The Floodgate (2)
"Many said there was nothing down there, so they headed lower."
"Did they all go to the 11th layer?"
"Judging by their gear and supplies, that's not it. Now that I think about it, even when I was scouting alone earlier, there were hardly any signs of people."
While they exchanged such talk, Dennis returned from scouting.
"There's a fork up ahead. Beyond the black fog there—multiple presences. They were in combat."
At his words, the party paused.
The labyrinth's unwritten rule—"Don't approach others rashly"—demanded extra caution when someone was fighting.
Get too close in a situation like that, and you'd be treated as an enemy without question, attacks incoming.
The explosions and gunfire grew sporadic, then fell silent completely. The party started moving again—but Dennis's words slammed on the brakes.
"Hold up. Something's approaching."
Floodgate (2)
"What? What is it?"
"Shut your mouth!"
Dennis snapped back curtly at his comrades' questions and edged forward a bit.
No matter how bright the headlamp, the maze's black fog wouldn't let light pierce beyond a certain distance. To check the passage properly, someone had to step out personally.
After a brief moment, Dennis spoke up.
"It's a person. Alone."
The party eased the tension from their weapon grips, shoulders relaxing. Not that they dropped their guard entirely, of course.
Clacking footsteps swelled louder until a figure burst from the fog. His explorer suit—crafted from special fibers and materials—was soaked in blood.
The man pitched forward and collapsed in a heap, going limp. No twitch, like a corpse.
Tension surged back through the party, which had loosened for a heartbeat. As they watched front and rear, Celine—their mage doubling as healer—examined the man's body.
Lifting the suit revealed a gruesome sight. Clear signs he'd been hit by all sorts of weapons.
"Gunshot here? And this—burned black from a heat-based blade."
Hard to say if it was an automaton's doing or human work. Automatons came in endless varieties, their weapons just as diverse.
Celine pulled a rapid hemostatic agent from the first-aid kit—shaped like a syringe. Squeezed onto the wounds, the white granules soaked up blood, swelled, and staunched the flow.
She tried everything to rouse him but got nowhere. After a long effort, she shook her head.
"Emergency treatment's done. He's breathing, but the blood loss is too severe—he won't wake. Not even sure he'll make it to the surface."
"That's not the point right now. If whatever attacked him comes for us, can we take it?"
At her comrade's words, Celine gave the injured man another look. Focusing less on the wounds, more on his gear.
"Just the explorer suit—this is pricier than ours. Means he's got better skills."
"What a pain."
Gear was skill. Good skills meant good pay, which bought good gear. It held true in most cases.
All eyes turned naturally to Dennis. He raised a palm—give me a sec—his face etched deep with worry.
The party operated horizontally, equals. But when quick calls were needed, Dennis usually made them to save time.
From the sounds during his scout, at least a five-man party minimum. Something—or someone—had wiped out a group their size and was lurking nearby.
In that scenario, an unconscious stranger was dead weight, worse than baggage.
Dennis had a dark thought flash through his mind.
No obligation to drag some random explorer. If it's unidentified automatons... use him as bait...
Automaton or labyrinth monster, they attacked intruders on sight. Healthy explorer or wounded—they didn't care.
That's why, fleeing an overwhelming beast, you'd sometimes dump it on another party you ran into.
No. Could be something we can handle.
Self-loathing welled up for even considering abandonment first.
Still, even as temporary leader, party safety came above all. Personal sentiments had to be shoved aside for that.
Allen watched Dennis's face. Even in the pitch-black maze, his usual bright expression was shadowed now.
Lots to agonize over.
Life and death weren't simple matters. Survival was every creature's endgame, wasn't it? Risking the labyrinth was all for a better life in the end.
Allen stepped forward and loaded the injured man onto his cart. The exoskeleton bracing his legs made it no trouble.
"I'll move him to my cart first."
"You sure... that's okay?"
"The leopard's strong enough."
Dennis's question carried extra weight, but Allen answered plainly.
The owner tapped his staff on the leopard's back—tap-tap—and it plodded forward. Same pace as always; no hint of strain from the added adult weight.
"See? No problem."
Allen skipped any awkward phrasing. Just demonstrated the ease.
Dennis watched in silence. He'd forgotten Allen roamed the 10th layer solo. Maybe magitech engineer bias had him underrating the kid.
Once sorted, Dennis scouted ahead again. No bodies—the labyrinth had claimed them. The attackers were gone too.
As the group pressed on, Karkda sidled up to Allen and whispered.
"Guy's as good as dead. Why bother?"
"Caught my eye, and he was within reach."
"Leeway even on the 10th? Solo explorers got that confidence."
"Not quite."
At Allen's words, Karkda's tail swirled in circles—like a question mark.
"Not now, but later, when I have some leeway?"
Karkda's eyes went wide.
"...You're one of a kind. Most are too busy saving their own skins."
Karkda said it without buy-in. Allen hadn't done it for approval anyway—no need to elaborate.
Back in Ranka, he'd wished endlessly for someone to help. No one ever showed. His fate got locked in that necklace.
So he'd extended his own hand. If no one else would, he'd be that someone. Even if his hand was tiny for now.
Or maybe just self-satisfaction...
Allen shook it off. Party or not, no room for complacency.
Top priority: reach the surface intact. Bonus if the guy on the cart pulled through.
While Allen and Karkda brought up the rear, the others pored over the map for the optimal route.
"Right turn at this intersection?"
"Straight shot's still four hours to the 9th. Detour adds at least two."
"Fewer forks this way—cuts down variables."
The call fell to Dennis in the end.
"Other explorers'll take shortest if trouble hits. Straight we go."
"Team up? Sounds good."
"Best case? Our worries turn out overblown."
Taking the shortest path, they ran into another group of explorers. Their gear was scarred and scorched from multiple fights.
A skinhead stepped forward; Dennis met him.
"You guys run into 'em too?"
"Who?"
"The maggots."
Labyrinth slang for explorer-hunting criminals. Maggots swarmed corpses, after all.
As the two traded brief words, Allen's eyes swept over the skinhead.
That's when it clicked for Allen. The Roman Company explorer who'd gone down from the 9th layer camp during repairs.
"Ugh..."
Then the man on the cart let out a groan. Agonizing just to hear, but so faint only Allen caught it.
His face was serene. Even amid pain, he'd found peace at the end.
The prime suspect for ending him: the charred gash from shoulder to chest.
Allen's eyes flicked again. To the skinhead's waist, as he chatted with Dennis.
Trait: Weapon that emits intense heat. Highly effective against organic tissue.
Allen's enhanced eyes held plenty of data from camp repairs and market scouting—Heating Sword included.
Coincidence? Hardly.
Allen called out to Dennis—loudly, on purpose.
"Vito ended up dying after all!"
"What? That's... hold on."
Allen borrowed Vito's name on impulse. Vito, off hunting family—plenty understandable.
Dennis shot him a baffled look, then remembered who said it and excused himself from the skinhead.
Up close, Dennis peered into the cart. Whispered:
"What the hell?"
"Don't turn around—just listen. See the burn on him?"
Allen pointed to the blackened mark. Voice even lower.
"Baldy's got a Heating Sword on his belt."
"That's not..."
"And that guy's Roman Company."
Dennis's face shifted instantly. No newbie explorer—he knew the bad rumors that dogged Roman Company.
"Hold up. So they the maggots?"
Pretending to pray for the fallen comrade, Dennis kept talking.
"High chance."
"I know their rep stinks. But why here? What's the 10th-layer special?"
"Behind!"
Allen yanked a card from his belt and flung it ahead. Rune Letters inscribed: [Magnetism] and [Attraction]. Combo for pulling metal way harder.
The card rocketed near the ceiling.
Rat-tat-tat-tat!
The Roman Company explorers' gun barrels jerked upward too. Aimed at Allen and Dennis—wasted shots.
Displeasure flooded the skinhead's face. Probably planned to feign alliance, drop guards, then backstab.
Suspicious of the drawn-out chat, ordering the attack was smart—but zero payoff.
Gunfire erupted—or rather, the moment muzzles flashed, they countered. Frontline shield generator bloomed a blue barrier; EBI surfaces on Karkda and the mages gleamed.
Shield up—no blind bullets to fear till it cracked. Now it was ranged pounding: who breaks whose first.
Skinhead responded differently. Hand in his coat, out came a black-stained whistle. Fog-clumped shape.
"A shame we miss out, but this'll do."
Cheeks ballooned; he blew hard. No telltale shriek.
"Why they acting weird?"
Taut Dennis lowered his mana sword. Skinhead had spun and bolted with his crew—natural reaction.
But no relaxing yet. Whatever magic the skinhead worked, a manhole yawned where he'd stood.
"Why's it that big?"
Unseen scale before—the maw gaped and retched a hammer. Revolver cylinder fused to the end. Eerily familiar.
"Floodgates spawn like that? Retreat!"
Dennis's call was swift. Novel summon method aside, tangling with a floodgate while the skinhead's gang flanked? Disaster.
Retreat impossible, though. A manhole cracked open above Dennis's head, as he led the way.