Since the dive, it was apparent this dungeon was oppressive to the body and the mind. Arlene kept one eye on Rinea and Naciv. Both were at odds with one another, and now they were bickering more and more, affecting the whole group.

  Perhaps it was always like this. If Naciv was given the choice, he probably wouldn’t bring Rinea along had it not been for her experience. Experiences that went out of the window the moment they set foot in this dungeon.

  Rinea wasn’t walking straight. Her footwork was stumbling all over a flat surface, nearly tripping. She was still keeping on alert, scanning her surrounding as the rearguard, but something in her was still—her eyes looked dejected.

  Thanks to the horned girl opening up previously, Arlene gained a bit of understanding—that this adventurer was full of insecurity and hurtful pride. She went into this expecting to lead and guide, but found a completely new dungeon altogether. Couple that with Naciv repeatedly pressuring her, it brought her spirit down.

  Arlene sighed. What a tough situation she had on hand. She wouldn’t say anything to her. It was best to not take side and pity right now. Moving on to deal with the danger was higher on the priority. After all, when push came to shove, those two bickering fools were able to pick up the slack.

  As for Naciv, she couldn’t see him fully, to dissect his body language. Assuming Naciv was in check under Wattyson’s gaze, he was probably itching out—twitching emotionally like a powder keg waiting to explode, but couldn’t. For all his skills and strengths, he was still flinching at Wattyson’s words—something Arlene didn’t understand why, but didn’t care enough to ask. Not at this juncture.

  Wattyson was right behind Naciv, carrying Xylia on his back. The man didn’t utter a single word since the last command. Xylia in turn carried his staff in front of him, holding out like a tray. It was the only light source for the whole group.

  For the whole journey from Floor Thirty to Thirty-Five, no one uttered a word. A spell was cast onto them if they were so much to speak, problems occurred. That flood incident was sparked by Xylia’s innocence curiosity after all.

  Nothing, but the sound of their footsteps echoed through the passing floors. It was wrong. It felt wrong. How could a worn marble floors caused such a feat—a stomp echoing rusty bend sound, but not one said anything. Gone were the pristine wall too, now everything looked more uniformed, more organized and… metallic. There were plates darted across the whole hall like they were bolted together.

  Arlene harkened back to how this now felt like a workshop, yet in all her days diving dungeons as the Chosen One, not one did she encounter anything like this. It wasn’t some stones or fleshy bits—but manufactured steel making up the interior.

  This was the furthest floor Rinea ever reached, or so she claimed. She didn’t say anything. Still looking dejected from her earlier spats.

  A prime time to push again, for more info, for more understanding of what she was really about. Arlene didn’t. Letting her wallow in her injured pride for now. It would help her reflect to herself than being distracted by questioning—was what Arlene thought. Besides, she already said the whole dungeon changed since she last dived. What would be the point in asking the obvious?

  Were there monsters? Were there any traps? Did this floor house machinery like last time? The answers would always be ‘I don’t know’. An evasive guide was helpful to no one, but at least this one was honest to admit she didn’t know anything. For now, Arlene could only trust her own strength, her eyes and ears, and Wattyson.

  Descending to Floor Thirty-Six however, introduced a new element; Remains. The uneven floor and ceiling took shape like they were actual caves with steel surfaces. Lining all over were sparse remains of what used to be monsters and adventurers.

  Naciv crouched over, softly brushing his hand over the dirtied clothes. Rubbing in his hands all over like they were cleaning rags. He noticed something once Wattyson was close—the light from his staff illuminated enough to show a large claw mark across the clothes. Interestingly enough, if he lined individual pieces together, they were all connected. Whatever killed them did it in one cleave swoop.

  He felt a kick to his foot. “So?” Wattyson asked the knee crouching blankbody. “Done mopping the floor?”

  “No…” Naciv laid all the clothes before hopping aside, showcasing them to the group. “Whatever inside was able to cleave through them in one fatal swipe.”

  Getting up and looking all over, he shrugged. “I find it’s strange though…”

  “How so?” Rinea asked, but there weren’t any of that attitude from earlier. Though to Naciv, it wasn’t how she said, but her way of saying it. Why did she look unfazed by this?

  Arlene nudged her shoulder and pointed to the clothes. “They are all just clothes, something worn under armour. It is strange. Where are their armours?”

  Xylia hopped off Wattyson and strode around, waving the staff. None of the light revealed any armours nearby. Just same old environment.

  “Rinea,” Arlene turned to her, “There aren’t any adventurers foolish enough to go without their gears, right?”

  “There isn’t. The Guild, since this dungeon resurfaced, forbids anyone to enter without proper gear.” She squinted her eyes to the clothes—the decorations of sun with a holy than thou face. “Whoever they are… they weren’t local to Toulasi. Those are souvenir clothing. These are probably… tourist adventurers.” She scratched the back of her head. “Hard to report back on something like this regarding who died…” Her actually answering surprised Arlene.

  A heavy sigh from the horned girl. “Whatever we’re facing, it’s probably Alpha level danger if we use the adventurer’s guild’s rating.”

  Naciv shook his head, crossing his arms. “I don’t think so.” He gestured to the other remains; Monsters’ bones. “Probably higher than Alpha. Could be S rank monsters.”

  “Sigma rating? Never in this dungeon’s history did it ever spawn one.” Before Naciv could retort, she came to her own understanding. “I suppose it made sense. This dungeon is mutating. Or—“

  Arlene finished her thought. “An interloper. Something invaded and took to housing here.” She crouched down and swiped the clothes away; revealing a clean metal floor. “Since Floor Twenty till Thirty, there were claw marks. Now there isn’t.”

  She backed away as Naciv leaned over, brushing his hands against the cold ground frantically. “This… what?! Then,” he rushed over to the remains, “are these the culprits behind the claws?” He crawled and scanned the tiny fleshy bits still stuck onto bones not so human.

  “It could be because of this floor changes.” Rinea brought up, trying to find some rationale. “Never have I seen a dungeon transformed into something like a workshop that’s…” She trailed and unsheathed one of her sword—slashing at the wall.

  The mark remained there, much to Naciv’s snicker. Rinea walked and looked closer, placing her face inch away from the slash. Squinting her eyes and narrowing onto that hole, she gasped.

  “What is it?!” Arlene snapped onto Rinea’s shoulder. “What are you seeing?”

  Rinea didn’t respond, instead she strode away and gestured to Arlene; to see it for herself.

  It would’ve been nice if Rinea just told Arlene anyway, but she didn’t object—leaning to witness whatever Rinea saw in that deep mark.

  Her eyes reflected back to her vision in that mark. It was like she was staring at a mirror. Beneath in the corners, small threads were weaving, reconnecting with each other. The weaves moved in a circle, starting from outside her peripheral toward the centre.

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  It sped up the closer to the centre, going from a minute to make a loop inside the deep slash to mere seconds. Arlene backed away and the slash in front was no more—mended into wall like it had never been damaged before.

  “We can rightfully assume,” Rinea spoke twirling her fingers, “this dungeon is mutating at an increased rate. If the invader theory holds true…. It means they are doing something in influencing the core.”

  Arlene bit on her lip. “What people would… unconsciously shape a dungeon into a workshop?” Followed her questions were sounds of metal twisting and clanking against one another—slamming like they were merging. It rang in her ears like a bad musical chords in an acoustic hall.

  Looking to Rinea, Xylia and the others, they were unassuming—they didn’t move or recoil from the sound. They didn’t hear them at all. Her vision continued to black out in a rapid phase, much to her annoyance.

  “Arlene-leader?” Rinea asked worryingly, raising a hand to her. “Are you... okay? Why are you blinking so much? And,” She pointed to Arlene’s left hand, “Are you… frightened?”

  Frightened? Arlene couldn’t afford to be frightened, and if she was, this was something she would be scared of. Dealing with monsters and dreads were things she already grown numb to. Rubbing her own eyes seemed to stop the rapid blinks, and snapping her hand into a fist did too.

  “No. I’m… I’m okay.” She sighed, placing a palm on that stitched wall. “Probably a side effect to that slash.” Was she being targeted by this dungeon? She eyed everywhere to find any surveillance orbs. There weren’t any.

  “These monsters’ remains aren’t dungeon monsters.” Naciv concluded while standing back up. “They aren’t responsible to the claws mark.”

  Rinea wanted to retort—to chide in and mock Naciv. Of course they weren’t dungeon monsters. There were actual remains. However, she decided not to. Her own body was quivering with every passing seconds. Fears of what was happening controlled her more than to tease that rattling boy.

  “Then do you know what monsters they are? At least their monster rating?” she voiced, half-challenged, half-afraid.

  Naciv shook, clutching at his hip. “Can’t be certain. Judging from the bones, it’s bipedal and short. Goblins?”

  “So they are from outside? Invaders?” She glanced at those assembled bones. “No… Challengers?”

  “Challengers? That does seem likely, but why would they invade to challenge the supposed invader to begin with?” He stroked his chin, dropping his voice low. “I think they were lured here by it. How adventurers are lured by the promise of lucrative rewards in clearing a dungeon, goblins were the same. It’s a race really…”

  “There isn’t anything besides those bones.” He sighed, pointing to all of them. “I wish there was at least some equipment remaining. At least then we’d know for sure if this was an organized goblin raid or just stowaways.”

  “It’s good you guys are discussing,” Wattyson spoke with Xylia right behind him, “But we need to move. There is nothing beneficial here.”

  No one objected. The group continued on the uneven ground, descending further.

  Floor Thirty-Eight.

  There were more remains. Clothes torn and bones scattered—both external monsters and adventurers. Rinea, the most experienced diver in this dungeon, became more shocked at how many there were. The whole remains were all over the floor like they were just emptied out.

  Arlene nudged her with the pommel. “You okay? You’re sweating all over. Take a deep breath.”

  The horned girl jolted from the cold pommel brushing her forearm. Her eyes widened to Arlene then to seeing her chest raising erratically. Her throat hitched and caught her voice. She didn’t realize how jagged her breathing had become.

  She stammered like she forgot how to speak. “Y-Y-Yes. I’m fine.” Floor Forty was always her goal. She wanted to reach there and to find out what was happening—to report back to the guild. Passing Floor Thirty-Five, her deepest record, showed a reality she thought she was ready for. Was this it? Something she wanted to see nearing Floor Forty? How many people died for you reach there?

  “Huh?!”

  Arlene was taken back by the sudden shout. “You’re really not fine.”

  Rinea’s lip trembled. It wasn’t something Arlene snide at her? Who asked that question? Why did it sound so… hurtful?

  “Arlene-leader,” her arm clutched hers, “Can I just… hold onto you like this for a while?”

  “Alright, until we find a good spot for short rest. Got it?”

  “Yes… thanks.”

  Naciv witnessed all of those, yet a theory brewing in his head, ticking like an overworked gear. A Gaia’s fanatic hatred for modernity ran deep. This dungeon reeked of it through the machinery-like environment. If she was truly a werewolf, this would be it! Her sudden change of character and such vulnerability were just prelude to her warform. She was going to change into a full werewolf by the time they crossed Floor Forty.

  “Eyes front.”

  “Y-Yes sir.” He turned around as Wattyson ordered.

  With everyone occupied now with comfort or deduction, Xylia walking side by side with Wattyson, spoke to him.

  “Sage,” she began in a soft whisper, looking up enough to show her face under the big wizard hat, “will we be okay?”

  Wattyson felt her hand reaching for his cuff. He didn’t brush her off, and replied in the same tone. “What do you mean?”

  “I’m not dumb. I can clearly see those two constant bickering are… straining our group’s cohesion.”

  “That’s some big words.”

  “I’m not a kid.” She glanced to both Rinea at the back and Naciv to the front. “I knew those two more than they know each other. They weren’t like this.”

  “How were they then?”

  “Competent and proactive. Engaging and cooperative. Right now… they are none of those beside in combat… and even then I don’t think that’s going to last.” She tugged down his cuff. “I… I don’t think I can support them with my spells if they are in danger during a fight. I can only support so much unless they cooperate.”

  “You’re not concerned whether the monster is out of your league?”

  She shook her head slightly, but her hat wiggled more. “It doesn’t matter. We’ll get ourselves killed by the time we fight it at this point. Thanks Helios, there weren’t any traps at all in this dive.” She took a quick breath after. “We can always find out if the monster is indeed stronger before entering its usual domain.”

  “You have the Chosen One with you, yet you still worry about the monster also?”

  “Heh,” she smirked but only briefly, “If I am to be a soon-to-be great mage of all time, I can’t depend on someone like the Chosen One. I have to learn to better myself and cooperate with them on equal level.”

  “Right… the Great Mage of all time whom is currently dragging my staff against the floor.”

  “I’m building strength! Besides, it’s easier if something pop up, I can just drag to lift and throw it to you, Sage!”

  The staff lifted up to showcase her strength, she smiled from ear to ear. Which then her hand was brushed off, and a heavy press onto her forehead through the hat.

  “It’ll be fine.” Wattyson whispered reassuringly. “When push comes to shove, they will put aside their differences and work together. You have to do your best and support them with your magic.”

  Xylia didn’t respond. She gazed down to the bolted floor instead. Hiding her face from him, not showing the faint smile she had. She nodded. “Mm.”

  Floor Thirty-Nine.

  It wasn’t a wide hall anymore, but a giant hexagon room. From visual alone, it’d take nearly two hours to reach the exit to Floor Forty. If they were walking in a straight line.

  Pillars numerous with no pattern at all stretched out all over the room. Some were pristine, some were damaged and numerous fell and rested on the ground like fallen lumber. They were blend of metals and marbles, rusty and worn.

  Air blew downward and into those mess of pillars like they were regulated flow. Every few intervals, the wind became stronger and flowed through the mess, ringing out loudly like wind chimes.

  There was nowhere for the air flow. The ceiling was hexagonal obsidian closed. There were no intake or outtake vents. Despite the constant winds, the room felt like a sauna. It’s warm, but just enough to be tolerable. Enjoyable in a short timeframe, but prolonged exposure would just sap their stamina.

  Smell of rusty irons clashed against the moist rocks, carried out by the regulated winds. It was like this floor had no idea what it wanted to be.

  Arlene raised her palm high, chanting to cast heat resistance. Flares of orange erupted from her hand and enveloped each member.

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” Arlene holding out her sword by her side, “It’ll only help you last a bit longer in the heat. If we are to find an exit, we need to do it quick.”

  Xylia was waving her wands around, bashing it against the orange transparent barrier. Wattyson was already seated on one of the fallen pillar near the entrance.

  Rinea took a step forward. “Arlene-leader,” she said, her voice unwavering, “Let me go ahead alone.”

  “What?! This is something you’ve never encountered. I can’t guarantee your life.”

  The horned girl smirked. Her eyes flickered with life and her breathing stabilized like her confidence had returned. “I excel at scouting.” She unsheathed her two shortswords, and pointed to one of the metal pillar. “We already established I can slash those walls for wounds. I’ll scale up there and find an optimal path.”

  “And what happen if you get discovered by… let’s say a ranged monster? Numerous?”

  “It’s okay. I can scale down quicker than going up.” She shrugged. “Besides, the only other adventurer that can do recon is unwell right now.”

  Arlene looked behind her to Naciv, whom was sat against one of the pillar’s stump—panting and sweating. It was like he was dying. Looks like the heat got to him, yet for some reasons…. The sight of Naciv panting from the heat reminded her of Neciel.”

  Rinea continued again, speaking more in conviction. “I got this, don’t you worry Arlene-leader.”

  Arlene sighed, resting a hand on her own hip. “Alright, but if you encounter any danger; return immediately. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, Arlene-leader.”

  She walked, strode with confidence. Metal creaked with every stoms. To Arlene, she saw a figure trembling with each steps. The burdens on that horned girl’s shoulders to showcase something worthwhile and useful. Regain wounded pride? Afraid about being useless? Something else entirely?

  It didn’t matter. Rinea had volunteered. Arlene could only hope for the best.