The Vanished Spoils
Those versed in magic and the arcane were the sort whose screws weren't just loose—they were utterly shattered.
It wasn't that they were insane; it just meant they couldn't be defined by society's norms or conventions. To ordinary eyes, they might look like madmen.
As the conversation veered that way, Shiba stepped forward.
"Most of the misguided brothers and sisters who joined the Purification Volunteer Corps show those tendencies."
"Purification Volunteer Corps? What kind of group is that, with such a cute name?"
"It's the ones who've had their EBI modified."
"Ah..."
Taylor let out a knowing grunt. The sudden image of a nun rounding up gang members was certainly striking.
"There are tons of those types among explorers too."
"Don't they have their own order?"
"Explorers are all heavy hitters, so if you act cocky without reading the room, you die. The law's far away, but fists are close at hand."
"That's true."
"A cleric agreeing with that?"
"What can you do when it's the truth? 'Spare the rod, spoil the child' might as well be gospel."
"Did Mother Nun whack you on the head a lot or something?"
Allen left the two chatting away and wandered the surroundings. After all their hard work so far, facing this headache on top of it, he could understand wanting a break.
As hired help, there wasn't much to deliberate anyway. Just do as told and collect the pay.
But curiosity was curiosity. For Allen, this was the realm of fun—boredom had no chance to creep in. The thrill of filling the library in his mind, book by book, topped everything else.
Shattered glass tubes, drag marks.
Not transported after death, but dragged while alive. That explained the scratches like fingernails gouging the inside of the door. The door was too sturdy for much more than nail marks and bloodstains, though.
Why set the fire?
Fire symbolized purification, but it also meant destruction. Here, it was clearly the latter—a intent to wipe out all life inside the bunker.
But why leave the living quarters and power plant intact?
There was no reason for that. If it were Allen, he'd have collapsed the whole bunker and wrecked the power plant too.
Two possibilities: a malicious prank by the ruin's designers, or they had to stop the destruction for some reason.
Allen's gaze shifted to the half-charred skeleton. Taylor had pegged the neck wound as a severed carotid.
Suspect, not victim?
Then, commotion erupted from outside. The thudding of running feet broke Allen's focus. Following the crowd, he saw a massive collapse—like a giant apple bitten clean through.
Was that such a big deal? Yes, it was.
The bunker was underground. What would show through a breached outer wall? Most would say dirt or earth. But...
"Don't approach!"
"Everyone back off!"
The group was on high alert. Beyond the bunker's exterior wasn't bedrock, but a roiling mass of murky colors. The sinister writhing form made hearts churn just looking at it.
Taylor clapped a hand on Allen's shoulder, yanking him back from where he'd been scraping at the concrete and rebar near the collapse.
"No matter how curious you are, stay away from that. Don't even touch it."
"Do you know what it is?"
"That's what happens when you botch opening a space gate. Kill the curiosity unless you wanna end up a dimensional stray."
"How do you know it turns you into a stray?"
"A space-type archmage went in personally to investigate."
"And came back, you mean."
"Again with the questions. Your eyes are glazing over."
Even as an adult, Taylor looked at him like a kid by the water's edge. It didn't feel bad.
Worried it might spike his blood pressure, Allen obediently followed Taylor's advice.
After that, the group scoured every corner of the bunker for an exit, but...
"Are we trapped in here?"
"Ha... I hate myself for getting lured by the high pay."
Nothing but dead ends.
At least order held.
Even as hope faded, discipline persisted thanks to the mana flow. The turbulent surge from the overloaded power plant was settling. Even those with weak mana sensitivity could feel the special phenomenon.
Allen, buzzing with excitement alone, kept investigating. The bunker facilities underground were likely far larger, but the corridors leading there were sealed by the murky colors.
"No clear solution here."
"Time'll sort it. Quit wandering and rest. You'll collapse from overwork."
Allen examined the mammoth's soul stone beside the eyes-closed Taylor.
"Ah, eye candy!"
Taylor rolled over with a grumble.
The input screen before Allen was a sea of stars, as vast as the mammoth itself.
Technically, as a hired hand paid in coin, anything Allen pulled from the ruin belonged to Hashy.
Mercenaries skimmed a little when the employer's not around, but Hashy had seen him extract the soul stone. Even if not, Allen hated cheating.
So he spoke up.
"I'll just take a look inside."
"Do as you like. Or I can convince the elders to give it to you. Escape is still distant, but Explorer Allen earned the biggest merit in this delve."
"No need."
"No greed, honest too. The world'd be a better place with more like you, Explorer."
For Allen, it wasn't about material things, but knowledge. The mammoth's soul stone could vanish anytime, but the structure of the star letters inside was eternal.
A pleasant misunderstanding, so Allen just nodded slightly.
Two days passed as Allen worked to store the mammoth's star letters in his mind.
The corridor grew rowdy.
"A door! We can escape!"
"Tell everyone!"
No need—the shouts carried, drawing heads from camps in every section.
The unstable space gate Taylor mentioned, the murky colors, had vanished, revealing a new vista: snow-capped mountains.
Hashy identified it.
"It's the ridge connecting White Mountains peaks. A popular hiking route."
"Brother, I remember it too."
Lois chimed in.
Something streaked through the view. The dwarf cousins shouted in unison.
""Tubby!""
Their "Tubby" was a wyvern. As eyes turned, Hashy explained.
"Ruler of these parts. Gluttonous, so it's a bit hefty."
Hashy's words understated it. Not a bit—it was an obese wyvern, too fat to fly much longer.
"Smart enough not to tangle with people. Like a sea lion or dolphin at the aquarium. Sometimes blocks the path and throws a fit, but chocolate or snacks make it move."
With escape in sight, the listless group sprang into action. If they'd moved like this always, civilization would've advanced twice as fast.
Before heading out laden with bunker loot, they tossed junk outside. The junk tumbled down the ridge. Once verified safe, hesitation vanished.
Stepping through, Allen heard the crunch of snow. In his vision's corner, a message: Universal Network access available.
Sighs of relief echoed, someone even kissed the ground.
"Argh!"
A scream rang out. But no one had slack to care.
"What? Where is it?"
"My mana stone's gone!"
All spoils from the ruin had vanished. The pouch holding the mammoth soul stone was empty. Even the tailless pelvis from the latrine was gone.
After all that, nothing to show—collective depression set in. Groans everywhere, faces like ruined homes. Extra pay? Evaporated.
Amid the gloom, only Allen stayed composed.
"Not bummed?"
"Don't get too attached to material things."
"Words to live by. To escape corruption, we must shun desire like Brother Allen."
"You a monk with the right to say that? And who was it that took the high-paying gig?"
Allen shrugged, and Taylor whispered in Shiba's ear.
"Seen Allen like that once or twice?"
"Brother, what'd I miss?"
"That fed predator gleam in his eyes. He stuffed the star letters in his head, so he's satisfied."
"A most righteous outcome. Spiritual fulfillment trumps material greed—far healthier, superior. Even you should follow Brother Taylor..."
"Ah! Enough! Quit tormenting this old man."
With spoils gone and no way back to the ruin-connected door, they couldn't linger.
Descending the ridge slowly, Allen tossed out a question.
"Why'd they vanish?"
"Maybe a time-lock repeat ruin?"
"Repeating a fixed timeframe... Like the labyrinth's eternal restoration."
"Not quite."
"How so?"
"Look it up on the universal network. I dunno."
"What about the ruin..."
As Allen spoke, Hashy and Lois's talk drifted over.
"Just got word—the ruin entrance is completely gone."
"What? I didn't even get gold dust for my kin's grave..."
"Regrettable. Beyond our power, so forget it."
Allen eyed the weary group shuffling down, then turned. The desolate cliff was layered strata—a painting of time itself.
Sheer drop-offs bore climbing scars everywhere: bolts hammered in, ropes dangling.
Observing the cliff, Allen's eyes shifted. A section magnified sharply.
A foreign intruder wedged in one stratum. Weathered brutally, but Allen's eyes classified it.
Type: Concrete
Nature's concrete mimicry, or climbers' doing?
Allen couldn't conclude.
End
The concrete-like structure Allen spotted between the cliff strata nagged at him.
Sedimentary rock could stack coincidentally similar, but fresh off witnessing part of the ruin facilities swept whole into the unstable space gate, unease lingered.
Allen, ever hungry for knowledge, couldn't let it slide. Using recovery and sightseeing as excuses, he holed up in the lodging Hashy provided and visited Lynx's library.
"Welcome. Free for Lynx citizens; fee for others."
A hologram woman appeared suddenly to greet him. Opposite gender to the usual visitor guide—an soul stone-powered pseudo-AI conversational service.
"Not a citizen, then. Pay library and guide fees together for a discount."
Allen paid just the usage fee and strolled the forest of books. Shelves brimmed with crisp, glossy covers. Less worn by hands than meticulously maintained.
With universal network and memory editing widespread, books were dying out. But fans of old-school feel kept the flame alive.
Allen had no favorite method. As long as it delivered new knowledge and amusement, fine.
It felt like a big-box discount store. You go in for one thing, reach checkout with a cart full.
Tempting books abounded, but grabbing carelessly could burn the day without nearing the goal.
Geography section.
Recalling his aim, he scanned ahead, seeking only the target.
White Mountains: Terrain and Natural Environment Research.
Taylor or Shiba would've blanched at the thickness. "Who reads books these days?" they'd gripe.
In an era of memory edits or data transfers for info, EBI was the foundation. Hacking risks aside, convenience crushed drawbacks.
Usage rate: 99%.
Irrelevant to Allen. Taylor thought the same of him.