The Beautiful Scenery of the 99th Floor
Right after searching the gallery's layer record book for info on the 99th floor, AlchemyRiceSoupEater popped up. Looked like she'd been waiting for me.
I had a gut feeling about it.
She clearly had something to ask me.
I still had a ton left to do here. Starting with Orkan's battle axe, I had to deal with all the weapons he'd hoarded too. I focused, wondering what she'd say next, and then she dropped a bombshell.
Shock on top of shock, following the max-level bunny. Asking for the corpse directly—what the hell was this chick?
Truly AlchemyRiceSoupEater. Sketchiest fixed nick in the gallery. Wait, is she even human?
I decided to hear the terms first.
Like I keep saying, the economy is cold.
I figured AlchemyRiceSoupEater would offer gold, orbs, gear or something. But she threw out something totally unexpected.
Lift Cut?
The Backrooms layers look like an orderly tower from 1 to the bottom floor on the surface. But reality is totally different.
Layers twist into each other, warp, tangle. Some overlap with the one above, others connect to completely random floors with just a wall in between. Hell, sometimes a whole other layer is nested inside one.
Take the Central City on the 50th floor. On the surface it's 50, but routes branch out like roots to everywhere from 49 down to 30.
If you know how, you can go straight from the heart of Central City to the 49th floor blood ghost habitat, the 48th crimson zone, the 47th contagion area.
No need to go in sequence: 50 to 49 to 48. You can skip: 50 straight to 37, back to 50. 50 to 32, back to 50 from 32.
Methods to no-clip ignoring order to specific floors. A few call those routes "lift cuts."
I listened to her explanation while pocketing Orkan's battle axe.
"Lift cut, huh..."
Tempting offer. If she was legit, it'd slash my journey time big time.
Problem was the one making it: AlchemyRiceSoupEater.
And another problem...
"......"
I glanced at Orkan's corpse. The gigantification had worn off after death, but it was still massive.
Guess corpses can't go on auction after all.
The usual suspects.
No way to trade it. But AlchemyRiceSoupEater seemed to have anticipated that.
What.
She said it with such confidence I had to check. Half-doubting, I shoved Orkan's corpse into the subspace pouch—and it gulped it down whole.
"What the fuck. Why'd it fit."
I yanked the corpse right back out.
Hm. Tough call. Could I trust this one?
Tempting as hell, no doubt. But the trading partner was sketchy no matter how I sliced it.
Right then, like she read my mind, AlchemyRiceSoupEater sent a gift.
Checked it—a pouch full of gold. 1,000 gold, no less.
If one of the gallery angels made this offer, I'd take it. But she wasn't. Floaters even called her a bug muncher.
Bug munchers were cannibals.
Super sketchy.
Especially her attitude amped my suspicions. Who casually writes off investment like that?
I kept mulling it over, and she sent another gift. Another gold pouch—this one 2,000 gold, double the last.
Then another gold gift. 4,000 this time.
Okay, maybe a tiny bit.
No one knew AlchemyRiceSoupEater's true identity till now. Floaters flipped, demanding proof. She didn't provide any.
I tabled the issue for now. Of course, I'd already stashed Orkan's corpse in the subspace pouch.
I liquidated Orkan's battle axe and all his hoarded weapons. First time I learned auction listings had limits.
Put all the sellable stuff up for auction, stored the rest in the subspace pouch. The battle axe was just a regular one, so I dumped it.
Before entering the 99th, I read the layer record book's for it.
[Layer Record Book: 99th Floor]
Hello. Layer Record Book here.
The 99th floor is beautiful scenery, peaceful. Environment level 2. No direct threats, but long stays erode your mind abnormally.
Entities exist, but dangerous ones are sleeping. Gal info says "Wood Sentinel," tree guardian... Won't wake unless you harm or touch the tree.
Not too dangerous if you know how. Survive, everyone.
Not too dangerous. Especially with the beautiful scenery mention—I was kinda looking forward to it. All I'd seen lately was blood-soaked floors, damp walls, goblins.
I struggled to move the basilisk corpse blocking the exit, pocketed valuable body parts.
With a bit of excitement, I headed to the 99th.
But the moment I arrived, my face twisted.
"...What the hell."
Nothing beautiful about this view.
Barren, gloomy ashen wasteland. Rotten air, warped landscape. Like a graveyard.
A space built on the bones of the dead, not the living. Dim light, cracked earth, air heavy and sluggish.
And—
Entities were supposed to be sleeping, right?
Far off—they were there.
A massive tree piercing the sky. No green left. Black ooze dripping instead of sap. Bark split like burnt, knots frozen in screaming faces.
Doesn't look fucked? Nah, totally fucked.
It wasn't a living tree anymore. A giant tombstone etched with layers of the dead's agony.
And before it—a colossal statue-like figure.
Wood Sentinel.
"......"
It stood silently guarding the tree's death. No movement, no breath, but definitely protecting it.
...That glare's brutal.
I swallowed hard at its furnace-blue eyes.
The thing that should be asleep was already awake.