Shammus has to admit it, but he’s been having fun, solving these puzzles. Using his mind instead of cutting through enemies left right and center. It’s easier on the body, especially with his low constitution.

  But it still got stale after a while. Just like the endless battle. Even against similar levelled foes it felt all the same. He couldn’t let boredom take him down however. There’s more than just his own life at stake here.

  Bariton was doing puzzles along with him. They only speak of the puzzles, until eventually, there’s a great dark hallway. Empty of all but stone. The light doesn’t go too far in, and based off what Bariton’s saying, he’s dealing with the same.

  The hallway continues moving on. There’s an odd situation. Usually these spaces have some sort of end, or at least some kind of light within the tower. Bariton can’t see a thing and he used a light spell.

  At least as far Shammus knows. Shammus of course knows oh so well about the pain the impersonating monsters can cause. And of course, the voice proves nothing. Neither does the speech patterns. Nor does the face.

  There’s no way to prove who someone is in this world, other than just never letting your eyes off of them, or blind trust or distrust. It’s a terrible fate, these monsters cause. And of course, Shammus no longer trusts the voice of Bariton.

  Bariton continues yapping, talking endlessly. But the dark hallway keeps having him march on. It’s pointless to continue talking, but it’s helpful to know it isn’t just him that is inable to see anything.

  “Are you really not going to respond?” Bariton’s voice cuts through sounding slightly, angry. A pause in the footsteps against stone leaves the other sound of footsteps stopping.

  “Well,” Bariton begins speaking, the sound of metal scraping against other metal and the sound of it shooting through the air, “I guess that’s a response.”

  The small chink sound it makes as it goes into the ground, being heard right where Shammus’s foot had been a moment ago before he slid it back. The darkness makes it impossible to see where it came from, but the sounds make it clear where ‘Bariton’ must be.

  The steady sound of breathing, that isn’t Shammus’s own, just 3-4 meters ahead.

  “Sorry, but I don’t trust you’re,” Bariton’s voice cuts through the dark there, mixed in with some steps moving towards Shammus’s left, “you. Y’know?”

  Shammus finds himself laughing a little, “Of course. I mean, sure,” Shammus begins speaking through laughs, knowing the truth “we could ask each other something only the other would know…”

  “But,” Bariton continues Shammus’s thought, “we don’t know each other that well.”

  “However we do know each other’s fighting style.” Shammus suggests a spar, knowing full well it’s a lie. A lie to trap someone who doesn’t know Bariton.

  “No,” Bariton declines, but the sound of metal scraping against other metal makes it clear he’s drawing his weapon, “we don’t. But I’m still down for a battle.”

  The sound of feet shifting around, as Shammus repeats the same action. He smiles a little, only noticing when he has to rely on only the senses of touch, smell, and hearing. The sense of taste is usually not too useful in battle, but sight certainly is.

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  The darkness envelops the two further, as Shammus closes his open eyes. He can’t see a damned thing anyways, so may as well remove the ability to see for even if the lights came back on.

  He heard someone circling around him, the footsteps slowly going from the right side to the left. A quick swift slash of the blade Shammus was wielding whooshing through the air, connecting with nothing. The sound of footsteps, a landing, further back.

  Another sound of wind, now approaching Shammus leads him to duck and dive to the right, deeper into the shadow. The fire in his heart burned stronger with this fight. Previous battles never needed him to put real effort into it.

  But this fight, he has to try really hard to prevent his own damage. And since it’s sparring, he’s at least sure neither of the two are trying to kill the other. At least he’s ensuring to keep the damage he deals to be… Not fatal. A helpful tool the system provides them.

  And he’s certain the compatriot on the other side of this darkness is doing the same. Especially after the long hours spent solving 15 minute puzzles that required the other person. The clang of a dagger hitting Shammus’s blade, followed by a sigh implies the end of the fight.

  “Damn. Didn’t even hit you once.”

  “And damn, I didn’t hit you either.”

  The two share a laugh over their shared incompetence, the sound ringing out in the darkness. A nice sound beyond the sound of metal against metal.

  “Wait, where did my daggers even land?” Bariton realizes he did just throw away his only weapon in the little sparring match the two had done, receiving another laugh from Shammus.

  Ah, how long has it been since he laughed like this?

  A simple question rings out in his head, seeming like a pierce through a veil he had been unaware of. A veil created by his lies about just how okay he was with the crushing weight of loneliness.

  But this question is easily buried, as he laughs with Bariton as they continue walking down the dark corridor. It’s clear neither of them are just fakes made by a beast who saw them together for a moment or two.

  There’s no point in questioning such a dark situation, since it would either mean that the other is dead, or those monsters are in this area. And thankfully it appears that’s not the case. The two walk with rigor, the time flowing being meaningless.

  The hallway continues on, the footsteps filling the hallway with sound, as it stays perfectly still, an impossibility of reality. Something staying perfectly still, even when the two moving through it are moving.

  The age of the structure they move through is pointless. It’s nothing but scrap in their minds, but they both know the end is approaching. The hallway is growing colder as they move further within. The footsteps march on, unbroken yet interrupted by small jokes, or just light talk of the two getting to learn of one another.

  Bariton was more interesting than Shammus had first cracked him up to be. Apparently he wasn’t even going to be here, due to his lack of a job in recent years before the tower. Before the tower, he was a washed bard, with no new tales to write ballads about.

  Bariton supposedly had nothing to his name, let alone a home, when he had gone to the Old Sage’s calling. Bariton was boring, living in the streets, trying to find a group to find stories, to find footing in this world.

  And now Bariton was sent on a suicide mission. Shammus had no choice but to sympathize with his own story. One more fantastical sure, he had to reach over Level 1000 somehow, but it wasn’t any less disappointing. Especially near the ending.

  Bariton had continued on, about how every previous adventuring party had sent him back on his way, or all perished due to their distrust of one another. Those silly mimics constantly brew distrust. And the worst part is those things don’t give up their act until they’re dead, the blood spilled.

  The blood stained the clay red, the same color of rusted iron. The same color as the blade used to strike down a potential old friend, entirely because they couldn’t remember someone’s birthdate, or a small detail.

  And Bariton had experienced that pain more than once apparently. The jokes stop during the stories of each others lives. The vast difference between their backgrounds, yet the similarity in who they are now.

  It’s almost impossible to miss, at least for Shammus, but it matters not. The hallway continues on, and the veil is once again covering the past color of his soul.