A wise man—no, a wise woman? Either way, this person once said,
"Oh, how vain thy life was
So seeking to never had been
For once you've given till end?"
"Yet, thy face so glad?
Perhaps to hush the errs in flee,
A jest sewn to fool forefend.
Or was there no wrong
As to revel ache with a grin?"
"So, how pain thy life had
As memories kept in a grim.
Ah, look—an apple in thrive."
At first, I didn't understand that strange, vague poem when she introduced it to me. But now, I know… I think so.
Maybe I should say this with a sigh:
"If we had seen our insignificance in greater aspects of things, we might've avoided facing a crisis like this altogether.'
.....
On the Fourth Floor of the Exalted Imperial Dungeon, darkness reigns supreme in the area.
The mountainous size of the floor was awe-striking, with multiple castle-like structures and towers constantly shifting through the walls, floors, and the ceiling of the Fourth Floor.
Tap! Tap! Tap!
Hah! Hah! Ha!
Within a certain cobblestone edifice, in the hallways shrouded in darkness, metallic footsteps echoed out, accompanied by the grinding of the steel and the strain rhythm of heavy breaths.
The light from his burning torch spilled out in every direction, guiding him through the darkness of the hallways.
As he kept running, he eventually came upon a forked path. Without any patience to think, he went to the path situated to his right.
Barely 7 seconds in, he stopped and bent his knees, chest heaving strenuously for air with his head hanging low.
Through the heavy breaths, he slowly raised his head and extended his right arm—torch hand—towards the darkness. The glow of the torch revealed a weathered wall, its surfaces crawling with mosses and dotted with clusters of green fungi.
"Sh#t!"
He cursed under his breath and quickly retraced his steps, doubling back to try the other path. Upon returning, his gaze was pulled instinctively toward the hallway that he had emerged from.
"…"
As he stared at the void for about 2 seconds, he raised his eyelids slightly and shook his head. He tore his gaze away and sprinted ahead to the left corridor.
Not long after he departed to the left path, something stirred in the darkness. Though the darkness clung like a veil, an entity had emerged from the hallway, its appearance obstructed.
...
After running for about 30 seconds, he saw an old-fashioned door with an iron latch as its doorknob at the end of the hallway. Without hesitation, he grasped the latch, swung the door open, and slipped inside, closing the door behind him.
Extending the torch, light bathed the area with its crackling glow. The room seemed to be in the olden days, but time wasn't kind enough to preserve its fine state.
He was in a bedroom that consisted of a messy, dusted regal bed, a large steel cabinet that had been spotted with mottles, and an overturned chair and a rotting golden candle racket sat on top of a blackened desk. Scattered across the room were two weathered chests—two on the right and one on the left.
He scanned around the room hastily, trying to find a place to hide. With each heavy breath he released, he thought of three options: the cabinet, the bed, and the chests.
Going to the cabinet was an exact death trap as it was too obvious. The bed was equally risky, being the centerpiece of the room. These left only the chests, which seemed least likely to draw immediate suspicion.
However, their placement troubled him as each chest was deliberately set to seek attention. It was plausible that the entity might open one of the chests if time went on.
He wasn't concerned about his scent being revealed by the strange entity, which might possess keen senses or something that detects an entity's presence through subtle smell, as he had methods to limit those aspects.
As he frantically thought that, he searched for something that could make the chest less attention-seeking to increase his survivability.
As he went here and there, he grabbed a dusty, white blanket from the bed and two broken candles near the bed. He lit one of the candles and went to the two chests at the right.
He dropped the torch and stamped down the fire. To his surprise, the room seemed to glow on its own.
He looked above and saw a chandelier that had its candles ignited, radiating light from above.
Without giving much thought to it, he draped the blanket over one of the chests. Then he tilted the lit candle sidewards, letting the melted wax dripped on the overlaid chest.
Once the candle dripped an ample amount of melted wax, he immediately placed the other candle on it, securing it in place. Then, he repeats the same process for the other.
After placing the candle atop the burning wax, he took the extinguished torch with him, blew the candle out, and slowly opened the chest.
He went inside, curving his body to fit in, and closed the lid slowly as he pushed the excessed fabric of the blanket outward, letting it fall naturally over the chest to avoid suspicion.
After for about 5 seconds, a creak eerily emerged from the door. At that moment, fleshy, slimy footsteps were heard, sending shivers through his spine.
Creak…
Thud.
Thud.
Creak.
It seemed that it was trying to search for him, albeit he wasn't sure what it was doing. He can roughly imagine what would be the scenery: the entity opening the cabinet, squelching low to peer under the bed, stepping on the floor with its sickening, fleshy texture, and opening a chest.
As he vividly thought about that scenery in his head, the fleshy footsteps suddenly got louder and louder. Instinctively, his hair strands stood on end, fear rushing through his veins as he slowly gripped the hilt of his corroded yet usable sword, poised to attack.
…
Creak.
...
…
…
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Bang!
...
Luckily, the entity had opened the other chest beside his, mistaken it as a short table thanks to his adjustment. Only when he heard the slamming of the door did he slowly push the lid up, waringly peeking outside.
Thanks to the faint light of the chandelier and his natural sharp eyesight, he can see the room clearly but not as accurately as usual.
Confident that there wasn't any danger, he got out of the chest and left the blown-out torch behind, deliberately letting the candles that were attached to the surface of the chest break off and fall.
As he got out, he felt sore from head to toe, so he removed his armor slowly, placing each piece on the floor gently.
He turned his head from side to side and went to the desk with an upside-down chest and a corroded candle racket on it. He scrutinized the drawn drawers below and found nothing.
As he straightened his back, he noticed a mirror under the desk. He picked it up, wondering if it had magical properties.
As he raised the mirror towards his sight, he saw a familiar, yet unfamiliar face on the surface of the mirror.
He has messy, reddish brown hair that has a wiry look, a broad forehead, a thin young face, and dark brown eyes that seem to be dyed black.
He had a faint stubble growing around his protruding chin, his eyes weary, his lips looked dry that they could crack at any moment, and a scar present on his left cheek that seemed recent.
After grasping that the mirror doesn't have any magical properties, he placed the mirror on the desk. He searched the room with precision but again, there was nothing.
Feeling tired, he jumped onto the dusty bed that smelled putrid and smoky, as though a burned corpse had recently been sleeping there.
Placing his blade on his chest, he rolled around with his back on the bed, staring blankly at the musty ceiling above him.
With a deep sigh, he inquires to himself, "Why do I keep... moving, when everything feels hopeless? Why am I still trying to find a way out? Argh.... my head hurts."
He rubbed his temples as he furrowed his eyebrows. He opened his eyes again, his vision became blurry as he felt a searing pain in his eyes, streaming down droplets of regret on his cheeks as they slowly raced each other.
He gritted his teeth ferociously, so intense that he might crack a tooth. With a pained grunt, he whispered, "Dogsh#t! How? How!?". He paused momentarily for each word he uttered. "We were doing so well, the heck!? And just that, we were wiped out!? Sh#t!"
...
After a while, he cooled down and stared at the ceiling once again, his heart weighed with regret and despair from his decisions. He was like an empty husk, devoid of life and hope as he lay on the bed.
His eyelids seemed to become heavy as time gradually passed on. Then, he notices a problem, and it strikes him like a lightning bolt.
This room, though it remained untouched from the olden days, had a chandelier that had kindled flames on the candles' wick. Which was very odd because, besides his party, he hadn't met anyone who traveled through the Fourth Floor yet.
Only when he realized the underlying problem did he instinctively raise his tired eyelids and reached for his sword. As his fingers wrapped around the hilt, he paused, loosening his grip on the hilt, and narrowed his eyes.
Maybe I should let it happen. I'm tired. So tired of escaping the inevitable... Right now, I was supposed to share the same fate as them, but I persisted and kept going, searching for an exit...
Really, what was I even hoping for?
As he thought that, he collapsed on the bed and rubbed his lower eyelid before closing his closed his eyes, yawning as he covered it. "I should just… take a good night rest... Maybe, this might be my last nap... or not... Regardless, I'm still sleeping here…."
Though his fatigue kept interrupting him from sleeping, he eventually succumbed to his drowsiness and slept comfortably on the dusty bed.
…
"Goodnight, Märchen."