The Blood Crystal Bargain
“Who are you?”
The tallest of the four demanded in a loud voice. On the surface he looked composed, yet the edge of his words trembled, ever so slightly.
Minel forced the blank, cold mask of a true veteran into his mind and locked it there.
These people are pebbles.
These people are pebbles.
The light died completely from Minel’s eyes. Every trace of feeling had been scraped away; only a hollow, bottomless dark remained, turning slowly inside them.
“I heard you’re looking for water. Where is it?”
He asked as though an answer were the most natural thing in the world. The manner was so casual the tall one nearly answered before he caught himself.
“Why the hell should I tell you?”
Minel let one corner of his mouth curl upward. The smile was pure contempt—anyone looking would have seen how little he thought of them.
“Four of you is a bit of a hassle, even for me.”
“……”
“All right. Here’s what we’ll do.”
Minel deliberately, slowly extended his right hand so every eye would follow. He snapped his fingers in plain view. A clear chime rang out and his inventory opened. Nothing was visible, yet everything inside felt as solid and distinct as if he could brush it with his fingertips. From among the contents he drew a round object left behind by dead monsters. It settled heavily onto his palm; a faint, ominous aura bled from its surface.
Just how valuable was this thing, really?
In that instant the four pairs of eyes wavered.
“C-could that be… a Blood Crystal?”
“He’s alone?”
“Can’t you tell just by looking? He’s a combatant…”
“Damn it!”
Minel felt the atmosphere flip in a heartbeat. The murderous intent that had filled their gazes melted into naked fear. Clearly a Blood Crystal taken from a monster was a rare and precious thing—precious enough that simply holding one made them shrink back. Since it came from killing monsters, that only made sense.
The tall one swallowed dryly and edged a careful step backward. Minel kept the corner of his mouth lifted and spoke quietly.
“Don’t even think about running. First you tell me where the water is.”
“……”
“I’m quite thirsty.”
It’s not like I can drink your blood—
A movie line rose all the way to the back of his throat; he shut his mouth on it. A real veteran would never say something like that. Keep it plain and spare. Dominate the air with silence rather than words. Anything extra would only cheapen the act.
So Minel simply looked down at them, that half-smile still in place. Fortunately the tall one did not mistake the posture for empty bluster. The proof was already in his eyes: the last shreds of killing intent had turned cleanly into fear.
“A-and if we tell you? You’ll let us live?”
“Why else would I take the Blood Crystal out? Give me a proper answer and I’ll hand you one.”
The tall one glanced at the others. Doubt began to bloom across every face. Was he actually just going to give that away? The value of a Blood Crystal was clearly far higher than Minel had guessed; the casual way he had produced it seemed almost unbelievable.
Minel read the shift at once. Tension knotted inside him, yet he forced himself to look even more at ease.
These people are pebbles.
These people are pebbles.
A way to erase the last of their suspicion came to him. He spoke quickly.
“There is a condition, of course.”
As though he had expected exactly that, the tall one’s face hardened. He traded a brief look with his companions, then asked in a low, careful voice,
“…What condition?”
What demand would sound like a true veteran’s demand? Minel simply reused the word the man had let slip earlier.
“I want more skills. Tell me everything you know.”
They had dismissed him earlier for having none. Skills, then, were something like proof of long survival. Minel still possessed none and had no idea how to obtain them—but the question itself quietly implied that he already did. The effect was immediate. The suspicion hanging among them thinned at once.
The tall one’s brow twitched; he answered in the same low, cautious tone.
“We don’t have any skills.”
“I can see that. Tell me only what you know. And don’t lie.”
The tall one swallowed again, watching Minel. Cautiously, yet without circling, he asked,
“Once we tell you… how do we know you won’t kill us anyway?”
Before the question finished, Minel tossed the Blood Crystal. No hesitation, no flicker of regret—just a clean, casual throw. The tall one caught it on pure reflex, then stared at Minel for a long time. Wariness and doubt still lived in that gaze, yet trust was beginning to take root beside them.
“I only need one person who knows the answer. I’ll wait long enough for the rest of you to get clear.”
The leisure of throwing a Blood Crystal as if it meant nothing. The leisure of giving them time to flee. Every piece of the performance stacked higher, painting Minel as a complete veteran of the Backrooms.
The tall one tossed the crystal to the man beside him. That man, together with the other two, vanished into the dark corridor they had first come from. Only the tall one and Minel remained.
“I can guide you as far as the vending machine.”
Vending machine? Because he had mentioned thirst, probably.
“How long?”
“About two hours.”
“Two hours?”
It sounded absurdly long; the question slipped out before he could stop it. The tall one took the reaction entirely differently.
“Yeah. Really close… but you already knew that.”
Vending machines had to be extremely rare even in the Backrooms. Nothing else would make a two-hour walk count as “close.” Minel buried the thought and spoke quietly.
“Lead.”
The tall one started walking; Minel followed without another word. The same endless scenery repeated. Every so often the tall one stopped and looked back to check Minel’s position. Each time Minel met the glance with a small, easy smile—no anxiety, no suspicion, only the carefully calculated composure of a veteran.
“How long have you been in the Backrooms? Looking at you, I’d say a very long time.”
Roughly thirty minutes had passed when the tall one spoke for the first time. No reason to leak free information.
“Just guide. Quietly.”
“……”
After that the tall one kept his mouth shut and led on in silence. Seizing the moment, Minel carefully opened the Backrooms Field Guide. He had wanted information on the vending machine; the page that appeared said something else entirely.
Blood Crystals can be obtained from monsters. Within them is concentrated the Wildness of the Backrooms, and this can be used in various ways.
What exactly was Wildness?
The next chapter still refused to open. Meanwhile they passed room after room, corridor after corridor, countless dizzying branch points. Minel worked to fix the route in his memory. Even as identical spaces stretched on forever, he catalogued every distinctive feature without fail. All the while he never fully relaxed, watching for the chance the man might be leading him into a trap. Step by step he followed, eyes on the floor, the walls, the ceiling. The path stayed quiet. The tall one never once made a suspicious move.
No malice? Or simply extreme caution? Minel refused to decide. He kept the delicate balance between trust and suspicion and continued silently after him.
The thirst, however, only grew worse—bad enough that even simple thoughts began to fray. If he could not find water… would killing the man ahead of him and drinking the blood be enough?
“We’re here.”
The tall one raised a hand and pointed. Beneath an unusually bright yellow fluorescent light stood a single battered vending machine.
Minel spoke to him in a quiet voice that still carried the weight of iron.
“Get lost.”
The words came out almost like an animal’s snarl. The tall one looked at him once more with a rigid face, then turned and walked back the way they had come without a word. The instant Minel confirmed he was gone, he sprinted to the machine.
And memory simply stopped.
“……”
He blinked. An empty water bottle sat in his hand. Apparently he had used the machine, bought a drink, and drained it without any awareness at all.
“What the hell? Was it the thirst?”
No matter how hard he reached, the missing stretch of time stayed blank. His stomach dropped. Was this what turning into a monster felt like?
He yanked the Backrooms Field Guide open again.
Vending machines stock drinks with various effects; at a very low probability they also contain drinks that grant skills. The selection differs from machine to machine. Every drink is purchased with Blood Crystals obtained from the monsters of that floor.
Only information about the machine in front of him. Nothing about becoming a monster. Still, the thirst was gone; he felt almost human again.
Minel peered through the glass. Besides ordinary water there were stranger drinks. Labels clung to the inside of the glass—tiny print, yet large enough to read.
Thirst Immunity — 1 week
Hunger Immunity — 1 week
Cold Immunity — 1 week
Disease Immunity — 1 week
Monster Immunity…
Definitely not ordinary soft drinks. Stock was low. No skill drinks in sight?
He dropped his gaze and scanned every remaining bottle in rapid succession. And finally—there, on the very bottom shelf—he found two more. Their labels were the only ones printed in red. Even the handwriting was different: as if someone had scrawled it freehand, yet the strokes were unnaturally clean and sharp. The moment he saw that crimson lettering, Minel knew these two granted skills.
Ten Blood Crystals each. For someone who had collected every crystal the earlier veteran had left behind, the price was almost reasonable.
“Might as well buy them all.”
Without hesitation he purchased every drink in the machine. Checking the red-labeled pair, he found one was a combat skill—Cold Injection—and the other a common skill—Bullet Resistance.
“So these are the skill drinks. You only learn what they are after you buy them.”
Cold Injection. That had to be the technique the veteran had used to freeze and slice through darkness. The memory of a single blue flash cutting everything in half rose sharp and clear. With this he might actually stand a chance against the monsters.
Bullet Resistance. That one he was less sure about. Did it mean he could tank a gunshot? Or was it some form of evasion or damage reduction? Better start with the certainties.
Click.
He drank the Thirst Immunity bottle first. His heart settled into a quiet rhythm; his mind cleared as if a spell had lifted. One week without thirst. He would take that gladly.
Then he turned to the red-labeled skill drinks. A tiny warning printed beneath the labels caught his eye.
If not consumed within 1 minute of purchase, the skill cannot be obtained.
“Damn.”
He uncorked both and drained them one after the other without a pause. Gulp after gulp.
“……”
Nothing felt different. Minel tried muttering every term he could think of—status window, skill window, ability window—yet nothing appeared. Had the minute already run out?
Frustrated, he reached for the Backrooms Field Guide again. That was when footsteps echoed from the passage behind him.
Thud. Thud.
Thud. Thud.
Out of the darkness stepped eight people, the original four among them. The atmosphere had changed completely; every face now carried the open willingness to fight. From the center of the group a woman who looked to be in her thirties advanced another step, expression blank. She wore leopard-print pants that looked as though an entire tiger had been skinned for them.
The leopard woman glanced at the empty cans scattered at Minel’s feet and clicked her tongue.
“Tch. One step too late. I was hoping something would still be left.”
“……”
“I don’t know how strong you are, but taking on our whole party will be tough, don’t you think?”
In that same instant two muzzles swung toward Minel and flashed together.