“The Footsteps of Death”, in fact Anemone, was impatient.
She was on the seventh floor of the Dungeon, which is often called ‘Closet’.
The floor consists of long aisles and countless doors on either side, which lead to countless more doors. In front of her there is a cul-de-sac passage, six doors to her left and six to her right. When totaled, it’s twelve doors.
“Shit… Doors again?”
Every door leads to a respective closet, which could have valuable items, or monsters and traps.
She had even come across a living space, with a useable restroom, closet, and a kitchen- reminiscent of the rumor ‘A survivor of the Era of Superior Magicians is retired, living on the seventh floor’. She wondered if it was true, after all.
“Door, door, door… It’s making me sick!”
Until one opens the door, no one knows what’s behind it. She didn’t have time to play around with monsters and traps.
Furthermore, the act of opening doors over and over could drive you mad, but in the myriad sum of all of the doors only one contained a small room that let you back back up, out of the Dungeon Floor 7.
“No time to be lost… I only have half a day left!”
Time was Anemone’s greatest enemy.
Somewhere in this floor, she had dropped her knapsack without noticing, during the continuous fighting. All of her mobile food was packed in it.
A day had passed, and Anemone had not eaten anything. Ordinary people could go for a few days without eating if they had water, but Anemone’s constitution would not allow it. Her body was already heavy.
An injury she gained on her left arm a while ago wasn’t healing satisfactorily either.
A large sword was swung –and a door crumbled, Anemone checking room after room in this manner. It was a crude way of doing it, but she did not want to waste the time she’d take, opening the doors.
Anemone considers progressing in the Dungeon easy.
But, then she made the blunder of losing her food. Her goal to reach the fifteenth floor had been completely demolished, the requirements unfulfilled now, with a risk of starvation killing her pitifully on only the seventh floor.
Anemone also didn’t know if or when she’d find a fellow Seeker, or if there was one watching her even now. She therefore couldn’t take her helmet off and pat down her sweat, even.
Anemone was set on hiding her identity from the residents of Labyrinth City. Once it was known, it would likely be impossible to step into the Dungeon; even her pleas to leave the city would be denied on the spot.
She had to fulfill her long-cherished wish. She was so dedicated that she would throw away her life rather than fail due to losing her resolve.
“…”
Anemone remembered a youth she had met recently.
An apology alone for the attempts wouldn’t be enough to express her gratitude.
“But all I left behind at the time was a threat…” Anemone thought, her actions guided by her helplessness as for what to do. She had erred on the side of her normal reactions.
“Can’t, can’t. Have to concentrate.”
Thinking about such things would not serve Anemone well, her concentration power was running headfirst into the ground.
She just had to find the stairs, getting to the surface after that would be simple. Then, she could eat.
On the same day, Fujiwara was leaving “The Good Old Magician’s Shop”, in the morning. He wanted to replenish various household goods.
When he finished his wholesale purchasing at the Market, he went to his favorite Tavern, of course. It’s a pub from dusk to dawn, but at noon it’s also secretly a Coffee Shop. He wanted to buy coffee and snacks, which were his favorite tie-over for the day.
“Welcome, mister Thrift Shop.”
The Goodwife, wearing her eye patch, was cleaning an ale mug and welcomed him as he passed through the door.
Fujiwara tilted his head, confused. Usually, there would be trinity of jovial old women, not the Goodwife.
“My Niece is pregnant. The Granny party is in full force, and I have to tend the counter.”
Normally, since she worked the whole night through, she’d be sleeping at this hour. It was clear she was somewhat snappy, likely due to lack of rest.
Fujiwara snorted. He smelled one startlingly good smell, wafting through the store.
He wondered what it was. It was fragrant, likely a baked snack of some kind.
“Since I had nothing to do, I was trying a new biscuit.”
The Goodwife brought out a plate upon which were several small biscuits, all with a pleasing color, somewhat like a fox’s fur.
“Mu. This is delicious.”
Fujiwara wasn’t just flattering her.
Perhaps it wasn’t sweet enough to be a child’s snack, but for Fujiwara is was good. The tea he received was also ideal for the snacks.
Fujiwara had heard that this hardy lady was originally an elite Seeker.
But this dish, this proved she was just as competent at cuisine. Perhaps it was even better than the Granny Force’s biscuits.
“Now, for business. Do you want your usual fare?”
“I have Sesame and Black Tea flavored as well as the plain.”
“Thank you very much.”
She promptly began wrapping the order up in paper, before remembering something.
“By the way, Thrift Shop, I have a favor to ask.”
“I want for you to sell me a charm.”
“Yes, if that’s how you say it. I want a ‘Good Luck’ charm, or such.
Fujiwara asked, reaching for the remaining complimentary biscuit.
This was because these past several years, Labyrinth City was met with a depression never before seen in intensity. The Dungeon had been extremely dangerous ever since the Expedition Event. Unfortunately, even if Seeker’s livelihood wasn’t directly tied to businesses, they all were related to them in some way, even if sales had just decreased.
If one were to say the economy relied on the Dungeon, they wouldn’t be exaggerating.
“No, the business isn’t the problem.
“My Niece is looking to have a difficult delivery. Because of the store, I can’t go check how things go, but I’d like to send a charm, at least.”
Fujiwara’s assumption seemed to be wrong.
Somehow, there is a feeling that he should help as much as possible.
“I know just the thing to help. However, I think we are out of stock now, unfortunately.
“I’m begging.”
Fujiwara finished the transaction and tendered the paper bag.
The Goodwife explained,
“Thank you very much, but… is there anything to cut them with?”
“That person is in Western Maze City.”
“Eh, that person says so, but who knows.”
Teacher had left to buy things months ago. What or how much of what, Fujiwara did not know, but in this recession it seemed like there would be no money to make.
On the long run home, Fujiwara took the bag in both hands, looking back at that important Tavern, which would make biscuits and fill bags with them to the extent you couldn’t eat them.
◆
There’s the entrance to the Dungeon right nearby, and some people would pass out from exhaustion or other ills before making it to the clinics, so they’d sometimes need a bit of help.
Of course, it was his teacher’s ‘welcoming’ policy that stated “Actively strive to win new customers- to sell to” that gave him no choice either way.
The fallen down Seeker looked like a deformed soldier.
“…”
A fledgling who solo’d their way to the tenth floor, one who had won two nicknames by force. Even with the public eye on them, they refused to speak, let alone reveal their age, gender, race, name, or so forth.
Of course, that is because this is the second time he’d have to treat her ills.
But, he couldn’t just leave her alone, potentially badly injured. Giving up, he sighed and approached her.
“…What? Is that you?”
“That pretext is rude, even at the very beginning of your speaking.”
What it was, however, was surprise at a familiar face.
“…Hmph.”
“I don’t repeat the same mistake twice.”
“I see.”
Because she had her face covered he couldn’t tell, but he was certain she was making a haughty face.
Even so, when sprawled out in this position, force and dignity are a no.
Despite thinking as much, this was Fujiwara’s first proper discussion with her. Last time she was badly ill and they hadn’t said a decent word.
“I have not so far. Didn’t you say you’d kill me if I talked?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Between master, this wonderful individual, and the Goodwife, all of them had very high pride in themselves, Fujiwara mused.
Miss “Footsteps of Death” was still in no condition to get up.
He looked about. It couldn’t be numbness or petrification, because she had made it back and was able to speak. He saw that her left gauntlet was a little warped and she was injured, but that seemed unrelated to moving.
Gu.
Fujiwara was asking what was wrong with her but a magnificent sound interrupted him, one that perhaps even shook their surroundings. He could guess the circumstances.
“…”
He wanted to just leave her there, but he marveled at her dedication to the full body armor, which was shaking little by little. Although she was clearly embarrassed that “The Footsteps of Death” was felled by hunger, her expression was hidden by that beetle helmet, so Fujiwara could not see it.
Gu.
“…Eat…Food…”
Fujiwara also hoped that his kindness wouldn’t get him killed. (tl: It will.)