Book 5 - Chapter 42 - Three Journeys (Patreon)

AN: Sorry for the delays! Here's chapter 42 at last, and I should be able to get a tMFUtM chapter up later today still. Assuming nothing (else) goes wrong; see my next post for details.

Rationality be damned—Ranthia’s heart pounded in her chest as she impatiently kicked her door open and rushed into her home at full speed. Something had happened, and she refused to slow down until she discovered what it was. She knew more than she was letting herself process, but she could deal with that after she discovered the true situation.

And a short distance away from her altar to Xaoc, she found her answer. The woman was a stranger, yet somehow, the very moment Ranthia laid eyes on her, she knew the truth. She didn’t need to parse and match the woman’s class archetypes and levels. On some deep and instinctual level, she knew.

The woman was no intruder.

The human woman, laying unclothed on the floor, covered in half-digested plants and urine was… Clover. Her sweet little bunny.

There was no crisis. But her trembling, terrified Bond still needed her help.

“Clover, can you hear me?” Ranthia set aside her System-bound strength and speed and, instead, leaned into her dexterity. As gently as possible, she knelt next to the stricken woman that Clover had become and pulled her upright into a sitting position.

The moment gravity parted her lips, drool started to flow from Clover’s unfamiliar mouth. Followed, a few moments later, by coughing while she struggled to free her airway. The whole time, Ranthia just supported her, offering soothing words and patient affection.

There was a lot to figure out. Xaoc’s presence had guided her to her home, though she knew not why He had touched the world so directly. And Clover was a human, somehow. Oh, she had theories about why—too many, truly—but she couldn’t make herself mull over any of them. It didn’t matter. Until her Bond recovered, Ranthia’s own curiosity was dead and buried. She was aware of the questions, but acknowledgement was the limit to her willingness to indulge in them.

“It’s alright, just breathe, sweetling. I’m right here. You’re saf—” Ranthia’s diatribe of meaningless platitudes came to an abrupt end when one of Clover’s shaky hands raised and, after a few fumbled attempts, clamped firmly over her mouth.

Clover shook her head with surprising vigor, dislodging some of the various fluids that remained trapped in her hair.

The ‘shut up’ was clear enough, at least. Ranthia held up a finger to request a moment, carefully removed Clover’s hand from her face, and nodded. The woman that her bunny had become seemed to be doing well enough to be left alone for a second or three. Slowly, she released her Bond and stood, then rushed to gather what she needed to at… well, as much speed as she was willing to use indoors.

She didn’t want to keep Clover waiting.

With paper, ink well, and quill in hand, Ranthia returned. Clover was still upright and seemed to be breathing just a bit easier, so Ranthia paused to write a quick message before she set everything down in front of Clover.

I’ll get some towels and water. Do you need anything else?

While Clover reached clumsily for the quill, using her entire hand, Ranthia made her first trip. And by the time she returned with the bucket of mildly soapy water and some towels, Clover had written her own response: No.

The word was so messy that it took Ranthia a moment to parse it out. And a little more than that would have been nice, but Ranthia was adaptable.

Why did you stop me from talking? Ranthia added her own question, indulging in her curiosity before she moved on. Getting Clover cleaned up came first—their home could wait, assuming the Auras that pervaded the city didn’t finish removing the mess before she got to it.

Too much. I don’t want to speak or hear words again. Never. Too horrible. Before her transformation, Clover’s characters had become reasonably neat—a bit too regular and orderly for Ranthia’s tastes, sure, but they were exceedingly legible. But as a human, she gripped the entire quill in a fist and scrawled like a child, creating words that… well, honestly, they reminded Ranthia of her own writing back when she was a child and inexplicably convinced that she was sufficiently literate.

Ranthia set the damp cloth aside and shook the moisture off her hand before she claimed her slightly mangled quill from Clover’s fist.

You’ll get used to it. It just

Ranthia’s own words cut off in a smear of ink as Clover snatched the quill from her. The former bunny’s anger and fear were on full display as she jammed the quill roughly onto the paper and scrawled a single word.

NO.

Ranthia raised her hands to indicate her surrender, though she left the damaged—and quite possibly ruined, after that—quill in Clover’s care. She was pretty sure her expression was all she needed to convey her question.

Clover indulged in the quietest sigh Ranthia had ever witnessed, before she dipped the quill and pressed its crooked metal tip against the paper once again.

I’ll find a way to hear people again. Need time. But I don’t want to talk. Ever. You can’t force me to. I got this far by writing, it will work. Easier now, at least. But after White Dove

As she read those words, Ranthia’s blood felt like ice in her veins. White Dove. It was all too obvious what the next word would be, so she took full advantage of Clover’s clumsiness—she accelerated her own perception and plucked the quill away before Clover could write anything further. She needed details, but writing down a curse felt like a horrendous idea!

Sure, she could utterly destroy a piece of paper with a bit of effort, but it still just felt so much riskier than whispering a secret in a secure place.

She needed to learn Clover’s curse. It was the only way she could help her Bond survive whatever onus she had been afflicted with. But, if she was honest with herself, it could wait until she figured a safer way to ‘hear’ it. And, fortunately, she already had an idea.

Don’t write anything about your curse down. As of today, it’s the most precious secret you have, and you need to be careful about who might learn it. And if you don’t want to talk, that’s fine. Now that you have hands, there’s another way to communicate, sweetling.

Ranthia demonstrated several Ranger hand signs with a grin. Thanks to [Immortal Armaments] she was as fluent in them as she’d ever been. Her time as a Ranger—and especially her time as Sentinel Grace—was bittersweet to reflect upon, but it was strangely uplifting to know that something from those days could be used to make things better, even if it was just for one person.

Just before she touched the quill to the paper again, she heard Solareon hiss aggressively, followed by an unfamiliar voice demanding her to stand aside.

Unfortunately, flouting the city’s rules during her desperate rush had repercussions. Clover was recoiling in horror from the voice, but all Ranthia could offer her was a soothing pat on the shoulder before she rushed to the door.

Solareon had placed herself firmly in the doorway and was hissing and clicking her beak aggressively at a member of the city guard that Ranthia had never really interacted with, while he did his best to not look completely terrified. Ranthia just smiled to herself, vaulted over the griffon, and turned her back on the guy while she tried to coax her friend’s Bond into her home.

“What seems to be the trouble?” Ranthia asked with her best innocent smile, once she shut the door.

“Young lady, you know we have rules against flying inside of the city.” Guardface had just north of half of her level, but he had enough condescension in his tone to make up the difference.

“Alright, yes, my apologies. My Bond suddenly gained over two hundred levels and I was concerned. What’s the fine?” The charges weren’t exactly unfair. Sure, she’d been able to tell that the city wasn’t on fire or anything before they entered, but she still had Solareon fly her through one of the ‘gates’ and into the city properly.

It was faster than getting off and running, especially since Solareon was significantly slower on the ground—and with Neyvern left in the forest, she couldn’t just leave the griffon to fend for herself in the city.

“Why would you be allowed to pay to get around the rules?” He seemed to be genuinely baffled by the concept. “Just don’t do it again, please? And for my own peace of mind, is Clover okay?”

…Nope. There was no way she could spare the headspace to start questioning Remus’ entire legal system.

“I promise you that I won’t. And she’s… fine. Or at least she will be. Is that all?” Ranthia glanced meaningfully at her door.

“Yes—” The man had more to say beyond that word, but Ranthia had heard enough.

Clover needed her.

Clover’s first day as a human was pretty awful. And her second and third weren’t much better, honestly. For all that humans seemed big and capable, their bodies were surprisingly high maintenance. Expelling waste was no longer a matter of hopping up to her favorite receptacle, working a few muscles, then being finished. Instead, she had to figure out how to use an overly complex bit of elven cleverness and she had to dry herself and wash her hands afterward!

Seriously, bunny paws were so much more hygienic and easier to maintain. But human hands just seemed to absorb any oil or mess and stay gross forever unless aggressively washed!

But as annoying as they were, they were also very, well, handy! Grabbing and holding things was just incredibly helpful and so much easier than any of the temporary simple appendages that she’d grafted onto her bunny body. The learning curve for them wasn’t even as steep as she’d always expected it to be, it just took a bit of practice. Much like with any scholarly pursuit—iteration and escalation were the secret to accomplishing anything!

Well, anything that was actually accomplishable.

Learning hand signs from her human—a weirder phrase than it once was, due to her own humanness—was easier than she had feared. It kind of made sense though, after all the hand shapes were meant to be easy to recall and issue during a crisis! But (still important!) the hand signs weren’t intended to be a complete language. Still, Clover was a scholar who had mastered the Medical Manuscripts and was quite adept at Biomancy. She could figure out how to expand them! Probably.

Teacher visited often while she acclimated and he even managed to convince Ranthia to teach him the hand signs too. Clover knew that she didn’t want to, but she still did it, because she was the best!

Then, a little over three weeks after her transformation, Clover finally felt ready. Her human (still the best) gifted her some wax that she could use to plug her ears, which meant she didn’t have to decide if she wanted to Biomancy away her ear canals. Besides, Teacher had asked her to keep her human form unaltered (and unimproved, boo!) for the time being so she could serve as their human research specimen, and she didn’t want to disappoint him. Even if she was impatient to make some changes and spend some time as a bunny once again.

Yes, being a human had a lot of advantages, but she was still a rabbit. Both White Dove and Xaoc had said so!

Returning to the workshop was hard. The earplugs helped, but they didn’t entirely erase voices. They just made them less overpowering, which was good! It just wasn’t enough, not for whatever stupid instincts that White Dove had stirred into a frenzy. Every enthusiastic greeting had her lose focus on the moment while she tried to power through the urge to panic.

Fortunately, Teacher was (also) the best! He helped to encourage everyone to give her space and time. He had even given the others some sort of excuse for why she couldn’t speak, which meant that no one batted an eye while she communicated through notes, just like she always had.

She was afraid, but she refused to be overwhelmed. White Dove was wrong; she wasn’t meek prey anymore! She was a scholar, and she needed to prove it—to herself. Repetition and iteration were the path to any breakthrough. And they would be her path to denying the power of her fear.

They had to be.

Sylphene had grown up hearing and reading stories about the Dungeon. Ashiwynn’s songs about it had been some of her favorites too, back when she had been naïve enough to actually look up to the abhorrent woman. It was the crucible through which the legendary elves of old were forged. Many of the first elves that reached ascension owed a significant number of their levels to the Dungeon. And it was difficult to describe just how high her expectations had been for her own delve.

Then, on the first floor, she came face to face with a level 1 chipmunk. Malista just stepped on the creature and proceeded forward, leading them to the gateway to the second level. For their heroic feat, they received a completely mundane feather. It was too small to be of any practical use, even if it had been generated in decent condition.

The reality hardly lived up to her lofty expectations.

The early floors proceeded in the same fashion. Unlike the legends and myths that elves still spoke of, the Dungeon was not wholly dedicated to forging the powerful into the divine—the uppermost floors were intended for children. They slowed only to butcher any monster or beast that was suitable as an addition to their rations and otherwise continued onward, collecting utterly mundane trinkets of varying utility as they went.

The Dungeon itself was easy to understand. The gateways were silver while they were impassible, then they turned purple once the monster was dead or the puzzle was solved. And it was seldom all that difficult to figure out just what they needed to do to continue onward. Their prize—such as it was—was issued once they arrived at the next floor. Enticing people to venture ever deeper into the Dungeon’s depths. After all, they could only exit from a solved floor, which meant they would ultimately be forced to sacrifice a prize they had already earned.

The first ‘puzzle’ they encountered was a block puzzle that most elves learned to solve before they even unlocked. Her allies seemed to be stymied by the simplistic symbol-matching game, but Sylphene was able to solve it in less than a minute. On the next floor they were rewarded with a crystalline keg—remarkably similar to one that she had seen an elder elf sell while decluttering his home—shortly before an oversized [Winged Toad] attempted to spray them with Acid.

Too bad it was several hundred levels too low to damage any of them. Not that the spray ever reached them in the first place. Drastica had a javelin through the creature almost the very same moment Sylphene clocked it.

The first floor that truly slowed them down was one of the puzzles. Conceptually, it was hardly the most difficult floor, but it proved to be quite finicky to solve. There was a gargantuan statue of a dwarven warrior that advanced on them if no one stared into its eyes. And past the entrance, the only path forward required them to stand on broad stone tiles that would drop if no one was looking at the tile while someone was standing on it. They just had to carefully coordinate lines of sight and staring duties without getting distracted. It should have been simple.

After their sixth attempt, they opted to see what would happen if they just flew across, with Malista carrying Sylphene. Unsurprisingly, the Dungeon was less than impressed with their cleverness and the gateway remained silver, no matter what they tried. Attacking the statue had no effect—in fact, their spells seemed to vanish an instant before they touched the statue and their weapons were repelled from it.

Bialldra somehow convinced her sisters that overcoming the effect was the true test of the floor, and Sylphene was treated to nearly three days of watching her try to out-Spatial the Dungeon before the others lost patience and agreed to try something else.

In the end, the solution was to play the game exactly as the Dungeon intended and to bait the statue into stepping onto tiles that had already been removed. The moment it plummeted into the imperceivable abyss below the floor, the portal turned purple.

And their journey continued.

“You’re lucky my image had enough power to finish the stupid beast off!” Ranthia snapped at her sole remaining party member while they made their way into the Lodge.

Fine, if Neyvern believed he saw something more valuable than the beast they were hunting—great! More power to him. Ordinarily, she would have been thrilled to let him pursue it. Except she’d been in the middle of her fight with said beast, and he somehow failed to even warn her that he was veering off! She’d been counting on air support that never came.

Sure, she was intact. The dinosaur was unable to bite through her wyvern armor, and she’d managed to finish the fight herself. But Neyvern’s stubborn insistence that he hadn’t done anything wrong coupled with his lack of basic communication skills had her half-tempted to throttle the smug jackass.

Gods and goddesses, she missed Anthelleon. But her sister continued to find excuses to duck out of every single hunt that Ranthia invited her to, often at the last minute. Despite vocally yearning to go out almost every time Ranthia visited her. And Neyvern was grea… okay, Neyvern was fine, usually, but he was also just kind of generally insufferable. The man had his own mindset about how the world worked and seemed to be either unwilling or unable to admit to any wrongdoing!

“Ranthia! There you are!” Who wouldn’t look if their name was shouted like that?

Aegiomus was standing at the counter, smiling her way. The ever-present barkeep stood behind the counter, but for once Ranthia’s eyes wandered right past her to focus on the slight figure on the other side of her friend. Silver—or whatever name she ended up choosing!

“Oh my Xaoc, where have the two of you been?!” Ranthia rushed toward the pair, choosing to ignore the barkeep’s glare. Sometimes, shouting was warranted.

As far as she knew, no one had seen either of them since she last laid eyes on them outside of Ithil. They should have reached the City of Arts months before she did, yet it had been almost a full year since her return—she had been more than a bit worried!

“You should ask her about that.” Aegiomus’ words seemed harsh, but they were delivered in a… slightly playful tone.

“It’s so good to see you again, my savior!” ‘Silver’ rushed forward and started to spread her arms, before she suddenly stopped and shook her head vigorously. After a few other false starts, she finally settled on a bright smile while she tilted her head to the side.

“I’m glad to know that you’re safe. Both of you. But I believe you promised me a name.” Ranthia couldn’t help but grin—the unusual-looking woman’s energy was rather infectious.

“Right, ahem.” Instead of clearing her throat, she just made a similar noise before she stiffened her back and held an arm over her chest. “Presenting Verity! After being chastised by White Dove, she sought to remake herself and found her inspiration through the kind valor of one of her fellow women. And now she stands before her savior, a nascent hero!”

Wait, no! Ranthia bit her lip and retreated into her memories. Heroics weren’t something anyone should aspire to; they were just the anecdotes that people told about those who helped them! But Green’s words were far more eloquent than any Ranthia could possibly say, she just needed to find the right ones to share with the—

“And that would be why we’re so late. Miss hero heard about a big fire out west that was displacing some smaller communities of elves. I couldn’t talk her out of going, so I chose to stick with her.” Aegiomus spoke up first.

“Seriously, thank you, Ranthia. White Dove told me that I would be unable to find any place that I truly belonged, and she was right. The old me? …That person should never have existed. That person was arrogant and terrible—he even laughed at White Dove when she appeared, amused by the absurdity of a bird underwater. Truly, I’m so ashamed to have that existence in my past. There’s no place for total selfishness in the world.

“I needed a clean break, but I don’t think I could have found it had I never met you. You put yourself at risk, just to help a total stranger. Just because it was the right thing to do. And with White Dove as my witness, I will pay that forward. Silverfin had enough selfishness for a lifetime. I’ll balance that debt, I swear it. I shall become strong. And I’ll use that strength to help everyone that I can. Just like you.” She punctuated her words by drawing a pair of large gemstones from the sash at her waist—a sapphire and a topaz, both alight with imbued Skills—as she settled into a crude mockery of a ready stance with a gem held in each hand.

[Mage – Gemstones] level 395, [Mage – Gemstones] level 352. Verity’s levels hadn’t changed much since Ranthia last saw the woman—more than a year ago—but it was hard to miss the difference in how she presented herself. When they first met, she was skittish, prone to wavering, and her feminine presentation felt somewhat forced and stilted. In just a single year, she seemed to have found her stride. Her voice had improved remarkably, and her body language was far more confident.

It was good to see her more comfortable in who she wished to be, but she still looked bizarrely out of place—as evidenced by the gawking of every single Hunter that entered the Lodge. With skin the color of turquoise, fingers interconnected with thin membranes of skin, that odd tree branch-like horn, a single tusk, uniquely shaped ears, the flaccid tail at her back, and her black irises set in vivid crimson sclera, she stood out in a way that not even the most flamboyantly dressed elf could hope to match.

Ranthia met the younger woman’s shining eyes for a moment.

And made her decision.

“I… appreciate that, but I’m no hero. A certain mentor of mine would have some choice words for me if I ever called myself one. I just do the right thing where I can, when I can. Yeah, I took a risk when I helped you, but it was a calculated risk.” Okay, yes, that was something of a lie—she wasn’t truly comfortable with the risk, even at the time.

“But you still acted. Without expectation of any reward!” Verity’s conviction remained unwavering, though she finally relaxed her stance.

“I did. Because no one else could—or would. And because I believed I could get myself out of whatever trouble I got into. I agree, doing good where and when you can is a good thing, but Verity, there has to be a limit. A dead hero does nothing. That same mentor of mine once talked about finding where she could do the best good. I didn’t appreciate the difference at the time, but she intentionally avoided saying ‘most good’ for a reason. There’s a difference between the two. And the best good you can do? That’ll always be helping someone within reason and within your abilities. I try to keep that in mind, and I sincerely hope that you will too. Learn your limits and act within them. Because the best thing you can do is to be there for everyone else that follows.

“Look, I know this isn’t what you want to hear, but it’s important. Would you be willing to stick around for a while? We can talk about this more, and I can do what I can to help you be ready—no matter what you plan to do from here. I… might even know someone who can help you even more than I can.” Ranthia wasn’t a hero, nor was she terribly fond of the term in general. But there was no way that she was going to turn her back on someone she could help.

It was only there for an instant, but she could have sworn she saw a slight smile of approval on the barkeep’s face. Swiftly replaced with the woman’s usual resting expression of annoyance.

Clover had somewhat mixed feelings about the newest intruder into her life. Verity was a very sweet person. And, more personally relevant, she was going to make a fascinating Biomancy project as soon as Clover had the everything she needed to help her! The opportunity to try something unprecedented and prove the superiority of her scholarly pursuits to White Dove’s petty malevolence? Endless appeal!

But waking up before the sun was up for training? No! She never signed up for that! Unfair, invalid, cruel, and quite unusual! Well, fine, the lecture bits were kind of fun—Ranthia wasn’t exactly Pallos’ most gifted teacher, but that still appealed to Clover’s inner scholar. Her outer scholar too, for that matter. Per Ranthia’s own words, she wanted to arm them with “the accumulated wisdom of Adventurers, the knowledge of the Ranger Academy,” and some of her own experiences after over a century on Pallos.

This, somehow, included beating them both up. Because there was something just a bit wrong with her human.

“Come on, you can both do better than that! Verity, you’re too focused on getting a hit in—mind your footing! Clover, don’t overthink before you commit to a strike, you’re leaving yourself open!” The apparently evil woman called out.

The truly shameful thing was that they weren’t even facing her—Clover and the intruder that had convinced Ranthia to do this were each facing off against Ranthia’s images. Mere Skills, designed to mimic their own stats. And neither of them could land a single blow!

Ranthia herself? She was off to the side, going through an accelerated and more extreme form of the same stretches and exercises that they did every morning. She wasn’t even looking their way, though Clover knew that at least one of her [Divine Eyes in the Void] was dedicated to watching them.

Each and every morning—far too early—they ventured out beyond City of the Arts’ protection and Clover’s life became just a bit worse. Sure, if she was honest with herself, she’d admit that the barbaric ‘wisdom’ Ranthia offered was useful for those that became death and the training had helped her adapt to her body in ways that no amount of daily existence ever had. But Clover was generally too annoyed with the entire ordeal to appreciate the benefits!

She was a scholar, yet there she was, throwing punches like… someone that… punched… things. Sometimes metaphors were hard!

None of the weapons that she tried had really appealed to her, and like she explained to her human—prompting the creation of several new hand signs in the process—her Biomancy was all of the weapon she needed. She could armor herself in chitin and grow claws or barbs on demand! She was the weapon.

And thanks to Xaoc’s blessing, she could do so both quickly and for paltry amounts of mana! When He first bestowed {Blessing of the Bunny} upon her, it hadn’t sounded especially appealing—the System only acknowledging her as a rabbit, no matter what? Limiting! And kind of rude, even if she liked being a bunny. But in practice, the blessing basically just made everything easier on her! Even as a fully grown and slightly heavyset human, the System still considered her mass to be that of the bunny she ‘truly’ was.

It was kind of amazing. And as an added bonus, she kept the +1 to both her strength and speed every time she leveled, instead of the humans’ very boring +1 free stat!

But Ranthia had a—grumble—valid point. Even if Clover’s true weapon was Biomancy, she still needed to learn to fight without it. She was efficient, but even she could run out of mana. And Pallos was rife with unexpected problems that could ruin someone’s usual expectations.

Verity fought with her collection of gemstones, wielding two at a time to unleash elemental bursts from their stored Skills. It was a clever application of the Gemstones element, admittedly. Her gemstones gradually restored the mana they lost—assuming she didn’t wholly deplete it—and it gave her access to a dazzling array of elements. Not that they prevented her from getting knocked senseless by Ranthia’s image.

Of course, Clover’s efforts to master hand-to-hand combat were inarguably faring much worse.

Still, every time she found herself in the dirt, she picked herself back up, regretted every single decision she had ever made, and readied herself to try again. Because, like everything else, learning how to fight was a matter of repetition and iteration. And she would master it, just as she worked to truly master Biomancy.

Because White Dove was wrong. She refused to be prey. No matter what fears lurked in her heart because of her very mean instincts, she was death!

Sylphene allowed herself a moment of satisfaction before she passed through the gateway.

The Dungeon truly deserved its reputation, yet no matter what deceptions or cunning tricks it pulled, they continued to persist in their challenge. When one of them became injured, they found a safe place to rest and recover until the sisters’ Auras patched them up. When the Dungeon denied them a safe place to rest, they made their own in defiance of its ferocity.

They had overcome clever traps. They had endured twisted monsters unlike anything they knew from Pallos’ surface. A floor with an exit that could only be seen through the reflection of perfectly tranquil water from a specific spring found elsewhere on the floor had stymied them for months, but they had finally figured that one out too. And Sylphene herself had singlehandedly solved the latest floor—resolving and perfecting the wartime supply logistics for a struggling army of kobolds.

The confidence boost was nice, but the System’s recognition of her achievement was the true reason for her smile.

[*ting-a-ling* As expected of you, [A Cut Above] has reached level 768 and is ready for the next stage. This represents an increase of 14 levels.]

[*ting-a-ling* Your Class Skills [Gemstones Authority], [Amethyst Eyes of the Trader], [The Jewel of Negotiations], [Sapphire Stamina], [Gleaming Gems], [Mercantile Might], and [Flawless Raiment] have matched the level of their class. In addition, [Multifaceted Evaluation] has reached level 761 (+7).]

Admittedly, she had a bit of practice with such tasks, thanks to her time spent alongside her beloved’s people. Truly, the longer she lived, the less surprised she was by just how useful any novel experience could prove to be. That was one of the more significant reasons that she enjoyed travelling the world, even beyond the necessity of her former plans.

Her contended smile faded rapidly once she joined the Sisters of Strife on the subsequent floor.

“You limp-winged idiot, you’ve gotten us killed!” Drastica howled in fury as Mallista physically restrained the deranged woman.

“I swear, Murthic wouldn’t have done this to me! He and I go way back!” Nangyna was physically cowering before the combined fury of his sisters—even Mallista was glaring more than a little—but his mouth still desperately struggled to defend him.

“You were bragging—bragging—about how you took him for every last gemstone he had last time you saw him! And you went to the same boiled ass for our intel?!” Drastica tried to go for one of her javelins, forcing Mallista to drive her into the sandy ground.

The argument was well-deserved, at least in the eyes of the devils.

The Dungeon was one of Pallos’ precious Oddities and, as such, it was under no obligation to make sense or obey the rules of the world. Each group that entered it became isolated within their own ‘instance,’ meaning there was no chance of rescue if something went awry. And everything within was impossibly real. Ordinarily, they might have been able to wait for the world it conjured to break down, but the Dungeon was not so kind as to bow to mere immortality and inevitability.

There was no way out of a floor except to solve it. Which was something of a problem when they were trapped on a small, sandy island surrounded by a picturesque ocean filled with a variety of voracious sea monsters. Even from the entrance, Sylphene could see the silvery gateway shimmering in the distant depths.

To make matters interesting, the curse of the devils was well-known—they were unable to even function within water. They just became utterly helpless and inert.

Which explained why the Sisters of Strife were poised to tear one another apart.

The Dungeon defied the rules of Pallos, but it still had its own persistent set of rules. The most pertinent of which required the Dungeon to be somewhat predictable. The details and implementation varied with every instance, but each floor always had the exact same concept. And one floor in particular served as an absolute barrier for almost every devil—the one that required aquatic combat.

A floor that, per the guidebook Nangyna acquired, was supposed to be thirty floors away.

Sylphene tuned out their argument. Instead, she plucked their prize for the previous floor out of the sand—a pair of heavily enchanted rings—and bagged them before she removed her boots. There were sharp rocks hidden within the sand, but they provided only modest discomfort as she walked barefoot across the tiny island.

Her party chose to panic and embrace helplessness. But she had no use for the comfort of misery. She had a family waiting for her, and she refused to let anything prevent her from returning to them. While the devils despaired, she decided to risk herself to find a solution.

For Caeli. For Ranthia.

Sylphene nocked an arrow in her bow and sat down, dangling her bare feet in the surprisingly frigid waters. Her wait was just as brief as she expected. She warily watched the nearest and fastest monster that reacted as it surged upward, then sprang away from the water at the last possible moment, loosing her arrow in the process.

[Tunneling Arrows] ensured that it buried its way deep into the eel’s eye.

[*ting-a-ling* You have finished off an [Eel] (Water, level 791).]

Between the noise and the kill notification, Sylphene was quite unsurprised to find that every last one of her comrades were looking her way. The devils’ curse was unfortunate, but she was no devil.

And some problems were best confronted by an elf. They just happened to find two in a row.

“I assume the five of you can assist with killing the monsters I bait to the surface.” Sylphene offered her party a smile, hoping to ignite their confidence.

In truth, it was unlikely that every last monster would be foolhardy enough to come to them, but she could—and would—adapt to accomplish whatever was required of her. Ranthia was waiting for her and so long as she lived, she had every intention of keeping her promise. Never again would she deceive the woman that she had come to love.

Even if she had to fight a sea serpent armed only with a knife, just as her beloved would.