The Labyrinth (2)
Tone was facing off against the trio of humans.
The battle proved far more one-sided than expected. The explorers, having hunkered down on the first floor for ages, handled the scorpion with practiced ease.
The shieldbearer blocked its tail, the spearman jabbed at the chinks in its iron plating to pin it down, and the one with the bracelet-style EBI delivered the finishing blow.
The scorpion's chassis crumpled inward like it'd been smashed by a giant's hammer, grinding to a halt. An anticlimactic scrap, all things considered.
Once the dust settled, they clustered around the carcass.
"Mana essence stone?"
"Just a mana stone... I told you not to get excited!"
They hollered it out, but grins of triumph lit their faces as they started dismantling the thing mid-harvest glee.
Pssh!
This time, a pair erupted from a manhole bolted to the wall.
"What the hell? Wasn't it supposed to be just one? And way too fast!"
"EBI cooldown's not up! Stall!"
His buddy was frantically tapping the bracelet EBI, so the spearman roared.
"You moron! That's why I said get a mana heart!"
"You think it's that simple?!"
"Quit screwing around boozing every day and save for an artificial one!"
Bickering like old rivals, they still put up a solid fight. But without access to the EBI's embedded spells, their gear took scratches and they picked up cuts.
"Urk!"
The shieldbearer took a nasty tumble.
The other two were tied up with their own scorpion—no backup possible.
Its needle-sharp tail zeroed in on the shieldbearer's throat. No venom, but that fishhook-curved stinger promised a world of hurt.
The instant before impact, Allen clocked the crisis and jolted his eyes with mana.
His left field of vision snapped into hyper-clarity, dissecting the scorpion like he was peering through magitech guts. Weak or no magic resistance—its innards laid bare.
Allen leveled the hollow metal rod he'd been using as a staff surrogate. With the mana revolver's bullet generator transplanted intact, it doubled as a sleek rifle.
A blue light-trail raced along the barrel, congealing into a razor projectile at the muzzle before streaking off.
Thwack!
A meaty thud echoed as the scorpion flopped atop the shieldbearer. Core power source pulverized—like a human heart bursting open.
"Gaaahhh!!! ...Huh?"
The shieldbearer, bracing for doom with a scream, finally twigged something was off and grunted the corpse aside.
His pals, fresh off vaporizing their foe with recharged EBIs, hustled over to check him.
"Yo, you good?"
"Hurt anywhere?"
"I'm fine. What made it drop like that? Wait—blue flash from that way..."
Their eyes tracked his pointing finger straight to Allen, slipping out from the corner.
Allen met their stares head-on and spoke with measured courtesy.
"Mind if I claim that scorpion?"
To preempt any mix-up, he pulsed mana through the rod—the same blue glow flickering faintly along its length.
"Ah... Yeah. Help yourself."
The moment they nodded, Allen had the thing stripped to parts and neatly stacked on his folding cart in seconds flat.
Today's haul will do nicely.
He backed off steadily, easing out of their line of sight. Rounding the corner on his way back, murmurs drifted after him.
"Just hand it over 'cause he's solo? Risky, sure, but we had it."
"Nah. One slip and we're maimed or dead. Solos like that? Tread careful—they're either aces or psychos. And polite as hell, too."
"Huh, true. Cool as ice, no flinch. Some rich kid slumming it?"
Suddenly tagged as oddball aristocrat, Allen shrugged it off, mind already elsewhere.
First floor was a breeze. He'd mapped the basics—thorough prep, and tomorrow he could dive deeper.
[Allen, Reached Layer: 1st Floor. Using the matching service will deduct fees from your account. Proceed?]
Wrapping up early, Allen hauled his cart of spoils toward Breaker.
Three p.m. now. Without mid-route breaks, he'd have arrived way sooner—but frailty demanded them.
Subway, elevator, cart... still, he rubbed his aching arms, a stark reminder of his limits.
Need a fix. Can't overhaul my constitution overnight, so hire porters or slap on an exosuit to offload the strain.
Neither came cheap—labyrinth runs were part of why.
Allen entered the five-story building where he'd registered yesterday.
The lobby's crisp white accents gave a bright, welcoming vibe to visitors.
Unlike before, he veered left into the settlement office. Off-peak for daily-grind explorers—dead quiet.
Space split into staff and explorer zones by a transparent wall.
He picked an empty teller window.
"Welcome. Slide your items for appraisal toward the wall."
As instructed, he nudged the cart; trophies phased right through. Allen took a seat to wait.
Reason for the trek? Registered here, settle here—Breaker's cut for services, including finance.
His explorer ID marked him temporary resident—full citizenship ages off. This spot protected principal without bank hassle.
No antisocial vibes or gang ties; formal status was just a milestone via steady gigs.
Allen's prime goals: one, master the eye Nobak jammed in his skull; two, fix his mana excess syndrome-ravaged body and lifespan.
Rubbing sore calves from a mere walk, the clerk finished up.
"Explorer, place your hand on the transparent wall, please."
"Got it."
Palm down, the spot lit blue like the crystal orb—his middle fingernail's '0' flipped to '70,000'.
Allen eyed his first payout; the clerk took it for a prompt on details.
"Clean core puncture—nice kill. But mana stone and soul stone damaged, so value dipped. Intact? Could've hit 150k coins."
Soul stones housed artificial souls, enabling automaton cognition sans complex brains. CPU, AI, deep learning—all stemmed from or aped them.
Explanation done, the clerk flashed a sales smile.
"Need more details?"
"All clear. Thanks."
"Welcome back safe next time."
Out of settlement, Allen hit the 'Help Wanted' door.
Explorers poked at a transparent crystal stele.
Allen tapped; text bloomed.
Explorers clustered at a transparent crystal stele, jabbing spots.
Allen touched it, and text materialized.
From agrarian rivers to modern cash—both drove folks mad in myriad ways.
Allen, brow perpetually furrowed since Maze City, pressed on.
Solo meant crime bait; deeper dives needed backup.
Strangers lacked trust, but guild matching beat randoms.
*
"Hey, Carlson here. Main gear: force field shield and shotgun."
A blond of middling height waved.
"Ahn. Crossed sea. Work. Magic ok."
The burly guy grunted in broken tones. Basic headgear EBI.
"Allen. Weapon's a mana-bullet staff."
Labyrinth station rendezvous done, they headed for the black gate.
Harsh fortress entry, and Carlson—eyeing Allen—probed.
"Magitech engineer, huh? Not doubting Breaker's match, but you fight okay? Look kinda frail..."
Fair worry. Magitech shone outside combat.
Typically, they tagged along with parties to fix core magitech.
"No plans for layer 6—combat skills matter more here."
"We'll verify inside. No mana use near gates unless emergency—riot prevention."
"If you're that confident, fine. Just pull your weight for fair shares."
Carlson grimaced but nodded. His glance at Ahn brimmed trust—brute size or EBI, who knew.
In the maze, Allen eyed Carlson's unfolding shield and shotgun.
"Mind a question?"
"First floor's crowded commuter route—fire away."
Pedestrians jammed ankles-deep; defending automata seemed the pity case.
"Custom shield and shotgun—not off-shelf."
"Sharp eye. Not a full-time explorer—city uni student. Field trip for a project."
Prime gear, pricey tuition: Carlson had it good.
Question lit his chatterbox; he wouldn't shut up.
"Heard 'subterraneans' from layer 11? No proper name, so that's it. Their automata match maze tech—researching creator links."
"Maze runs way deeper."
"Jumping gun? Elites fetch deep intel—for a premium fee."
Not a bad guy after all. His prodding? Just nerves.
By the time Carlson grilled Ahn's life story—birth to immigration—they hit layer 4.
Five hours' work, zero cheers.
Maze widened downward—par for the course. Upper layers? Other explorers cleared automata, no scraps.
Layer 4 shifted vibe hard. Daylight maze gone; headlamps pierced gloom.
Chatterbox Carlson gulped, weapons forward.
Narrowed sightlines spiked tension. Hearing amped—footfalls, breaths grated. Pulse thrummed audible.
Bigger manholes loomed threats; walls hid pop-outs.
Deep into the maze...
Pssshhh...
Tailing the group, Allen caught the faint hiss at his ear. Heightened senses barely snagged it.
He snapped his gaze up. A shaman-spider automaton clung to the ceiling.