The Night I Want to Find the God of Earth

◇ Floor 10, the Waiting Room ◇

Perhaps because I'd fought so many battles on Floor 9, the recovery of the stats that had been capped by the stake ratio was larger than on any previous floor. By the time I stepped onto Floor 11, I suspected, the restrictions would be gone entirely and my stats would climb past even their old values. When you factored in everything my stats had gained through combat besides, the deal worked out entirely in my favor.

Plus, Floor 10 is a shelter anyway.

Compared to the twenty percent penalty that had clamped down on my stats after the pre-sponsorship, none of this seemed to give me much trouble at all. Floors 8 and 10 — a floor that fed me well in more ways than one. The fighting on Floor 9 hadn't been particularly grueling either, and I could keenly feel just how far my stats towered over those of the other climbers.

And my skill levels climbed a lot, too.

Essence of Lightning, Battle Focus, Bear Blood, Natural Healing, Steel Skin — each had risen by a level. It was clear that floors with combat in them delivered far greater gains.

That was about everything the status window had to show me, I figured. All that remained was to wait.

Whether it was because Floor 10 was a shelter, I couldn't say — but the free time granted in the Waiting Room wasn't long. The original waiting period had been forty-three minutes: the exact amount of floor time that had been left over when we cleared Kasyatum's Labyrinth. Which meant, most likely, that no one entered the Floor 10 shelter until every climber had finished Floor 9. There were still plenty of climbers wandering lost in the labyrinth right now. All I could do was hope they found their way out safely.

Since none of my party members knew that Floor ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠10 was a shelter, the party chat had been buzzing for a while. And in the middle of it all, the old man had deduced precisely what kind of place Floor 10 was. It was honestly a little chilling. Just how many fantasy novels had this man read in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠his life?

Then again, having read that much, it was no wonder he was adapting so smoothly to the Tower of Trials. I'd heard from Ha Heijeong that when it came to allocating stat points, he was past the point of needing any advice at all. If I'd known this was coming, I'd have at least watched some combat videos on YouTube… The regret washed over me anew. But then again, who could have seen this coming? I'd been nose-deep in job hunting, without a spare second to breathe.

That was when a message from Ha Heijeong popped up out of nowhere.

I had no idea how many floors the Bear King's double-bladed axe would last me, but the more I swung it, the higher Bear Blood's level climbed. You had to milk a good thing for all it was worth. Nothing was lacking as it stood, so there seemed no reason to burn points on a replacement right away — and honestly, the axe I was swinging fit my hands like it had been made for me.

So that was why she'd never brought the elixirs up. Fair enough — the old saying about how too much medicine poisons the body held true even here, apparently.

Ha Heijeong was coaxing me along, sweet-talking her case bit by bit. She reminded me so much of a street hawker working a crowd that a helpless laugh slipped out of me. Still… it really didn't sound bad.

Her words jolted a spike of alarm through me. Floors 6 through 9 had hardly been trials at all for me. Had I really gotten that comfortable?

Think back to the tutorial. Floors 1 through 5 — I'd skipped Floor 3, but there hadn't been a single easy one. Raw strength hadn't been the answer every time, either. There had been floors that forced a choice between two paths, floors that demanded a flash of enlightenment. Even the ones where I'd fought hadn't come as easily as the recent ones had. And back then, it had all been the tutorial, of all things.

…I got too full of myself.

The Seraph Queen, the Beast King, the Dark Mage — I'd handled them all with ease. Somewhere from Floor 6 onward, I had stopped feeling any sense of crisis. All I felt was that things were a nuisance, or that I was tired. Of course, outwardly I kept up the pretense of humility… but ever since the status window appeared, ever since I learned I stood head and shoulders above everyone else, I had quietly been treating the Tower of Trials as something almost comfortable.

My head knew I had to try harder, give my absolute best. But somewhere along the way, without my noticing, the tension had bled out of me. With Heijeong around, things will work out somehow. I'm strong enough that I'll conquer the Tower, surely. I'd been forgetting the memories — barely days old — of clawing my way up these floors with everything I had.

•••Goddamn it. Time to reflect, then.

I didn't show it on my face, but after my apology, Ha Heijeong seemed a little less worked up than before. I was just about to open the shop window when another message from her came flying in.

After all, another Waiting Room was waiting for me further up — armor could wait, but the mimic was the urgent business. I opened the shop window and searched for the mimic storage box.

Huh?

Despite the search, nothing appeared in the shop window. Hmm, was that not the right name? Come to think of it, Ha Heijeong hadn't been able to recall it exactly either. Was it the mimic collection box? The moment I typed it in again, the shop window refreshed.

A thousand achievement points. Not exactly cheap, but hardly a burden for me — and considering what it would become, a portable inventory I'd rely on for floors to come, it was practically a bargain. The moment I spent the points, a small box materialized on the Waiting Room table. A touch smaller than the baby mimic itself.

Can something really fit into a box smaller than itself?

I started worrying about how exactly I was supposed to move it before I'd even begun. Granted, there was nowhere for the mimic to run inside this cramped Waiting Room, but if I was doing it, I wanted to do it properly. When in doubt, asking Ha Heijeong was the fastest route.

So that was how it worked. The method was simpler than I'd expected — no physically hauling the thing around. Which made sense, I suppose: open a mimic's box and all you saw was darkness inside. Even if I'd wanted to carry it by hand, there'd have been nothing to grab.

I opened the collection box and pulled the baby mimic out of the quiver. The little thing, whose eyes had been peeking and glinting through the crack of its half-opened treasure chest, hurriedly scuttled back inside. I figured I'd better knock it out first, then move it. I gripped the baby mimic and began shaking my right hand rapidly, up and down.

"Kieeeek…"

The strange, strangled shriek the mimic let out under the shaking grew fainter and fainter the harder my arm worked. Before long, the mimic had passed out. Right — time to move it. I flipped open the collection box's lid and set the baby mimic's box upside down on top of it.

Shuuuuk— With a sound like escaping air, the baby mimic was drawn down into the collection box.

That's it?

The transfer itself was so simple it left me feeling faintly deflated. Wondering whether it could really be over just like that, I sent another message to Ha Heijeong.

…Hm. As much as it was for our own convenience, wasn't this, by any reasonable standard, animal abuse?

Well, shaking it was how things had gone on Floor 9 too, but for some reason it left a faint bad taste in my mouth. I was not going to go about disciplining the thing like a man with a whip. Sure, I was the one who'd locked the baby mimic up in a box… but animals were all the same that way — care for one long enough, and the day would come when it understood your heart. A mimic that spat out whatever item you called for, all on its own — practically an automatic inventory. How fun would that be?

I stuffed the mimic back into the quiver as before. Maybe because the box had shrunk, it seemed to slide in even more snugly now.