There were those out there who had no qualms about hurting or even killing others for monetary gain, and the infamous criminal organization known as Sahasra Hands was a prime example. Whispers about its members had been circulating among the guild as they resided within the Gandakia Dungeon. Known for robbery and murder, they were said to be directly responsible for the disappearances of a tenth of the people who went missing in the dungeon. They were also known to be extremely cautious, which explained why no sightings of them had been reported to this day. An investigation could likely uncover their traces, but no one cared enough to track down the organization as long as it didn’t affect them. Now, Linte was a potential victim herself.
“Birds of a feather, or something like that...” she muttered.
She remembered how she, too, had once been part of a similar organization. Killing was her specialty, and she’d personally disposed of those who’d stood in the way of her organization’s founders.
She sensed someone entering the safe point. Nine times out of ten, it was going to be a Diver. She hoped it was a Diver with integrity, but as one went into the medium-depth-level floors and deeper, they were more likely to encounter ill-intentioned Divers.
Linte wore her monster-hide hood over her head to cover her face. She didn’t want to ruin her favorite pelt with blood, but she had no choice. She curled up in her pelt and braced herself.
“Hup,” said a brown-haired young boy with a large backpack like a porter’s as he entered the safe point. He looked over at Linte and froze, his eyes round with surprise. After a brief pause, he gave her a little bow and said, “Oh, hello.”
“Ah. Uh, hello,” she replied almost involuntarily. He was so far off from what she’d been expecting that she couldn’t help it.
“Excuse me,” the boy said and made his way into a corner.
He was remarkably reserved and unassuming, in stark contrast to the ruffians who made up the majority of dungeon-goers; he was like a child who’d come to picnic.
Linte couldn’t help but wonder how he was even able to get here. She glanced at the entrance to see if the boy had come with someone taking care of him, but there was no other soul in sight. He was definitely working solo.
The boy took a cushion out of his bag and sat on it, then brought out a cup, some water, and food as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Seeing his casual demeanor, she suddenly remembered the rumors about the Lone Porter she’d been hearing recently. Supposedly, the Lone Porter looked just like this boy. He was said to be innocent-looking, to wear unusual clothing, and to carry a big backpack. He was also said to dislike violence, to avoid dangerous places, and to often appear at safe points in low- and medium-depth-level floors. And when he encountered injured Divers—“Would you like me to cast healing magic on you?”—he was said to say such words in a strangely apologetic tone.
§
Today, I was in a somewhat-difficult floor in the Gandakia Dungeon. I was on route one, somewhere between the Grotto and the City. I’d been debating if I should blast some Moss Faces with my trusty purple magic, take a picture of the giant statue there with my camera, and then edit the crap out of it to make some fantastic fake photos.
Route one was the beginner route everyone loved, but it suddenly spiked in difficulty after a certain point. The Smoky Verdigris City at depth level 22 was especially guilty of this. The wraiths and ghostly monsters there were really hard to deal with unless one had means of defeating incorporeal enemies. It looked like a ghost town full of abandoned buildings, and it was actually a ghost town full of ghosts. The City was teeming with Haunters, Slenders, and Shadow Stalkers that tried to stop me by threatening my mental peace and giving me a heart attack, which were very unmonsterlike attack methods. I could only pray I wouldn’t die from shock.
I was currently heading beyond the City for the Machine Temple at depth level 38. The interior of the Machine Temple was very techy, and the floor looked like a futuristic mechanical labyrinth.
I’d been there just once before when Lion-Maru had taken me to the First Door right next to the entrance. I remembered that roaming around there had been a lot of mechy things, like those killer-automaton-looking machines you’d find in science fiction movies and anime. They’d blared annoyingly loud sirens and fired off machine guns when they’d detected intruders, which had completely ruined my image of a fantasy world. Lion-Maru? He’d dodged the bullets by reaction alone as if they’d been nothing. He literally was a manga or anime character. I had no idea who’d made that place, but the technology there and what I’d seen on my adventure with Lion-Maru a while back made me think Do-Melta had had a very prosperous civilization in the distant past.
The Machine Temple was said to be so difficult that even major teams that specialized in diving gave up on exploring it. I’d heard that they couldn’t even open the aforementioned First Door.
That place was practically begging me to conquer it. The thought of being the first one to do so was pretty appealing, and I wanted to try, though I wasn’t too keen on the fame that would come with it. Anyway, the reason I hadn’t challenged that place yet was obviously my level. Depth levels were a measure of the difficulty in clearing an area, and it wasn’t necessarily tied directly to the levels of the monsters there. I wanted to make sure I was high-level enough to solo dive there safely.
Now, I’d entered a safe point just before the Smoky Verdigris City, I began to plan a path for me to get through the floor easily. On top of that, I decided to have some cup noodles and orange juice, then plaster myself with ofuda talismans I’d bought at a local shrine back home. This was when I noticed a mass of fur in the safe point that looked like a set of onesie pajamas.
“Hmm?” I said, second-guessing what I was seeing.
Curled up in front of me was something clad in what looked like the pelt of some sort of wolf-bear hybrid monster. A pair of ears and a nose were on the pelt with round holes punctured in where the eyeballs would’ve been. It was cutely stylized like a set of onesie pajamas, but it was definitely a bizarre outfit. I remember a hunter in a famous anime movie wearing something like this, so I felt a strange sense of familiarity.
But now that I thought about it, I realized I actually knew people who dressed like this: Adorners. Along with the Long-Ears, they were one of Do-Melta’s ultimate races. They were blessed by the goddess Ruvi the Red, and I’d heard they came from a region called Heznar. They were known for wearing the skins and bones of the monsters they’d defeated, usually in the form of waist wraps or outerwear. I assumed the person(?) in front of me was also an Adorner. There was a giant pair of scissors nearby, so I assumed they were a Ripper, one of this world’s unusual combat classes. They seemed to be wary of me and were inconspicuously adjusting their position to keep me in sight.
I took out a cushion from my Dimension Bag and sat my butt down on it when I noticed something.
Smells like blood.
There was that unmistakable metallic smell in the air, and I noticed there were bloodstains all around the Adorner. They were apparently injured.
So, I asked if they wanted me to heal them.
“Healing magic? Are you a mage?” asked the Adorner.
“Yeah, I guess I am,” I said.
“And you’re offering to heal me.”
“That’s right. I still have plenty of mana, so I thought I’d ask in case you didn’t have any honey potions.”
I offered healing in the most cheerful tone I could muster, but I must’ve sounded shady, and now they sounded like they were on guard. Their muffled voice made it hard for me to tell their gender.
“So, what are you gonna ask for in return?” asked the Adorner.
“Nothing, really,” I said.
They said nothing, clearly suspicious of me. It was only natural; some people randomly healed others, like in online games, but not all of them did so without ulterior motives. There were those who demanded money or loot in exchange, and unfortunately, there were scumbags out there who wanted something else when dealing with women all by themselves. Judging by this person’s constant wariness and hint of hostility, they seemed to suspect I was one of those bad guys.
“Sounds fishy,” they said nervously. “I don’t trust people who go around healing people for no reason.”
“Ah, right. Some people are like that,” I said.
“Why would you heal strangers?”
“I dunno, out of kindness?” I said. “There are people who can’t ignore those who are in need, right? They think, ‘I don’t want anything in return! I just want them to be happy!’”
“I can’t understand that at all. Why would they do something like that when it doesn’t benefit them? It’s insane.”
“You think so? People feel good when others show gratitude to or compliment them. I think it’s just an extension of that. If you heal others as a gesture of kindness, they tend to appreciate it. The feel-good chemicals that the brain releases from receiving the gratitude they get in return can be addicting. In the end, they’re really doing it for themselves; they just don’t know it or don’t wanna admit it.”