The wall of worn marble and pristine path remained the same the further the group went. Floor Thirteen now they arrived, but nothing had happened; No monsters, no traps, no nothing.

  Arlene remained steadfast leading the group with Xylia. Her eyes darted as she rubbed the hilt of her longsword. She had expected Floor One to Floor Ten to be quiet from the adventurers’ farming. Past that and it was still the same eerie quiet. Silence unnerved her as she took hallowed steps. Though it was only half of it.

  The latter half was the other adventurers accompanying them. She could forgive Xylia and Naciv. The former was waving Wattyson’s staff around like it was a spear, and Naciv was constantly rattling every time Wattyson glanced over his shoulder. Wattyson himself was walking right behind Xylia, eyes on his staff.

  It was Rinea. If she had the most experience with this dungeon, surely she would relay any important intel to them. This was the right time after all, nothing had happened thus far.

  The person in question was bobbing her head as her eyes locked onto Naciv. The constant musing smiles every time Naciv jolted. Arlene couldn’t tell if she was interested in Naciv or was satisfying her own… whatever it was. Arlene couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

  Alas, mulling over this wouldn’t be productive. “Rinea,” she didn’t turn, “Is this normal? Thirteenth Floor and nothing still?”

  While waiting for a reply, part of her mind thought that maybe Rinea had taken them the safest route with no monsters or traps. It was plausible as she was the guide in their group.

  A minute passed and no words back. “Rinea?” She turned to find Rinea still locked onto Naciv. “Rinea.” She called much louder this time.

  Rinea jumped. It got her attention. “Y-Yes? Miss Chosen One?”

  “Call me Arlene. Did you hear a word I said?”

  “I...,” she shook her head and barely held eye contact, “Sorry, Arlene-leader. What were you saying?” Her tone wasn’t apologetic, but one of absentmindedly, like she was dragged out of a dream.

  Such carelessness grated Arlene. She expected discipline on any floors, even quiet and harmless like one before. Even more so if it was a dungeon with high body counts like this one.

  She rushed and grabbed Rinea by her forearm. “Listen here. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but stay focused! You have the most experience in this dungeon.”

  Her tone was sharp and commanding. “I understand if you’re not telling us unless asked, but not focusing is something I can’t abide by. Just because me and the rest are staying alert doesn’t mean you can be carefree. Do you understand me?”

  The rest of the group stopped at the confrontation. Naciv leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. His hands clawed into his forearms’ sleeves. His calm expression barely hid a mix of irritation and amusement from Arlene’s words. It was like one of his worries had been relieved from Rinea’s getting scolded.

  Xylia was waving the staff around, narrowly missing the bored Wattyson who didn’t even turn to Arlene’s voice. Her lip was quivering, and her legs were shaking. “G-Guys!” She stammered aloud. “N-No fighting!” There weren’t any, but she just blurted out whatever came first to her thought.

  Rinea’s eyes widened to Arlene’s clutched hand, then to her. She froze with her mouth left hanging. “I-I understand. My apology, Arlene-leader.” A deep breath loudly escaped. “It won’t happen again.”

  Arlene wasn’t sure if she really did take her words in. Those eyes of her were pale and monotone, detached from here. She gritted her teeth and sighed, letting go of her forearm. Her words were the only thing she could trust on to progress their objective—confronting whatever it was in Floor Forty-ish.

  “Alright.” She turned to continue, and tapped Xylia’s shoulder to keep the group moving. “I’ll ask again Rinea. We are at floor thirteen and there’s nothing going on. I don’t think adventurers would clear anything above floor ten so thoroughly like this. Is this the same as when you’ve gone in previously?”

  Much to the surprise of Arlene, she found Rinea looking and glancing around the wide corridors like it was her first time. Why wasn’t she answering such a simple question in a heartbeat—especially if she dived in many times before and survived? She didn’t pull out a map or anything. She was just… looking around while walking like it was a showcase.

  She kept one eye on Rinea. Was she still in shock from being dragged off her dreamlike state? What was she playing at? Rinea could’ve asked to let her think, but nothing—just silence.

  Couldn’t wait any longer, she pivoted to the short wizard beside her. “Xylia, do you find it strange?”

  Xylia turned immediately. “Eh? Uhhh… Hmmm…,” She glanced and still saw Rinea gawking at the scenery, “Yeah! It’s strange!”

  “Uh huh… when was the last time you dive into this dungeon?”

  “I-what? Dungeon?” Arlene could see the gears turning in that sparkly violet eyes of her. “Oh yah! Very strange! Like a curse hath befell upon ancient yet pristine civilization. I last went seven moons ago!”

  “So seven days, how was it last time?”

  “It was so-so. I went in with Rinea and the other to Floor Thirty-Two, then we had to return.”

  “Why is that?”

  “Two of our group came down with a poison trap’s toxin. We ran out of antidotes to keep up with it.” She clicked her tongue. “Honestly! It could’ve been avoided easily, but those two lover birds were too busy flirting then got pricked by a trap the size of a needle! Can you believe it?! Rather than diving into this arcane mystery, they just went about like their… their honeymoon!”

  “Hmmm. Quite careless of them.”

  “Exactly!!”

  Arlene glanced to Rinea. She was still looking around. “Was Rinea with you last time, Xylia?”

  Xylia nodded. “She was actually upset we had to return back. I think she muttered about how close it was to their objective—to stop right at Floor Forty.”

  An eyebrow raised. “Why Forty? Isn’t that too dangerous being near the incident range?”

  Xylia raised a pointy hand to her. “Yes! It is precisely that! We will venture near it then study for any evidences that entry point.” She crossed her arms and pouted. “We can’t wait forever for those stupid pretentious School of Magic’s mages.”

  Arlene scoffed as she lowered Xylia’s hand. “Aren’t you one of their mages?”

  A series of clicked tongue followed from the short mage in a rapid fire like a wave crashing at a water mill. She raised a finger, wagging it firmly. “Just because I, the soon-to-be great mage of this generation, graduated from there doesn’t mean I’m one of them! I am an adventurer mage! I will surpass their old ways and become even more proficient than their teaching!”

  A small pause as Xylia quickly lowered her hand to hold the staff fully. “The Sage of this staff had surpassed even the headmaster of School of Magic, yet I never hear about him. It means I can learn how to effectively use my mana better on my own than being taught by those old farts!”

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  Arlene was taken aback by her fervor. She looked to Wattyson who at this point was walking with his eyes fully shut. His chest was raising and lowering steadily. This man was sleepwalking. How was it possible her companion was only either seen with fear or admiration? Was it the ashen grey hair?

  “Anyway!” She tried to reel the conversation back. “When you came last time, was the dungeon this quiet?”

  “Hmmm… I guess not?” Xylia raised her chin. “Out of four times I had gone in, signs of foul creatures began to pop out around this floors.” She then shrugged. “Honestly, I just glad to take this silence and keeping one eye out rather than having to fight all the time. I don’t want to wave my wands around as I command majestic spells until much, much later against stronger monsters!”

  Her words struck Arlene; perhaps this silence was a respite. However, the implication from her words meant much deeper would be constant grind to dive. An attrition war against this dungeon. If this was the case, it could contribute to why adventurers were dying to Floor Forty and above.

  Arlene wrestled with the idea. That would mean the monsters were killing drained adventurers. She sighed and shook her head. That idea lacked credibility. It didn’t explain the delirious state of escaped adventurers and how the monsters there feasted people. It had to be an interloper.

  “Rinea, are you done gawking around?”

  No answer.

  “Ow!” Rinea yelped out from a thud to her back.

  It was Naciv hitting her on the back. “Answer. Is it normal for this floor to be completely empty?”

  Her face twitched as her eyebrows curled and twisted. Frowning at being hit by the person she was musing over in a brief moment before turning to Arlene with a calm face.

  “It is normal, Arlene-leader. I’ve dived with the others two days ago. We won’t be seeing anything till around Floor Twenty.”

  Arlene nodded, but didn’t answer. She whispered to Xylia instead. “Is she always like this?”

  Xylia walked on her toes and whispered to her even quieter. “I don’t know. She was very proactive back then like a nagging stepmother at a dinner party”

  “Do you think—“

  “No, I don’t think she has anything for Naciv. They only met briefly yesterday.”

  “Keep an eye out.” She paced back to walk just ahead of Rinea—a subtle power play to keep her in check. If she needed something, she could snap it out of Rinea easily.

  Right now, the party’s composition was Xylia at the front and followed by Arlene, Rinea, Naciv and Wattyson. Arlene worried about her aloof companion being hit by a stray monster or trap, but she had to put more faith in him. Rinea was the larger problem she needed to keep tab on. Naciv, being shown to be against Rinea, was a needed person to be behind her.

  Floor 19—the last floors of same old worn marbles and pristine walkway before any activities, at least according to Rinea. Everyone was moving in a steady pace, but Arlene noticed th]e two female adventurers were becoming more stiff. Their movements weren’t in rhythm. They were taking small steps rather than large strides. Naciv and Wattyson were fine.

  She considered resting, but decided not to. This floor like the previous was eerily silent. She couldn’t risk being paranoid while sitting duck. It would be better to rest in Floor Twenty and above where she could predict incoming monsters.

  The two didn’t seem to say anything. They had dived into this dungeon more than the three of them, their sluggish movements were likely from a lack of action, and the same boring monotone surrounding.

  They breezed through the floor, but this time it took much longer. The path stretched out more and more. Rinea’s map of the dungeon showed it to be the shortest path, but the walk lasted nearly an hour—contrast to the usual ten minutes previously.

  The spiral stairs leading down to Floor Twenty weren’t pristine. Scratches etched all over continuously leading down in stripes like it was a pattern choice. The wall this time was reversed into blinding white marble like it had just been smoothed over.

  Arlene traced along the wall. The feeling of warmth flooded her touch. She pressed her forehead gently, and it much colder—like it was cooling her head.

  “Watty!” She raced to him and bashed him into the wall. “So? What are you feeling?”

  “That recently I’ve been pushed around like a ragdoll.”

  “No! The wall!”

  Wattyson stretched his arms out like he was trying to embrace it. “Felt lukewarm.”

  Arlene looked to the other three and pointed to the wall, expecting them to do the same.

  Naciv jerked back, shivering as though the wall was ice cold. Rinea felt like it was outside. Xylia constantly tapped her hand on it, screaming out that it was freezing and then scorching with every touch.

  Arlene crossed her arms. “Rinea. Did this happen before?” She began walking and took Rinea by the arm gently this time. “Come on, let’s discuss while we descend.”

  Their hallowed steps echoed through the spiral stairways. Rinea could feel Arlene’s heat even through armour.

  “This…,” she muttered quietly, “This hadn’t happened before. Not when I last dived two days ago.”

  Arlene squinted her eyes. “Right… then do you know why this is happening?” She glanced to all the others except Wattyson. “Feel free to chime in if you have anything.”

  While waiting, Arlene kept an eye on Rinea, studying her expression. The constant twitching in her eyebrows. The curled horns at her ears were shifting slightly. The way her eyes were lighting up before becoming pale dark again.

  “Anything?” She pressed again.

  “Arlene of the Chosen One! Perhaps,” Xylia hopped and spun, almost falling off few flights of stairs were it not for Wattyson’s quick dash to grab her. “T-Thank you, Sage.”

  “Hmmm.”

  She steadied herself, and Wattyson quietly drifted back to the rear. “Anyway! Perhaps the dungeoncore itself was feeding off the mana of deceased adventurers. This mayhaps be a mutation at play.”

  “You may be right.” They turned to Naciv. “I heard tales of dungeoncore undergo mutation from all sort of things—mana being one. This wall here is perhaps…,” he paused as his conclusion faltered midway, stabbing him, “…reflect how you are right now?”

  He pointed to Xylia. “She, for example, is a very ambitious person. So it wouldn’t be too far-fetched to say the constant extreme temperatures was the fiery drives she has?”

  Arlene considered the thought. If that was the case, why would the dungeon reflect back to what she was feeling like some kind of seers? An oddity to its evolution perhaps? That this mutation was still in its infancy before being twisted to attack adventurers psychologically.

  Whatever the case, the wall wasn’t a threat to them. However, it reinforced the idea that they were on borrowed time. Any longer and who knew what might be waiting deeper?

  The dungeoncore was evolving, mutating. Arlene dismissed the idea of resting entirely. Better they rushed to the monster in Floor Forty-ish now than wait to see what other quirks lay in store.

  “That is a possibility…” Rinea finally spoke, affirming what Naciv said. “I always felt like I want to be something else rather than… well, an adventurer. Had I…” She paused and shook her head. “Never mind. Those are just wishful thinking.”

  She tugged Arlene’s hand and pulled it off gently. “Arlene-leader. I don’t know what’s going on entirely. Last time, everything was the same like any old dungeons.”

  Pointing to the stairways below their steps to illustrate her point. “Judging by how the spiral stairway is still here. I’m confident the layout is still the same even if everything else changes.”

  Arlene pressed as she eyed the stripes. “These scratches are new then?”

  “They…,” Rinea trailed off awkwardly as she dragged her foot across a line of scratch, “…They are, yes. I don’t know what monsters it belongs to.”

  Every time she spoke, her credibility as the most experienced of this dungeon grew weaker and weaker. Arlene lingered onto her far longer than usual, irritated at how evasive Rinea had been. Was this all a ploy? Some kind of sick jokes?

  There were two other possibilities. Either she didn’t know because this dungeon was mutating, or being the most experienced meant by how sloppy the horned girl’s work had been for whoever handling this dungeon. After all, the overly detailed maps cluttered with unnecessary markings were made by her.

  As Arlene pressed Rinea further, Naciv took this chance to slow down, to confide with Wattyson.

  “S-Sir?” He leaned just enough for a whisper. Wattyson had his eyes shut as he dragged himself along with the lukewarm wall. He wasn’t sure if Wattyson was awake or not.

  “Speak.” A voice returned in whisper, but sharper. Naciv saw his eyes opened just slightly—enough to gaze at those scratches—those claw marks.

  “These are one of the canis sapiens, aren’t they?” His voice wavered. He didn’t want to believe it, but the sign was right there in front of them. Claws etched deep into hard marble surfaces. Judging from how uneven and rough those holes were, it was done with immense strength.

  “They are.” Wattyson replied coldly. That hunter—predator’s smile didn’t return, much to Naciv’s relief though. However, a supernatural mention like that usually got him to smile unconsciously like a beast hidden within. Why it didn’t do so this time confused Naciv.

  “I guess your clan is right. This dungeon housed one of Gaia’s fanatic.” If anything, Wattyson seemed down just from saying it.

  “A-are you,” Naciv dared ask, “not happy at this? We just locked down what the culprit is.”

  “No. Why would I?”

  His own mind wanted to reply ‘because you’re Anathema’, but his instinct screamed at him in horror to not challenge him. The old generation blood coursing through Naciv gnawed internally at his own flesh. Sharp pains punched through all over his body like it was reacting to a trauma.

  “I… It’s nothing.” Naciv quickly paced himself forward, positioning behind Rinea again.

  Exiting floor nineteen now. A small splash echoed through the corridor, then followed by many. They were in a slow rhythm, and far away by how faint they were.

  Xylia placed herself just in front of the adventurers and Arlene. She shoved Wattyson’s staff to Arlene—to give back to Wattyson. She brought out her own bundle of wands and pointed down the wide hall. The rest except Wattyson didn’t unsheathe their weapons, but their hands hovered in ready.

  “Show yourself, creatures of the dungeon!”