Gatekeeper (1)
Allen had put up a sign that read "Repairs Available" along with "No Recruitment Offers."
Proposals kept coming anyway. The door said "Pull," yet people pushed it. How many did it take?
Allen arrived at the campsite on the 9th layer and, as usual, claimed his spot to begin repairs.
Midway through attaching a shockwave-emitting bludgeon to the lizardman's tail, a group of explorers emerged from one of the passages leading into the campsite.
The lizardman getting repaired muttered softly.
"It's the Roman guys. I heard a bunch of them got captured not long ago, but they're still swarming."
"Are they after the gatekeeper?"
"It got taken down today, so they won't respawn for two days. Maybe they're just heading to the 11th layer?"
The lizardman didn't seem certain, but his guess was spot on—the Roman Company explorers headed straight down to the 10th layer.
Allen glanced at the thick darkness of the descending path, then refocused on his repairs.
Gatekeeper (1)
After the Roman Company thugs descended to the lower layer, Allen stayed in the campsite for the day.
It was a cycle of hunting and repairs. The magitech repair income was better than expected, and he briefly considered hunkering down here for a while.
If body and mind get too comfortable, there's no growth.
Allen held the belief that the drive for advancement stemmed from discomfort. He had to intentionally whip himself to progress in a better direction.
The campsite was comfortable, sure, but it was still a labyrinth—manholes could pop open anytime. The fact that it felt comfortable now was proof he'd adapted well.
So he packed up his repair sign and stood.
Some explorers looked disappointed, but Allen's ultimate goal was acquiring knowledge through labyrinth exploration, not repairs.
Stepping into the black mist pooling in the descending path, a high-pitched whine assaulted his eardrums. Labyrinth tinnitus didn't get easier to ignore.
Planting his feet on the 10th layer, Allen scanned the branching passages.
The gatekeeper's down for two days—minimum 48 hours before it respawns.
It had been slain yesterday, so he had about 30 hours of leeway. Without the gatekeeper, Allen's skills were enough to slowly explore the 10th layer.
No anomalous phenomena this time, right?
Anomalies were rare enough to earn the "anomalous" label. Wandering the 10th layer shouldn't be a big issue.
Allen's plan was to roam first and familiarize himself with the paths. There was a world of difference between map knowledge and firsthand experience.
Intersections weren't always perfect crosses. Some slanted like an "X," others resembled a "J."
And that was just the start. Ceiling heights varied, and passages sometimes narrowed or widened abruptly.
Allen mapped out his approach: slowly explore to learn the terrain, then test the exosuit's limits against automatons.
Then head to the surface, gear up properly, and come back down.
He'd repeated repairs and crafting at the campsite, but his gear still looked woefully inadequate—rune letter cards, staff, panther, all of it.
It might seem overly cautious, but labyrinth delving was gambling with your life. This level of preparation was just right.
Allen stroked the head of the panther walking beside him. The gatekeeper's eye transplant from last time was still unstable.
Power's a bit weak, and one shot has a high chance of breaking it. Over 90 percent, probabilistically?
As he cross-referenced his map with the terrain to reduce disorientation, a faint psst sounded.
He was familiar enough now to recognize it instantly—the noise of an automaton emerging from a manhole.
It sometimes tricked explorers, but not this time.
A humanoid automaton dropped from the ceiling with a thud. It clacked two short clubs together, igniting flames.
Just one?
The lone foe was humanoid like the gatekeeper—perfect for future prep.
Allen held back the panther poised to charge and stepped forward. Facing a humanoid after only beasts felt more tense than expected.
He thrust out his elongated staff, mindful of his balance.
Strikes won't do much anyway.
It wasn't a living thing that felt pain. Armored in iron, it wouldn't shatter from a few staff swings.
So focus on evasion for now...
Allen's thoughts cut short. The foe, leaning slightly forward, charged.
The thud of its weight against the labyrinth floor didn't register. All Allen saw was the automaton looming larger in his vision.
The first attack was straightforward: leveraging mass and charging momentum to bulldoze forward.
Allen's eyes tracked the movement precisely.
Shoulder-check from the left, then swing the right arm.
As predicted, a heavy whoosh grazed his ear. It missed by a handspan.
Even a successful dodge left Allen unsatisfied.
I should've opened at least two or three times the distance.
The reason was obvious: his frail body. Even with the exosuit augmenting movement, it couldn't keep up with his eyes and brain.
What could he do about innate limits? At least the Reflex Flower offered hopeful progress, though the root cause—mana excess syndrome—lingered.
This time, a club whistled past his cheek. Flames licking its surface heated the air filtering into his mask.
No time for distractions. Focus. Allen arched his back, nearly toppling, but used the staff to regain balance.
Now the automaton spread its arms wide, closing off evasion space to ram and smash.
Regaining poise, Allen extended the staff. Its tip hit the floor and slid.
It slipped perfectly between the charging automaton's legs. Gripping the other end, Allen surged forward.
Thud!
The tripped automaton flailed and crashed face-first.
"Attack."
At Allen's command, the waiting panther pounced, tearing into the automaton's neck. Pinned under its weight, the downed machine shattered.
Hot breath fogged inside Allen's mask. He wanted to remove it for cool air, but the plant filter's calming effect kept him wearing it.
That little movement winded me.
Comforting himself that he was improving bit by bit, he collected the spoils.
Pressing on with the same exosuit-assisted trip method, he dodged with growing margin.
Of course, that was by his standards—another explorer would've called it razor-thin.
After wandering awhile, Allen spotted a familiar face. Dennis, scouting ahead of his main party, peeked around a corner.
"What're you doing?"
"Evasion practice."
"Yeah? Looked like dancing to me."
"... "
It meant he was still sorely lacking. Recalling Dennis effortlessly dodging the gatekeeper's attacks while countering drew a sigh.
"Don't take it too hard. We're just... different mains, y'know? If a magitech engineer handles his body that well too, what am I?"
"I want to be good at everything."
"Uh... yeah, better that way."
Dennis scratched his head, eyeing the wrecked automaton at Allen's feet. Staff marks dented it.
"Isn't your usual style sleeker? Flick a card, unbalance 'em for a finisher, or snipe with mana rounds from range."
"Prep for the gatekeeper."
"Join our party? You turned me down when I said come to ours... You planning to solo it?"
"Gonna try."
"Risky, huh? Well, that look says you won't listen anyway."
As they talked, Dennis's comrades appeared stealthily.
Karkda, tail-wagging with big-corp job dreams, got a wag back from Allen.
"Hey."
"We're heading back. Done exploring? Come with?"
"Just wrapping up."
The explorers' lips quirked up at Allen's words. Traveling together meant benefiting from him—like free magitech repairs.
Allen gained too. Dennis's party was geared for the 11th layer with fresh magitechwear, including gear he'd never seen.
Turning toward the 10th-layer entrance, they chatted. Allen mostly asked questions.
"How was the 11th?"
"No joke. Automatons seemed cute by comparison. Same machines, but underground dwellers puppeteering them doubled the difficulty."
Dennis grimaced, recalling it. His prosthetic leg bore more scratches than usual.
"Rookie vs. vet difference? Didn't expect that power spike."
"What do underground dwellers look like? Like the photos or footage from memory playback?"
Karkda answered, wedging between Dennis and Allen to kill boredom.
"Skin was really pale."
"Why skip 'rock-rough'? Lizardman eyes see it as smooth as turtle cracks?"
"Hear that? Sneaky racist."
"You mock me as balding monkey."
Friendly ribbing only buddies could pull off. To strangers, it'd mean guns drawn over fists.
Allen slipped between them with another question.
"Karkda seems bored—explain. What's with underground dwellers?"
"Pupils were similar, first off."
"Really?"
"Cave-dwellers usually max light with big pupils or ditch sight. No signs of that. They use mana stone lamps, so obvious."
"Creator's creatures anyway. Need nitpick details?"
Dennis shuddered at the academic talk.
"Mages and magitech engineers—same breed. Ugh, ink stink."
"Ignore him. More questions?"
"How do underground dwellers fight?"
"Only poked 11th layer so far—like Dennis said, they lead with automatons. Some used explorers' leftover magitech."
"How'd you know the original owners?"
"Corp logos stamped on. Hexagrams, Big Dipper, others."
Allen nodded. The labyrinth itself was an incomprehensible anomaly. No one knew why or by whom it was made.
So underground dwellers scavenging explorer weapons was no big deal.
"Manholes in caves too?"
"Nah, automatons and dwellers burst from cave walls. Saw one rip out like a gutted monster."
Karkda's tail twisted oddly at the grotesque memory.
Allen glanced at their cart. Magitech likely used by automatons or dwellers loaded it.
"Net result on 11th? Heard the fights—profits-wise?"
"Spoils prices spiked, sure. But rough combat hiked repair and supply costs, netting less pure profit. Debating labyrinth runs or cave acclimation."
Allen got it. Exploration and knowledge trumped profit for him, so he'd dive deeper. But parties formed for gains.
Karkda, aiming corp entry via labyrinth feats, had to heed his crew. Couldn't solo like Allen.
Pausing mid-scale polish, Karkda narrowed his eyes.
"Fewer explorers than expected. Something up?"
"Yeah. At the campsite, the gatekeeper