing.

I didn't understand his intentions behind the 'good deed', much less if he was good at all. For a split second, under the sarcasm, I thought I saw... something else. Recognition? No, couldn't be. Why would this asshole know anything about me?

Maybe he thought he was being helpful in some twisted, knightly fashion. Or maybe he just enjoyed making people suffer in manageable doses. Honestly, it was hard to tell.

Part of me wanted to figure this whole "curse" shit all out slowly. Gently. At my own pace, even if it was technically ungrateful of me to wish that it might have happened without his help…

After dragging myself out of the muck, I pressed on, my soaked gown clinging to every inch of me like a shroud.

The marsh gave way to unfamiliar terrain—It was more like a muddy, flat rocky expanse of what looked to me like tide pools now. The air was damp and cool, with a faint smell of salt and brine. 

As we continued walking, the terrain began to slope downwards, and the tide pools became more numerous and larger in size. Hundreds of them, massive, spanning across the entire floor of the ravine. Suddenly, a flash of light in my vision:

[THE SUNKEN RAVINE]

LOW RISK

—Huh?

The Sunken Ravine? So that's what this region of the Dungeon must be called. It was a [Mark]ing spell. A territorial declaration burned directly into my field of vision: arcane, archaic, and unmistakably real.

Ancient explorers once used these (long before order on the Continent was formalized) to name wild, uncharted regions. Carving the land's identity into the air itself, so that any wanderer would know where they stood. It was cleaner than a map, and more permanent than a wooden sign.

In a way, it makes sense: What kind of sign would hold up in this sort of environment? The letters could fade, the wood might rot, and only Gods know if they even have wood down here. It is pleasant to know there is some semblance of order here, in their own archaic way.

Strange, though.

Who had cast this one?

I'm surprised someone has taken the time to [Mark] and name the places in this Dungeon. 

As the we rounded a bend in the path, something glinted in the distance. Half-submerged in a pool of brackish water stood a creature unlike anything I had ever seen back above. 

A nautilus-like beast, about three feet tall, curled in on itself at the center of the shallow pool. Two dark eyes twisted out from stalks nestled among scores of tentacles extruding from a hard shell.

The shell itself was a dense spiraling carapace of iridescent colors that shifted like oil on water—pale blues, greens, and purples shimmering in the light. 

"...Is that something I should be worried about?" I inquired.

Mendell barely glanced at it. "Lustrous Nautilus. You should ignore it, the [Essence] drop is so low they're practically worthless. You'd get far more farming descenders in the cells."

"Farming? You really must stop talking about killing people so casually! And you keep saying such weird things and not elaborating. I only intended to know if that 'Lustrous Nautilus' would attack if we got too close, that's all!"

He waved a hand. "Oh, I don't know. I reckon it would."

"That's hardly helpful!!"

"I mean, if you trip and fall into its pool, I suppose we'll find out."

"Then maybe slow down?! I'm literally slipping on every other step!"

He didn't slow down. If anything, the bastard picked up his pace. "Would you prefer I carry you? I could throw you over my shoulder like a sack of grain. I expect it would be more dignified than watching you stumble about."

"A sack of grain!?"

"Perhaps like a pail of water, if you find that a more apt comparison."

"I believe I can suddenly walk just fine…"

Despite my indignation, I couldn't help but feel a strange warmth creep into my chest. If I were to be honest, standing at the edge of the cliff earlier, I had truly believed that death would be my escape. I wanted it. I embraced it. But I didn't die. And worse... I realized I didn't want to.

Even now, stripped of dignity, soaked in rot, forced to keep up with a sociopathic man-child with a superiority complex, I found myself living. Against my will, yes—but undeniably alive. What was there left to desire, after all, if even the end was denied to me? 

Pain would not absolve me, and surrender would not release me.

There was only the terrible obligation of continuing.

And while I hesitated to give Mendell any credit—for anything ever—it was undeniable that being hurled off a cliff granted me a kind of clarity. A terrifying, muddy clarity. I'm hesitant to show gratefulness for it. He's still terrible, after all, and has managed to accomplish nothing other than to make me greatly uncomfortable. 

Even so, perhaps it wouldn't kill me to perhaps offer some thanks…

"Mendell, I—"

"You might wanna move."

"...Huh?"

CRACK.

A sound like cracking bone echoed through the ravine. I turned—And stared into the spiraling, ink-ringed maw of the Lustrous Nautilus. Tentacles flared out wildly like barbed whips.

I stepped back from the thing instinctively, but my boot slipped on the slick stone of the rock pool. A tendril shot out from the beast's shell, striking the wall beside me with a thunderous smack and stirring up the dust and debris.

"Back! Get back!" I shrieked at the thing.

It didn't listen, of course.

The creature's tentacles lashed out again, one slamming into the ground beside me with enough force to make the stone tremble. Another struck the wall, narrowly missing. Its massive maw within the tentacles gaped, a tendril-like tongue slithering out from the center of the shell's opening with a wet sound. 

This was it.

My actual second death!

For real this time!

But then a silver bolt flew through the air, striking the creature's shell with a deafening thwack. It screeched, recoiling into the shallow pool and flailing its tentacles fiercely at the blow. Another bolt followed, this time piercing its underbelly. The nautilus faltered, though it was still yet to fall. A final bolt struck the beast, this time pinning it to the wall like a grotesque butterfly of sludge. Its limbs spasmed once… then fell still.

"Oh my Gods, the sheer terror of it all! I almost broke a sweat rescuing you from...that," Mendell broke out into a giggle.

I blinked at the now-oozing corpse of the Lustrous Nautilus. "In my defense," I managed, trying to sound even a little dignified, "my skills lie in… other fields. Why would I know anything about something so... so unladylike as fighting?"

"Hm." Mendell tilted his head. "Unladylike, huh? Ahh... I'd nearly forgotten how rigid and traditional the Obsidian Empire is with gender roles and who-does-what. You poor thing. I'm certain you've never even held a sword."

"Huh? Rigid?! That isn't it at all! Men and women serve differently, but no role is considered lesser. And that order has worked quite well for us. For centuries, even."

"It hasn't served you well even more than a step outside of it. I wouldn't consider fighting skills 'unladylike' at all, honestly! You'd be surprised at how many women here could beat my ass… Far more than I would like to admit, actually…"

A woman, capable of besting someone like Mendell? 

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to imagine the scene: some towering, muscular woman slamming Mendell face-first into the mud like a sack of maize while he flailed in vain.

I failed.

To me, a woman's talent was best used in noble, civil pursuits—matters of trade, household management, textiles, and governance. Our domain was no less demanding than the battlefield. This idea that a woman must be made like a man to be considered strong is absurd. 

I had studied the art of debate, the histories of kings and courts, the weaving of tapestries and even the delicate intricacies of estate accounting. I could balance a budget to within five cacao beans.

Was that not enough?

Well... perhaps knowing how to stab something in the face might have come in handy at this exact moment.

"Fine," I relented, exhaling sharply. "I suppose I can see why, in a terrible and barbaric cesspool such as this Dungeon, women might be forced to pick up a sword now and then. But surely that's not the case elsewhere. Tell me, Mendell—where are you from? No civilized kingdom I've heard of trains their noble daughters like a warrior."

Mendell stared at me as if I'd grown a second head. "I'm going to ignore the layer cake of assumptions in that statement," he muttered half-heartedly, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Hmph."

"Alright… It doesn't much matter where I came from," he continues. "I was born in the Silver Country, but, it's rather irrelevant. I traveled across many places on the Continent, and I did spend a considerable amount of my life on the topworld in the Obsidian Empire. I believe that makes me qualified to give my opinions on its society enough."

"Really? You've been to my home country? What did you think of it?"

Mendell tilted his head, suddenly seeming… genuinely uncomfortable. "Well, it's not my favorite…"

"What? But it's so wonderful!"

"...Tch. It's the place where I was executed for the first time, as a child. Your government is the reason I ended up here."

Oh. 

For a moment, the conversation had been so pleasant, I nearly forgot Mendell (and everyone else who could be here…) had been thrown into this dreadful pit for a reason.

And whatever sin had brought him to the gallows... it had been deemed awful enough to justify tossing his corpse into the Great Well. 

I couldn't even begin to fathom what Mendell had done to earn that fate, considering how remorseless he is now. It must have been something truly heartless.

He spoke of his 'death' and time down here with a weariness that felt older than he looked. But there was also this strange undercurrent, like he was measuring time against... something else. Something specific he wasn't saying.

I glanced at him. For just a heartbeat, the moment after mentioning the fact he died, he looked almost... ashamed?

"I see," I cleared my throat and looked away. "About that. Just what did you do to get killed, exactly?"

"Oh, please. Didn't you hear me say I was a child? What could I have possibly done?" he scoffed, waving a hand as if brushing off an old tale. "The Obsidian Empire is amongst the most lax countries on the Continent when it comes to condemning people to the Great Well. I could have sneezed wrong and been labeled contagious—off to the Well with me! Who knows? Frankly, it's all quite a fucked system in the first place."

"It matters quite a lot, actually! Even a child, no—especially a child—Must have done something truly heartless to have been sent to be executed. Even if they were as lax as you say, I certainly don't believe our rulers were carelessly killing off children without reason! They're protected in our country!"

Mendell narrowed his eyes, his smile cold.

"Oh? And yet you, Lady Noble, likely amongst the most protected in that Kingdom, are down here with me. Funny how that works."

I narrowed my eyes in turn at the comment,

"They even branded you," he continued, tapping his finger against the mark on my upper back—the Mark of the Snake. "You must've done something far worse than I did. Or would you rather believe the Empire is perfectly just, except in your case?"

His mention of my humiliating mark caused me to squirm. 

"Don't look at that!"

"Now who's being shady here?"

"Hmph!"

He knows about that Mark of the Snake stuff? How embarrassing… Not to mention it was weirdly specific knowledge for someone supposedly executed years ago.

"Hmph. If you truly believed that my people are so bad, then why have you saved me?" I muttered, barely able to keep the tremble from my voice. "Twice, no less. If I'm so unworthy… why bother?"

"Please just be grateful you're not suffering what the other people in my cells go through. Isn't that enough? I'd highly recommend you stop pushing that before I change my mind."

He was right again, in a way. 

I was alive. Breathing. Thinking. Complaining, even.

Gratitude is a venom of its own, you know. A parasite that eats away at your pride. I didn't want to feel grateful to a man I couldn't trust. A man who admitted—smiling no less—to being a "Hunter" of humans. But here I was, owing him more than I could repay. I would have actually quite wished Mendell stopped doing such confusing good deeds. 

I shouldn't trust him, nor anyone, according to all the logic I've learned about this place and him in the past ten minutes, and therefore I wouldn't. As the Obsidian saying went, "A mind that accepts everything believes nothing", after all.

It's not that I was afraid of death anymore; There was nothing it could take from me that it had not already the day I was condemned.

I was terrified of the men who reveled in it.