The next morning, they delved deeper into the dungeon. Together, they estimated that they were about two-thirds of the way through, and thanks to Shannon’s magic—specifically, a search spell that used sound waves—they had a vague sense of the framework of the dungeon ahead of them. They had both grown accustomed to working around the traps, and gradually, their pace increased. Shannon didn’t even really need to help in battle; as a former soldier, Rowe handled their enemies swiftly.
They crossed a muddy river, then stopped to dry their clothes before forging on. It was then that Shannon spotted an unmistakable trap ahead.
This trap was different from the ones that had come before it, though the smell of death that hung in the air was the same. There wasn’t a single corpse to be seen, but the floor was dyed black, save for one section that had a light brown hue. It wasn’t that the lighter part was dirty; on the contrary, the rest of the area was steeped in blood. Many, many people had died there. It occurred to Shannon that the reason they hadn’t seen many bodies for a while might have had less to do with the number of people who died there and more to do with corpses having been hidden in places off the main passage.
The trap in front of them was the same sort of pressure-sensitive trap that they had encountered in the beginning of the dungeon, and it seemed that stepping on any bit of the floor for the next ten meters would set it off. In other words, it didn’t matter how cautious they were; if they advanced at all, they would activate it.
Shannon’s whole body shivered as she took in the deathly aura. This trap was an elaborate murder machine, and maybe—just maybe—it was what she had been looking for.
Rowe walked behind her. Given the limitations of his old body, they had been taking turns leading the way. If Shannon went now, it was possible she’d get caught in the trap.
“I won’t know unless I try. I’m off!” Shannon said to herself. Just as she was about to step forward, however, she noticed a sphere glowing at the far end of the passage. It glittered dimly with a blue light. “Hey, that’s...”
It was an item that housed magical power. Shannon’s intuition as a mage told her that it was far, far more dangerous than any trap.
“Hey, Mr. Rowe, there’s— Huh? Is something wrong?”
Rowe, who should have been following from behind, had come up right beside her. But he didn’t so much as glance at her; instead, he reached his hand out and shouted, “Leo! Why are you running?! Wait, it’s me, Rowe! It’s your dad!”
“Leo’s your son’s name,” Shannon said, confused. “But there’s no one here but us.” Indeed, their immediate surroundings were as devoid of other living people as the rest of the dungeon.
Rowe didn’t respond to Shannon, though. Her words didn’t even seem to reach him.
Shannon looked at Rowe’s eyes. His pupils were enlarged and unfocused—hollow, even. “This is... This is mental magic! Then that blue sphere—”
“Leo!” Rowe yelled again. “What—over there? Okay, got you. Honestly, I don’t care how old you are; you’re still just a kid.”
His eyes remained hollow, but his face radiated joy. Shannon surmised that he was seeing an apparition of his son. “Mr. Rowe,” she urged, “you’ve got to get a hold of yourself!”
Immediately, Rowe took his blade and slashed Shannon’s arm. She gasped.
“Let’s go, Leo!” he called. “We’ll live together again; don’t worry!” He pivoted toward the minefield and ran toward it at full speed.
“Not there!” Shannon yelled. She reached out her hand—and in the same moment, her vision warped.
The next thing she knew, her surroundings had been transformed. A familiar face appeared before her. No, that wasn’t quite right—it was too indistinct to be called a face. The girl’s hairstyle and clothing were the same as they had been back when Shannon last saw her, but she couldn’t see her features; she looked to Shannon like an inky black silhouette.
Shannon hesitated. Her heart ached with nostalgia. “It’s you.”
“Don’t go, Shannon,” the girl said. “Let’s just go home. Master will forgive you.”
“Guess we’re skipping lessons again, even in an illusion,” Shannon said at last. She knew that this was all fabricated, but she couldn’t say as much with one hundred percent certainty—she harbored the slightest doubt. The mental magic was powerful; the illusion’s voice, aura, smell—everything—were just as they had once been, and in her gut, Shannon wanted to believe that the illusory girl was real.
“You’re too serious, Shannon,” the illusion said with a giggle. Even her mannerisms were the same. She looked at Shannon again and offered her hand. “Hey, Shannon, at this rate, we should just leave everything behind us. Just like back when—”
A bright flash interrupted her, obscuring the illusion with white light. Shannon, who hadn’t been swayed, lowered her wand. The holy light she’d cast had obliterated the illusion and returned her to reality.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured. Vestiges from her distant past would never again be real. The only surviving relic of that time was Shannon herself.
With the illusion gone, Shannon could see the dimly lit passage and the trap again. Unfortunately, while she had returned to her senses quickly, Rowe hadn’t—he was running ahead.
“Mr. Rowe!” she called, panicked, but she was probably already too late. Rowe was going to activate the trap and get himself killed. Maybe she could use magic to destroy their surroundings and—
Rowe came to an abrupt halt.
Shannon stared at him. “Huh?”
Quietly, Rowe said, “Leo’s already dead. Just who do you think I am? Did you think you could use magic to mislead the living with the dead? Did you think that would work on me?” He slapped his cheeks with both hands. “I’m White-Haired Rowe! I’m not the kind of adventurer who would fall here!”