Chapter 142
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 142
Chapter Title: Drunken Truth
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"Do you have any brothers or something? Twins, maybe?"
After we left the temple, Miranda turned to me with a curious look on her face and asked the question.
"No, I don't."
Even if I did have siblings, they'd be back on Earth, not on this continent. Vulcan's reaction was a bit too intense for just mistaking me for someone else... Who knows. Maybe he confused me with a close friend?
Or perhaps he's just getting on in years and his memory's starting to slip.
"...You seem to be thinking something weird. Anyway, here. Thanks. I couldn't have won without the materials you gave me."
"Well, I got some great gear out of it too."
Miranda expressed her gratitude as she handed me the sword and armor. They were fully mine now. I'd gathered all the materials myself, and she'd made them for free, so I hadn't spent a single coin and still ended up with top-notch equipment.
That meant the tournament prize money was still intact, along with the cash from selling all those ores I'd hauled out of the 21st floor... Better save it for now. I already had plans for where to spend it.
"Alright, let's go."
"Huh? Go where?"
I'd just received the gear and was thinking of heading to the upper levels of the Labyrinth right away to test it out, but Miranda grabbed my hand and pulled me in a different direction.
"Where else? To drink, of course. Days like today demand it!"
...Now that's a dwarven thing to say. Half-dwarf or not.
And booze... It was tempting, but I really wanted to try out this new gear as soon as possible...
"I'll buy."
"Let's go right now."
Free drinks? Can't say no to that.
"Puha! Do you know how long I went without a drop while focusing on making that gear during the festival?"
"...A week at most, right?"
"A whole week! Telling a dwarf to go a week without booze is like telling a human to survive on nothing but grass for a week!"
The analogy was a bit off, but I let it slide. I sipped at my share as Miranda, all fired up and not pacing herself, lifted glasses in both hands and downed them in one go.
What a rare sight today.
"No beer today, huh?"
"Days like this call for splashing out on the good stuff. Don't worry about the money—I've made plenty working as a smith."
"In that case."
This stuff definitely had a subtle fruity aroma and a smooth finish that hit just right. The owner looked like a dwarf too—fitting for a race with real booze credentials. With Proof of Inebriation equipped, I drank steadily, but Miranda was emptying her glasses five times faster than me.
"Not challenging me to a drinking contest today?"
"...I'd love to take the bait, but I'll pass. Someone's bound to go broke."
"Fair point."
With beer like last time, maybe, but a contest with this? Bankruptcy for sure. Not even sure if the tavern has enough stock.
"So, you're an advanced artisan now? Do artisan ranks work like adventurer ones—beginner, intermediate, advanced?"
"In Labyrinth City, yeah. It's different in dwarf villages, but here they rank artisans the same way as adventurers. Higher rank means you can handle more types of materials. And up till now, I've been working in Dad's forge, but as an advanced artisan, I can open my own shop named after me now."
"Oh."
No wonder the dwarves got so hyped. That's the qualification? Feels like the difference between a private practice doctor and a resident.
"Heading straight to the 22nd floor?"
"Yeah. I think it'll be fine."
"...Made with salamander scales, so the gear should hold up against the cold... Hmm... You sure? You just cleared the 21st for the first time, right? Impressive results on your first try, though."
Our talk shifted to the Labyrinth. When she heard I planned to challenge the 22nd floor tomorrow, Miranda voiced her concerns.
"Aren't you rushing it? Normal adventurers stick to a floor cluster for a while after reaching it—taking requests, saving money, gearing up fully before the next one."
"I can handle it."
"Haa... Fine. Can't argue with the guy who soloed the 21st."
Miranda didn't nitpick my choice, just worried. I got it, but according to my calculations, my strength would hold up even to the 25th floor.
Attack power? Berserker's Gauntlets, the Limit Break skill, and Swordsmanship hitting level 6—that's enough for the 25th, no problem. Alensia confirmed it.
Defense? Even better. Loaded with those rare resistance skills, all at level 6. The new armor's no slouch either. Plus Regeneration.
Mobility? Covered by the new Footwork skill. It was decent before, but now it's outstanding. With level 6 Stealth and Stealth Block, escape's always an option if needed.
Honestly, none of that's even necessary. Considering monster resistances, Sensory Block will work up to the 25th.
I'd already confirmed it on Alensia and Gloria. Sure, they weren't geared up and were caught off-guard... But 20s-floor monsters resisting my Sensory Block? Doubt it.
And if Sensory Block lands, I basically can't lose.
Seeing my confidence, Miranda gave me a strange look.
"You're strong."
"Huh? Oh. Well, the 20s should be..."
"Not physically. That's impressive too, but I mean mentally."
Miranda swirled her glass slowly as she reflected on the stories I'd shared while drinking—meeting the troll on the 9th, the ambush on the 10th, getting clocked from behind on the 12th, the undead wave, discovering the ruins, and more.
"Most people quit adventuring after stuff like that."
"Ah..."
I got what she meant. Even from my view, I'd crammed a lifetime of bullshit into a short time—stuff other adventurers never see.
"How do you go through all that and still want to dive into the Labyrinth? You're planning for the 22nd right now."
Miranda gazed at me, her eyes mixing curiosity, worry, and admiration.
"What draws you into the Labyrinth? Aren't you scared?"
Scared...
I spun the glass in my hand, pondering her question seriously.
What pulls me into the Labyrinth? Am I not scared?
...I take a swig of the strong stuff. One of the harshest I've had since coming to this world. No Sensory Block, wearing Proof of Inebriation, suppressing Poison Resistance effects.
I feel the buzz rise, my mind growing hazy.
My forcibly upbeat attitude sinks, and the suppressed fear bubbles up.
I'm terrified.
Everything scares me. Bandits jumping out to slit my throat. Getting mauled by some freak monster in the Labyrinth, limbs torn off. Walking skeletons, weird goblins roaming the halls.
But...
"There's something even scarier."
"Scarier?"
I give a wry smile and an ambiguous answer.
Just half a year. That's how long since I really started growing. Before that, I spent years cooped up in the clinic—three years of no skills gained, my one skill stagnant, rotting away.
That powerlessness, barely alive like a corpse—no growth at all. That's far scarier than any Labyrinth fear.
Waking up one day to find the last half-year a delusion, back in that filthy clinic backroom.
That's why I dive. The thrill of growth through life-or-death battles in the Labyrinth wipes out that helplessness.
Only that growth high lets me forget it.
I dive. Hunt monsters. Swallow poison. Stab myself with blades. Sleep with women.
...Okay, that last one's a stretch. But it counts as growth pleasure too.
"I'll keep pushing forward."
Am I saying this to Miranda, or myself? I wash away the doubt with another gulp.
Meanwhile, as Ian and Miranda shared a heartfelt talk over drinks in harmony, and all the dwarves who'd entered the long-awaited Festival of Fire—some regretting, some satisfied—raised their glasses, one dwarf wandered the back alleys, unable to join them.
"Fuck! Fuck! You goddamn bastards..."
Anthony, who'd stormed the Earth Guild to demand accountability for his elimination only to get shoved a contract and told they bore no responsibility, spat curses and kicked a trash bin in the alley to vent.
"Every last one of 'em...!"
Until the Earth Guild provided the mithril, Anthony had technically been the client, and he'd mindlessly accepted their offers—but none of that lingered in his rage-blinded mind.
"Fuck.... Right. Miranda... That bitch must've pulled some trick. How else could a half-breed win?"
Denying reality, Anthony's thoughts turned to Miranda, the winner.
"Fucking bitch... Fuck... I'll make her know her place later... Rip that ass apart..."
"My, my. Why so angry?"
"...?! Ugh! Wh-who's there?!"
A suspicious figure cloaked in a robe suddenly spoke to him mid-rant.
"B-bandit? I-I don't know who you are, but touch me and..."
"No need to be so guarded. I'm just a peddler."
"...Peddler?"
The figure wasn't attacking, spoke amiably, and from under the robe looked ragged—hardly a powerhouse in Anthony's eyes. Dropping his fear, Anthony flared up instead.
"...What the hell?! You pop out of nowhere picking a fight...!"
"No need to get so mad. I'm here to introduce you to a fine product."
"...Product?"
At the word "product," Anthony's face went slack. Before his anger could reignite, the robed figure drew something from their bosom.
A syringe filled with a purple potion.
"A mood-lifter made just for you. Care for one?"