Potesara returned to the others and began explaining things to them. They’d just been quarreling, so there were some apprehensions, but thankfully, people were surprisingly willing to listen. They quickly arrived at the consensus that expeditious evacuation was best. Maybe the sting had left their tongues after nearly having died twice over.
The former Romans shuffled into lines and departed from what remained of their empire. Beneath the paved ground of the concourse was a three-meter-thick layer of bedrock, barely connected. I watched from behind as the evacuees descended from the now hill-shaped area. There were heaps of stones of all sizes piled on the riverbank, which clattered under their feet as they dropped to them.
Fortunately, no untimely quakes disturbed the operation. After everyone else was out of harm’s way, I carried Mizuho, who was too drained to walk on her own, and we left the plaza behind.
After crossing the rocky scree, we reached a spot where several old pillars stood on the floor, each made of alabaster marble. Judging by the numerous black soot stains, someone had built fires here in the past. The columns were over ten meters tall. They seemed to be doing a fine job holding up the ceiling—the floor of the stratum above us—so the location looked suitable as a refuge for the time being.
Determining the state of things around us was difficult because of how pervasive the dark was throughout this place. Only my flashlight and the cold light from the lanterns a few folk carried dispelled the inky black.
Other than that, I could see some lights dotting the areas along the fissure. The flames danced and swayed, evidencing either that people had set up camp or that secondary disasters were occurring.
The sound of the river flowing echoed endlessly. Despite being so close to a waterfall, we couldn’t hear the sound of the plummeting liquid slamming into the water’s surface below. That meant that the plunge basin was far down.
Flowing water would lower the temperature. It was even chillier here by the river than it had been up above.
It was quite a bit better for me since I was moving around, but Mizuho was seriously shivering, still wearing her wet clothes. Many other refugees were rubbing their upper arms, also feeling the cold.
I grabbed Potesara as he was walking about with a sunken look on his face and said, “Let’s start a fire. Does anyone have any kindling?”
“I’ll ask.”
As Potesara walked over toward the refugees, I squatted down next to Mizuho.
“You’ll be warm soon. You’ll be fine.”
“O-okay.”
“Is this everyone? I don’t know all the faces. Are we missing anyone?”
Mizuho took a look around at the refugees before answering. “I think all the people up there before are here. Though I don’t know about the ones who got caught in the dungeonstorms before that…”
“Unfortunately, I doubt we can go back and search for them now. We’ve fallen quite far.”
“Yes…” Mizuho nodded, looking depressed. Undoubtedly, there were many she was close to whom I didn’t know. I couldn’t find the right words to say to her.
Still, our own survival took priority over mourning and burying the dead. We’d been truly fortunate to live through the slide down, but surviving the ordeal was all we’d managed to do. Enduring what came after was going to be trying.
Wait. Come to think of it…
I turned back toward the river. The remnants of the Roman Empire stood out in the dark; they were motionless, like an upside-down, cracked pot. Chunks of rooms and passages were still stuck to the rim of that half of the plaza, their silhouettes appearing quite tough and sturdy.
“I’ll be right back,” I said.
“Huh? What are you going to do?” asked Mizuho.
“There might still be survivors. We only counted the ones who had come out to the concourse, but we didn’t look in other places.”
“I-it’s too dangerous!”
“I’ll come back the instant we get any more shaking,” I assured her before leaving the refuge.
Scaling the wreckage, I went around opening all the doors I could find.
Every single one of them led to a small chamber. Each was about two by two meters and appeared to be dug out of the stone walls, with modest tables and chairs sitting inside. Bunks had been carved into the facades—they were low enough to bump your head on the top of—with blankets and thin, flimsy mattresses lying on top. Some rooms had several bunks stacked on top of one another. They were cramped, like someone had tried to make living spaces in closets or bathrooms. At first, I couldn’t grasp what kind of places these were. Part of it was because the dungeonstorms had thrown the chambers into disarray. It took some time before I realized that these similar enclosures were actually living quarters.
I see…! In this world, these are standard houses!
In Million Dungeon, where there was no concept of anywhere outside the great labyrinth, real estate must have been an extremely precious commodity. That was why they ended up having to get as many people to live in these small spaces as possible—like in a submarine.
As it dawned on me, though, I groaned. This world certainly seemed a good bit harsher than I’d first thought. With submarines, you could surface and head to shore. The claustrophobic bunks, the constant closeness to colleagues—you just had to deal with it for a few dozen days. Yet here, that continued for your entire life.
Maybe for Mizuho and the others, that was just the way of things, but…
When I thought back, several other pieces clicked together. Mizuho hadn’t seemed very put off by me being right next to her so long. She hadn’t objected when I’d covered her with my body to protect her from the quake, nor when I’d picked her up or carried her on my back. There’d been no embarrassment or awkwardness—she didn’t seem to feel anything about it particularly. Despite her fascination with Visitors, her bubble of personal space seemed pretty small.
And it wasn’t just her—Potesara was the same. He’d come right up to me when speaking, into a range that was pretty friendly considering I was supposedly a stranger… Maybe that was just their traditional sense of distance. They were born and raised in tightly packed spaces, so perhaps it was simply how their lives worked.
Culture shock setting in, I started gathering up anything I found from the messy rooms that could come in handy. I spread out blankets and tossed everything from broken chairs to embroidery kits into them before tying it all together haphazardly and exiting. I gave special priority to anything that looked like it could be made into a tool, and any fabric as well. If there were no people who were late to escaping or unable to move, the next thing to do was haul out as much stuff that we could use to survive as possible.
As I hurried about my work, I found one door that was clearly unlike the rest.
It was a thick, wooden structure reinforced with rivets. It had a lid all the way on the bottom edge for putting things through.
When I tried to turn the doorknob, I found it locked.
I could do a little bit of lockpicking (they taught you everything in the Regiment—and just to be clear, it wasn’t for burgling, but for infiltrations on secret missions and to escape when captured by the enemy), but I didn’t have the tools here. Even if I did, it would probably take a while. I couldn’t afford to idle about forever. But just as I thought to give up, I noticed a large metal key hanging from a hook attached to the wall next to it.
What’s this now…?
First, I turned off the flashlight.
Then I took the key and tried putting it into the keyhole. It moved and turned easily.
There was a definite click, and I pushed open the door. Inside, it was pitch-black. Slowly, I stepped over the threshold.
And then someone hidden in the darkness sprang out at me.