Ignorance is Sin
A faint shout echoed from beyond the completely collapsed entrance.
Thud, thud—
It seemed they had no intention of just sitting quietly trapped; the relentless pounding on the rocks continued.
But even so, the pile of boulders blocking the entrance didn't budge an inch.
In fact, the constant impacts might cause even more to come crashing down.
Realizing this, the commotion from their side gradually died down.
For those hunters, it must have felt like a terribly unfair situation.
Who in the world would expect a monster to flee right in front of hunters?
And on top of that, who could have imagined the monster they thought had escaped would collapse the cave entrance?
Considering all that, from the hunters' perspective, this was nothing short of a raw deal.
But unfair or not, it didn't mean they were blameless.
Does getting caught off guard because of ignorance erase what happened?
No.
In the labyrinth, ignorance is a sin.
If they claimed they didn't know better, they should have suffered even more for it.
Instead of just watching me flee, they should have chased me to the end and confirmed I was gone.
Instead of standing there dumbfounded as the entrance crumbled, they should have clawed and fought desperately for escape.
But they didn't. And in the end, they were trapped inside the collapsed cave.
With no idea when—or if—they'd ever get out.
I say it again.
In the labyrinth, ignorance is a sin.
And the punishment for that sin is none other than death.
I stayed put for a while longer, not leaving the spot.
Just in case the hunters broke through the entrance.
The swirling sandstorm slowly piled up on my coiled body.
At some point, the fierce sandstorm began to die down.
I shook off the thick layer of sand that had accumulated on me.
From the looks of things, the hunters wouldn't be escaping the cave anytime soon.
Were they worried that forcing their way out might bring the whole thing down?
Whatever the reason, if they weren't planning to get out right away, I had no need to stick around guarding this place.
How long could they last in there?
If they had rations, maybe half a month at least?
Considering a hunter's physical abilities, they might hold out several times that long.
My schedule just got a bit busier.
I'd have to check this place at least once a day from now on.
After that day, my routine became highly regimented.
Using the cave as a base, I systematically explored the surrounding terrain.
As always, I hunted any monsters or hunters I encountered along the way, and true to my resolve, I checked on the trapped hunters inside every single day.
The more time passed, the weaker their presences grew from within the cave—but aside from that, nothing major changed.
At this rate, I'd soon have no reason to come back here.
About ten days later?
One night, the cave shook violently.
I snapped awake at the commotion and rushed over, just in time to hear rumble— as rocks came crashing down amid the tremors.
Had they finally escaped?
Caught off guard by the unexpected turn, part of me secretly welcomed their breakout.
Yes, after all my diligent watching, they'd managed a stylish escape.
I had no idea how well they'd fight after being worn down in there, but I needed to stay alert.
This time, let's have a proper fight.
And just like that, my thoughts turned ridiculous—no hunter doll emerged from the rubble.
Whether they'd decided this couldn't go on or not, it looked like the hunters inside had tried to break out.
I didn't know the details, but maybe they'd tried shocking the blocked entrance to smash through?
The attempt itself was good, but unfortunately, the results were disastrous.
The impact caused the ceiling near the entrance to collapse too, piling up even more boulders than before.
No doubt, their chances of escaping on their own had grown even slimmer.
The faint presences of the hunters weakened further.
I visited the cave entrance as usual today.
Their presences were barely detectable now—far fainter than when we first met.
Some felt so weak they could wink out any moment.
Soon, I'd truly have no reason to come here anymore.
One day, even those faint energies started vanishing one by one.
One per day. Sometimes two or more.
In less than a week, only one presence remained beyond the cave.
I didn't know who the survivor was, but I suspected it was the raid leader hunter.
His face flashed in my mind—the one twisted in rage, glaring at me in the final moments as the entrance collapsed.
How much longer could that hunter inside hold out?
I arrived at the cave as always.
The last remaining presence, which had lingered for days, was growing ever fainter.
Probably, once today passed, it would fade like the others, that fragile thread snapping.
So today, I didn't do anything else—just coiled quietly at the entrance, waiting.
I didn't expect the last hunter to suddenly break out now.
They surely had no strength left to squeeze out, and I simply wanted to witness the end.
It might sound hypocritical coming from the one who drove them to death, but I saw this as the bare minimum courtesy.
Dying alone and forgotten is far too cruel.
I know because I've experienced it firsthand.
Death creeping right up to your nose.
The sensation of facing it alone is utterly horrific.
Even as a snake monster, I often felt—or rather, thought about it.
The differences between my human self and now.
I was definitely human.
Sure, my body was a snake monster's now, but my mind was closer to human than monster.
Or so I thought.
But reality proved otherwise.
Killing hunters—clearly humans—bothered me not at all.
Even though I was human like them once.
Because they were monsters and hunters.
Kill or be killed.
To survive.
To grow stronger.
That's the excuse I've used to kill hunters all this time.
And I felt no dissonance afterward.
A person killing another person without a second thought.
Even to me—who thought my mind was undeniably human despite this snake body—it felt profoundly strange.
Watching the trapped hunters die off these past few days without a flicker of emotion confirmed it for me.
I was aware my personality had changed.
At first, I chalked it up to aftermath from becoming a monster.
I even liked the new me, so I brushed it off as no big deal.
But this was different.
It wasn't just a personality shift or minor side effect—my very core had changed.
I recognized the abnormality but didn't truly find it strange.
Even now, pondering this, my heart remained utterly serene.
Serene to the point of not a single ripple.
As if these worries were pointless.
And once more, it hit me anew.
I had truly become a monster.
Not a person—a beast.
I accepted this fact with the same calm detachment.
Knowing it was odd, yet feeling no aversion.
Person or monster, in the end, I'm me.
That was always the answer at the end of my long deliberations.
Is this calm acceptance because I've become this way—a monster?
The old porter me might have agonized for days, weeks, even years over such thoughts.
No, I probably couldn't have harmed others just to survive in the first place.
Like when my teammates abandoned me—I'd have just spat curses and wished them ill, even as they tried to kill me.
A stupid, naive pushover.
That's why I'd walked into the dangerous labyrinth on a whim of admiration.
And ended up betrayed by those I trusted, dying alone and miserable.
Recalling that horrific end, I definitely preferred my current personality over the past one.
My actions so far might seem more evil than good, but those standards are for humans.
Expecting human morality from a monster is unreasonable.
The labyrinth has no need for good or evil to begin with.
Monsters living there go without saying, and hunters entering for their desires don't need it either.
What matters is strength.
Strength to survive, nothing more.
If you're going to fret over morality, don't enter the labyrinth at all.
Even realizing I'm unmistakably a monster with no need for such qualms changes nothing dramatically.
As always, the answer is: I'm me.
No reason for my actions to change now.
I kill hunters to survive, to grow stronger, just as before.
No guilt, no remorse.
I don't even feel those emotions anymore, and hunters stake their lives for their work anyway.
They reap wealth and fame exploring labyrinths, but death is always a risk.
So hunter deaths in the labyrinth are inevitable, really.
I'm just the cause this time, instead of the countless other possibilities.
Anyway, my humanity—or whatever's left of it—doesn't stir at other humans' deaths anymore.
But that doesn't mean I plan to abandon it entirely.
I fear becoming a complete beast.
I don't want to rampage solely for blood and slaughter like mindless monsters.
Though at this point, with so little left, is there anything to abandon?
Still, I'll do my best.
Waiting here at the cave for this hunter's final moments was part of that.
No personal grudge against him or his team—it's just the minimum courtesy, as I said.
Call it hypocrisy if you want.
It is hypocrisy.
I'm only here to ease my own mind... no, to preserve whatever shreds of humanity remain.
No consideration or pity for that hunter or his comrades.
This is purely selfish, personal.
If someone saw this and cursed me, fine.
I don't seek empathy.
My conscience doesn't ache.
A snake like me never had one anyway.
How much time passed like that?
Finally, the thin thread of life flickered and snapped.
I stood before it a moment longer, then turned away, leaving the rock pile behind.