The Veteran Awakens (3)
"How much did you pour into it, exactly?"
Allen's voice grew cold again, and Taylor waved his hands dismissively.
"For real, it's not like that. I just used it early to try and treat myself. So don't misunderstand. I'm not that much of a bastard."
"Your future looked pretty grim. What were you planning to do if I hadn't shown up?"
"But you did."
Taylor winked sleazily. Allen's eyes narrowed on instinct.
"Oh, you just furrowed your brow. First time I've seen that—kinda novel. Wanna check a mirror?"
"Enough pointless chatter. Back to the main topic. Full-body mods aren't cheap either, even if not as bad as treatment. But luckily..."
"Luckily?"
"I'm a magitech engineer."
"Can I trust that?"
"You were ready to die anyway, right? With that mindset, no room for fear. Think of it as practice, and relax. You do the same, old man."
"Hey, you little... "
Taylor spat out the rough syllable but cut himself off, steadying his breath.
"You're joking, right?"
"I'll try hacking the unstable magitechwear to control its performance, so brace yourself."
"Hacking? What'd you say? My ears playing tricks?"
"Poison can be medicine if used right. For now, forget it—we need to scrape together funds for new magitechwear."
*
Dim space, smoothly hewn stone ceiling and floor, fluid gurgling from within the walls, explorers bustling with headlamps on, people gaping at the manhole entrance.
Taylor had just entered the labyrinth's gate. Stepping into a place he'd forgotten for years stirred fresh emotions.
The soft sentiment lasted only a moment. He glanced at Allen walking beside him.
"Round and round, back to the labyrinth?"
"Got a faster way to make money?"
"Casino? Ah, got it. Started off nice, but you're getting meaner by the minute."
"Why's a grown man acting like such a kid?"
"Keep brainwashing me that I'm young, and I might actually believe it. If even you say it, doesn't that mean I'm succeeding?"
"No. That's just called immature. Not a compliment, so don't twist it."
Taylor grumbled as they entered a sparsely populated passage. He checked the wheelchair. Gone was its old flimsy look—it had transformed into something thick and plush, like a one-seater sofa.
"What's the button next to the direction lever?"
"Shotgun. Hit the one beside it to switch to the mana shell launcher. I've double-stacked [Explosion], so only fire at distant enemies."
Allen double-checked the wheelchair for issues, then asked Taylor.
"Since we're heading down together, we need some self-assessment. What level do you think you're at?"
"In my prime, Depth 4. Automatons would tremble just seeing me."
"Automatons have no emotions."
"Boring. Now with the pain? Depth 3?"
"Drop the question mark. And no lying."
"About 1.5 at best. Assuming I use the wheelchair you made."
"Then straight to the caves."
Allen had brought three carts, loaded to the brim with exploration gear—way more than two people needed.
"Heading to war? Could sell supplies and make bank."
"We need enough funds to make a comeback. Use your experience and secrets this time. Any restrictions on that?"
"Caves are fine. Starts getting tricky after."
Allen nodded. Taylor's knowledge was basically Breaker secrets.
The routes they favored, water sources, prime hunting spots, safe campsites—essential labyrinth intel no one could just share.
But Taylor going there himself was the exception. He'd show it through actions, and Allen could observe and follow.
"Restrictions block not just talking, but acting too?"
"No signs yet, but feels like it. Still, I've got plenty of useful info—trust me. Perfect timing to check if my skills have rusted."
They were on layer 5. Automaton footsteps echoed from the black fog, followed by boar-like beasts bursting out.
"Time to test the wheelchair's performance."
"I'm planning to capture those intact, so sit tight."
Allen said that but made no move. He just stared silently, and the charging boars slid to a kneeled stop, like animals doped with heavy tranquilizers.
"Hacking speed is... insanely fast. Why capture 'em whole?"
"Pack mules. For smooth combat, the leopards need to roam free."
"Leopards and pigs? Mana stone consumption's gonna... Did you chug elixirs instead of meals as a kid?"
"Just my constitution."
Unlike before, Allen didn't play dumb. Taylor rolled his eyes but dropped it.
Veteran (3)
Upon reaching the layer 9 exit campsite, Allen pulled a sign from the cart. Mazes drew crowds, with plenty of parties hunting gatekeepers—prime spot for repair side gigs.
"Not even a break. Nah, my sins are too great..."
Taylor covered his face, watching Allen tune others' magitech nonstop.
Allen always sought work here on descents. Seeing Taylor reflect, he figured it was good and stayed quiet.
A few explorers who remembered Allen whispered about the new old guy.
"I get the repair guy who shows up sometimes..."
"Repair guy?"
"The lone magitech engineer. Black-brown hair, by that cart."
"Oh, the gas mask dude?"
"Caught a glimpse at chow time—super young. But that old fart next to him's new. Wheelchair and all."
"Wheelchair in the labyrinth? Doesn't look ordinary, but it's hilarious here. Yo, he's glaring. Sharp ears."
Allen's senses, honed by mana training, caught it all. So did original owner Taylor.
"If I were ten years younger, I'd grind those punks' faces into the floor."
"Calm down. It's not worth hearing, and words like that don't hurt."
Taylor spoke firmly as Allen prepped food.
"You're too soft. In the labyrinth, never let 'em underestimate you. Everyone not in your party is a murderer or thief. Even party members might be untrustworthy sometimes."
"You gonna do that too, old man?"
"Hey now. Lumping a fine upstanding guy like me with street trash? That hurts."
"Anyone'd think I'm the jerk. Here's your bowl."
Taylor's spoon dove into the steaming soup. He always seemed to live on soup, but it was the best way to make hard calorie biscuits and compressed rations tasty.
He tasted it, looking a bit disappointed.
"Standard crowd-pleaser flavor. Once we've got spare time, I'll show you labyrinth cuisine. Meant to head to my shop, but held back for the day job. Don't want you begging for it daily after one bite."
"What's the truth-to-brag ratio?"
"Calling me a liar? Rude."
"Only heard of labyrinth cooking. Ate it often?"
"Explorations don't always go as planned. Supplies get wrecked mid-fight, and the labyrinth's too vast—carts fill with just food sometimes. So yeah, deep-diving parties gotta hunt."
Allen recalled Francois from Breaker training, talking to other explorers.
"Drink underground dweller blood too?"
"Heard tales. Tastes just like human blood. Gear's better now, finger-sized rations fill you up—no need. Early days, maybe. But... why bring that up at dinner?"
"Then other recipes."
"Past the caves, it's the wilds—primordial forest usually. Beasts everywhere, weird plants galore. Perfect for natural foraging."
"Fresh from the mountains, no heavy metals or plastic pollution like cheap surface stuff."
"This is the labyrinth—could have toxins harmful to humans, so inspect thoroughly. Slack off on yesterday's critter, and you might sleep forever."
"Underground dwellers there too?"
"Nah. Labyrinth and caves have similarities, but primordial forest's different. No civilization traces. Exceptions always, though."
"Found your training method there, right?"
"Yeah. Taylor Method in some stone temple-like spot. Went back later hoping for more scraps—nothing left."
"Done? Gimme your bowl."
Clearing dishes, Allen pondered the primordial forest. Unlike maze or caves, wheelchair-unfriendly. Taylor caught him eyeing the wheels.
"Already plotting the descent, huh. By then, mods done—say goodbye to the chair."
"Call it treatment. Mindset shift, yeah?"
Taylor shrugged, scanning around, then fixed a rare serious glare on some spot. Bald-headed orcs with scalp tattoos met his stare.
Taylor whispered without breaking eye contact.
"Told you not to get underestimated? Those mugs scream criminal."
"Orcs look fierce by default. Human standards—the scarier, the handsomer to them."
"Not the point. See the tattoos? 'Greenblood' gang. Still kicking? Tough bastards."
"Slipped in somehow."
"This does it."
Taylor made an OK sign with thumb and index, adding,
"Bribed defense force brass, or joined some explorer guild that takes anyone for a new ID."
"Like Roman Company?"
"Ah, those pricks too. Union's massive—bigger than Breaker by size alone."
An expedition passed between Taylor and the orcs, ending the stare-down naturally.
They cleared layer 10 without issue. Gatekeeper disappointingly absent. At layer 11 cave, Taylor pressed a palm to the wall, nostalgia hitting.
"Definitely underground dweller work. Ceiling and walls scream cave, but floor's like concrete road."
"Creator's handiwork?"
"Whipped 'em to build it, or ripped a chunk from some thriving underground kingdom below and plopped it here. Impressive either way. ...Something's coming."
The cave prepared a welcome for outsiders. Three silhouettes writhed beyond the wall—perfect number to test the wheelchair.
"Watch a veteran's skill."
Taylor rolled forward as one underground dweller and two automatons appeared. Coincidentally, the dweller rode a cart pulled by the automatons.
"Make me one like that?"
"Graduating wheelchair, remember? Focus anyway."
Despite Allen's scolding, Taylor stayed chill. Hands off the levers entirely until the charge—then one button.
Metallic clunks as parts meshed, mana shell launcher popping from under the armrest. Taylor aimed, hit another button.
The double-[Explosion] shell arced through the air, detonating amid the cart-pulling automatons.
BOOM!
Ear-ringing noise passed, dust cleared—only metal scraps and flesh chunks remained.
"See?"
"The shell did all the work from start to finish."
"Gear is skill. Handling