The Place Where the Heart Lingers
The air changed the moment I stepped through the door. It was cool, and the lack of proper ventilation made it feel slightly stifling. A musty, familiar scent hung in the air—a mixture of stone and mold. It was only one door, yet it felt as if I had been transported to an entirely different world. I turned back, half-expecting something, but the scenery behind me remained exactly as it had been moments ago. It was as if a thin, translucent membrane separated the dungeon from the outside world, reflecting the other side.
I caught the eye of the guard who was checking the state of the dungeon interior. When our gazes met, he grinned. Perhaps this was just the typical reaction of a dungeon novice. I was wearing my "newbie" status on my sleeve, wasn't I? My face flushed with heat. I turned away, set down the backpack I’d been carrying, and took a breath.
Torches blazed in holders on both sides of the entrance, but the stairs leading downward were shrouded in darkness, beyond the reach of the light. I pulled the torch I’d tucked into my bag, held it at my side, and fished out the charcoal and the map I’d been issued. According to the guide at the reception desk, this map was only half-finished. They handed them out so adventurers could experience the thrill of exploration firsthand, as surveying the structure was one of a professional's most important duties. It felt like playing a large-scale escape room game.
The map indicated that the stairs ahead were a spiral staircase leading down one level, and the torch holders were magical items. Ah, so this is that thing I’d heard so much about. They were called "Ever-Burning Torches," magical artifacts that only functioned within this dungeon, so I was warned not to touch them, and so on. The explanation had been long, but it could be summarized as: Don't touch, look only. I remembered the receptionist giving me that warning, the kind you’d hear in a museum. However, it seemed they were placed there so you could transfer the flame to use as a light source.
I put my backpack back on and handed the torch to the protagonist. He took it, lit it from the holder, and handed it back to me. We had promised I would do as much as I could on my own, but the holder was simply too high. It couldn't be helped.
The flame on the torch was larger, hotter, and darker than I had anticipated. I flinched every time the fire moved, terrified that my tail or ears might brush against it. If even a spark touched my soft fur, I might go up in flames.
I held the torch in my left hand, used the staff like a cane with my right, and stepped forward cautiously. Every time I moved, I caught a whiff of pine. "It smells refreshing," I remarked.
"That's because the cloth on the torch is soaked in pine resin," he replied.
A giant air freshener, then. Thinking of it that way made the torch seem a little less intimidating.
At the bottom of the spiral staircase was a wide, circular open space. Doors were installed on all sides except for the one we had entered through, and the door on the left, in particular, was locked.
"What do you see?" the protagonist asked. When I told him exactly what I saw, he praised me, saying my night vision was excellent. He said humans couldn't see the door on the opposite side with this little light. Long live the beastkin. Humans really are such dull-witted creatures.
After finishing that idle thought, I handed the torch to the protagonist and pulled out the map again. The map only went up to this point. They called it a half-finished map, but we were already at the halfway mark? It felt like watching an anime, getting completely absorbed, and then having an "eye-catch" pop up, making you think, Oh, Part A is already over? If you subtract the ending preview, there’s only ten minutes left, right?
There was no information on what was inside the rooms arranged around us. Seeing the protagonist remain tight-lipped even when I stared at him, it seemed he wanted to leave it to my own discretion. Fine. Then I’d start with the locked room. I’m the type of person who eats the sugar decorations on a cake first.
I walked up to the door and handed the torch to the protagonist again. I hadn't realized it when reading novels or playing games, but this was incredibly inconvenient. Having one hand sealed off, and having to figure out where to put the torch every time I needed both hands—not to mention the constant worry about accidentally setting something on fire—was a real hassle.
As I fidgeted with both hands while thinking this, the protagonist asked, "Is something bothering you?"
"The torch... isn't it inconvenient?"
When I asked him back, he said it was a great question and began to explain. Because the torch was so incredibly inconvenient, the first thing an adventurer who had shed their "newbie" label would acquire was a Light Magic scroll. However, it was difficult for a beginner to use scrolls freely, so they only used them in truly critical situations. In that same vein, the most important thing to look for when forming a party was whether there was someone in a magic or clerical profession. Conversely, the first magic a mage learns and practices to master is Light Magic.
Is he talking about me? I wondered. When I turned to look, the protagonist smiled and said, "So, I'm counting on you," before giving my head a gentle pat. The physical contact had been increasing lately—was it just my imagination? The suspicion that he was a bad person had vanished, but I hadn't yet cleared him of the "lolicon" charges. Lately, Ameryel seemed to think so too; whenever the protagonist came around, she seemed to gently hide me behind her. I had to keep my wits about me.
As I steeled my resolve, my tail stood straight up.
"You're full of spirit," the protagonist said with a satisfied expression.
I took the lockpicking tools out of my bag. They said there was magic for this too, but I was still just an apprentice-apprentice mage. When I unrolled the leather pouch, I found a tension wrench and several picks of various sizes.
"Look at the lock and choose the tension wrench and a suitable pick."
I tried the picks against the keyhole and chose one slightly smaller than the opening. "And hold the tension wrench in your right hand, insert it into the keyhole, and twist it slightly to the right. That's it."
Then, I scraped lightly with the pick. Click, click—the sound of a pin setting. It was exactly what I’d learned yesterday, so the memory was vivid.
"Do you know how many pins are inside?"
"Six?"
As I spoke, I heard the click, click of the pins setting. My tail wagged involuntarily. In the end, I opened the lock without breaking a single pick. It hadn't taken as long as I thought, and I wondered if being an adventurer was my true calling. Even though it was a small thing, the sense of accomplishment was immense.
I carefully opened the door to find a small wooden box. It looked just like the treasure chests pirates often used, and it looked like it contained something valuable. It wasn't even locked.
The moment I opened the box, something shot out, soaking my face. I was so startled I fell backward.
I heard a muffled laugh. "Are you alright?"
"What is this?"
After getting up with the protagonist's help, I rubbed my face with my gloves, and black liquid came off. "Don't rub it. It'll just spread." He said that, then pulled out a cloth and dabbed my face clean.
"It's called 'Fool's Ink.' It's a magical item used for pranks. It'll wash off by tomorrow morning. Pfft."
There was laughter mixed into his words. Just what kind of state was I in right now? And more importantly, what kind of magical item was that?
"I told you before, didn't I? Dungeons lure people in. That's why you have to be extra careful when checking things like this box."
Now that he mentioned it, I saw a small device attached to the back of the box. It seemed to be a structure designed to shoot liquid out when the box was opened. In other words, this was a trap meant to intimidate careless, cocky newcomers, and I had fallen for it perfectly. I was so frustrated.
"Learning through experience is the most lasting lesson." Be careful next time. The protagonist said. That might be true, but still... that might be true, but still...
I took out the map and wrote "Trap Room" in big letters. Since it had come to this, I decided to continue my exploration by moving clockwise. I opened the next door with extreme caution, only to find an identical box sitting there. This time, I learned from my previous mistake and checked it thoroughly. I looked all around it and even poked the keyhole with a pick. I couldn't lift the box to see if the bottom was attached, but there were no traps.
The thought that the room layout was malicious began to creep in. Inside the box was a scroll. When I asked the protagonist, he said it was a Magic Arrow scroll that activated when torn. Wow! Magic Arrow! But wait, weren't we both in the same boat when it came to not being able to read? How did he know what kind of scroll this was?
After I pressed him a little, the culprit confessed. Since this was a dungeon used for training, the contents of the boxes could be changed if the guide requested it. So, the protagonist had put this scroll in as a gift, hoping I would try using magic as well. How should I put it? I felt like a bad child who had forced an adult to confess that Santa Claus didn't exist after an endless barrage of questions. For the record, he said that if he hadn't made a special request, this box would have been rigged with "Fool's Ink" as well. That was just too full of malice.
Just as I was about to roll up the scroll and put it in my bag, the protagonist crossed my mind. "Hoping I would try using magic as well?" Was there an opponent in this dungeon that I needed to use this against? I took the scroll, which was halfway into my bag, and tucked it into the gap in my belt where it would be easy to reach. The protagonist's expression as he watched my series of movements was deeply meaningful.