Second Lives in the Labyrinth
A damp wind enveloped me. I narrowed my eyes and scanned my surroundings. The walls were cracked all over, blanketed in patches of wet moss. An endless silence hung in the air. The torches mounted on the walls flickered in the breeze, as if unable to conquer the darkness. They really went all out on the setup. I'd wondered what the professor had been up to with such excitement over the past month. Turns out, she was crafting a place like this. Reborn from the professor's hands, the space no longer felt like a tower floor—it evoked the depths of an underground labyrinth.
The path ahead was already littered with traces of destroyed traps. The students must have bulldozed through with sheer force. I followed that trail, proceeding slowly. The heavy mana saturating the surroundings deepened the labyrinth's oppressive atmosphere. How far had I gone like that when raucous voices began echoing from beyond the walls? I trailed the noise cautiously. It opened into a vast cavern, large enough to hold hundreds of people. Crowds milled about inside.
Why aren't they pushing forward? I wove carefully through them and soon spotted the exit from the cavern. It was blocked by two groups radiating intense mana, facing off across the path. The voices that had drawn me here were their savage shouts at each other. I approached slowly. They noticed me and fell silent. Truth be told, I hadn't expected the 6th Floor to change this drastically. No wonder the professor had grinned mischievously at me. Right now, I was just another participant like them. If we judged purely by individual strength, I'd probably be the weakest here. The professor must have wanted to see me squirm among them.
But they wouldn't see me as a participant. I was the guide who'd led them here, the instructor who'd run the class. They'd surely mistake me for that. So I had to play along with the misunderstanding. Plastering a wide smile on my face to avoid suspicion, I raised both hands above my head.
"Hello, everyone. Why are you all still hanging around here?"
I sized up the two groups. One was the sword gang. I'd figured they'd already stormed far ahead—wielding a blade implies that kind of prowess. Yet here they were, stuck in the early section. Probably because of the ones blocking them. Checking faces, I saw they were the remnants clustered around major noble houses. The core five were missing, leaving the rest to hold the path.
"You came in here too?" growled the burliest of the sword wielders, his face half-buried in muscle.
"Yes, someone has to keep an eye on you all. But rest assured, I have no intention of touching the treasures. So ignore me and do what you need to do."
A white lie, but close enough to the truth. I'd snag treasures if I could quietly pocket them alone, but if not, no need for me to stir things up. I had to run this lecture for five more years—no point making enemies on day one. For long-term survival, avoiding grudges was key.
The musclehead sighed. He jabbed his massive greatsword toward the blockers.
"What can we do when these bastards are clogging the path? Can't kill 'em."
"Hmm, you've got to overcome obstacles like this to claim the treasures. Good luck, everyone."
I left them like that. No reason for me to mediate. I planned to stick to my own business. This spot was the widest—safest—and packed with people. Perfect for starting my shop. I set up in the cavern's center. Dolls spilled from my space pouch, erecting a modest tent. They formed a frame with their bodies and draped cloth over it—a simple setup. As I worked, eyes gathered on me. I smiled at them and hung a sign in front of the tent.
[Ebron's Doll Workshop]
Pride swelled in my chest. This sign, brought from outside the university, was like an extension of myself. To think I'd hang the very sign I'd put up dreaming of university life inside the university. It felt fresh all over again. Now my goal was to hang it outside once more—after graduation, opening my shop boldly in the imperial capital, not skulking on the slums' edge. Plant my name there proudly.
Lost in that happy vision, more dolls emerged from my space pouch. A variety: emergency treatment specialists, explosion-magic inscribed ones, customer service models, and so on. I lined them along the tent walls, then pulled out a workbench from the depths. Streamlined for function, prepped for crafting here. I'd pondered what dolls to sell, but the uncertainty of this place yielded no clear winners. What I had out now was for my safety and convenience, not sales. What I needed was my old instincts—the sharp nose for money, buried under my narrow artisan pride. That's why I stood here, to awaken it. The past month had built toward this moment.
The professor's dungeon theme was clear: a labyrinth, as we'd seen. Hunt hidden treasures amid traps and monsters. So what dolls thrived in a maze? Trap-steppers? Safe-zone makers? Mana restorers? Solid ideas. I sketched designs while pulling materials. But I crumpled and tossed them. Too obvious—other mages had equivalents. Low market value. I needed something revolutionary, unique to here.
Pondering, I prototyped. Clever dolls emerged, but none satisfied. How long had passed when a voice rang in my ear—a eerie whisper.
One dropout occurred. Remaining participants: 200.
Huh, even alarms like this. Didn't expect dropouts so soon. These folks hid real skill, yet out in under thirty minutes. Traps must be vicious. "Dropout" was our agreed term with the professor: the brink of death, where she'd stop tormenting and yank them out. They'd fear it. Then a scent tickled my nose—gold. An idea bloomed. The professor couldn't kill these mages, just push to the edge. Like those groups outside, unable to kill, just glaring. What if we fished them out right before death? Like corpse retrievers in mazes—but for half-dead bodies, reviving them. Dolls specialized for that?
I sketched lightly. Humanoid? No—bipedal was a liability here, straight into traps. Quadrupedal animal? Fast, could carry riders—stable. But flaws: too many compromises. Biggest issue: couldn't guarantee passenger safety without shell-like protection. My Turtle had that, but too slow, poor trap-handling—built for brute mass. More legs, then. Insect-like: many legs, topped with a large passenger pod. Enchant the pod heavily for protection. Nice. Market potential.
Key was pod materials—wood couldn't hold all those spells. Rifling my supplies, I spotted the turtle on my chest. I stroked it. Its shell felt solid under my fingers—durable, mana-capacity overflowing. Perfect for the pod. Just shave off a layer? The turtle whimpered faintly, sensing its fate via my seedling link. No use crying. Crafting with its shell was quick—maximize material performance. I made thirty simple ones from one layer shave.
Time to sell. "Hey, everyone! Before delving the labyrinth, how about insuring yourselves?" I shouted from the tent. In my brief setup time, the atmosphere had thickened. Other mages pressured the blockers alongside the sword gang. Just hack 'em down already. Why just standoff? I smiled at the stares. Pulled a prototype: palm-sized rectangular pod.
"You all heard the alert. One shot here—dropout means treasures slip away."
I tossed the tiny doll skyward. It grew to human-size, eight legs sprouting. It popped its lid, showing inner magic circles; dashed, scaling walls and floors.
"This counters it: the Recovery Doll. It hides in your pocket, activates on mana injection, swallows its owner, and flees to me."
I pointed to tent dolls. Demo ones extracted and "treated" a damaged doll I'd sabotaged—it mended swiftly.
"Granting a second chance. Risk of doll damage en route, but it'll endure most. An extra life, basically."
The pod doll, parading internals among mages, shrank back to my hand. I held it high for all to see.
"Grab an extra life, folks. Rental: just 2 points each."
The heavy mood evaporated into awkward silence. I shook the pod, hawking relentlessly. Soon, a figure burst from the sword gang—not a guy, the vaguely dim-eyed woman from before. She approached slowly.
"Mister, gimme one."
She extended a hand. Up close, she seemed familiar, but I handed over the pod without a twitch. She tapped her ring to mine, transferring points, inspected it, pocketed it, bowed curtly, and returned to her group. Who is she? Shelving the question, I smiled. First sale—relief. Beaming, I yelled,
"Anyone else? Even if comrades abandon you, this loyal doll won't. Limited stock—first come, first served!"
Mages edged closer. I'd priced low on purpose—negligible cost, no harm in one. All thirty sold out. Peanuts to them, a mountain to me: 60 points already, surpassing my prior fortune. And this lecture had hours left—stacking potential, since they were disposables. Survivors would re-rent. If they returned.
Selling only these felt lacking, so I demoed others. Less buzz, but a few snagged one or two at the bargain. Then the labyrinth quaked. Subtle at first, like illusion, then building to unsteadiness. I mana-secured the tent and swallowed hard. When it subsided, new paths dotted the cavern. Mages surged toward them; sword gang too. The musclehead spat on the ground, glaring at the blockers.
"You won't get away with this next time."
Grudges always chill the spine. This university disadvantaged sword users—no killing allowed, handcuffing slaughter experts. Still, their power was no joke. Wind-whistling menace erupted from their path—deep penetration in moments. As they cleared out, the cavern emptied. Blockers chatted briefly, then slipped away too. An hour since entering the 6th Floor. Professor's doing, bored with the stalemate—mazes don't shift otherwise.
Me? No plans to leave till she booted me. Twenty-three hours to scrape max points.