Chương 262: 239: Novel and a Half

The room beyond the black gates was nothing Nickels could have expected. He stepped through slowly, boots scraping against the stone, every sound sharper after the clash with the gargoyle. The air still carried the faint sting of smoke and hot metal. His gaze swept the tall walls, counting cracks, checking shadows and corners out of habit. The light shifted strangely across the stone, never quite settling enough to make the room feel welcoming. He stayed near the back, calm but alert, watching how the others moved.

Most were still carrying the fight in their shoulders, hands hovering near weapons as though another attack might come before they had properly caught their breath. They shared the same goal, but fatigue had worn the group thin, leaving little patience. Nickels kept his distance, not from pride but habit. Maxers rarely kept friends for long. Too many burned through every useful thing they found, including people, then moved on once there was nothing left to gain.

He had watched enough companions drift away when jobs went bad or the profit stopped being worth the risk. Eventually, keeping some space became easier than pretending otherwise. The tunnel beyond the gates pulsed with a steady orange glow, as if the stone itself were breathing. Every few seconds the light brightened, then faded again, making it difficult to tell whether it came from torches or something built into the walls. Nickels sniffed and caught singed dust beneath the metallic edge of heat.

Ahead, the others were testing the floor with anything they could spare. They had already lost two knives and a sword to traps on the last floor, along with one finger that had cost them a healing potion and ten minutes of swearing. Everyone moved carefully now, prodding ahead before committing their weight, as if one bad step might turn the tunnel against them. Nickels stayed back and unfolded the Guildhall's "official" guide, which was neither official nor especially helpful.

The author had clearly written it out of spite, burying useful advice beneath insults and complaints about nearly every room. One passage read, "If you've reached this point, congratulations. The evil tree woman hasn't killed you." Nickels had to respect the honesty. The guide was mean, but reliable, which already put it ahead of most people he worked with. He turned the page and kept reading while the others continued trying not to explode.

He ran a thumb over the margins where earlier adventurers had added their own comments, each one more desperate than the last. By now, the thing felt almost alive, a patchwork of warnings and grudging advice layered over whoever had written the original. More than a few ridiculous suggestions had saved Nickels from a close shave. One warned him to hide his hair from the little demons in the jungle. Another claimed the giant worm of nightmares could be bribed with meat, which had sounded like a joke until it worked.

Real advice lay buried beneath the insults and sarcastic praise. In its own miserable way, it was the best guide he had ever owned.

'Ahead is a model of the world under a lot of barriers. The map doesn't do anything for those looking for treasure or to get further. It's for the map nerds,' he read, half amused. Nickels stepped into the chamber after the others, boots tapping against glass-smooth stone. The air was thick with orange Mana, rich enough that he could feel it humming through his teeth. It shimmered across the barriers surrounding the model at the centre of the room, bending the view like heat above a road.

The map itself looked delicate and unreachable, a tiny world sealed beneath layers of light. Naturally, the Maxers took that as a challenge. One swung a hammer at the barrier and watched the head melt halfway through the strike. Another tried a knife, but the blade bent neatly around the light before drooping uselessly to the floor. Further back, someone started shouting about "precision engineering" moments before their toolkit began smoking like bad incense. The smell reminded Nickels of burning socks.

That failure only encouraged the group's more creative members. One poured an entire healing potion over the barrier. The light fizzed, gave a wet little burp, then pushed the empty bottle back across the floor without so much as a scratch. Someone else threw a rope at it 'just to see what happens.' The rope caught fire slowly enough for everyone to watch. Nickels folded his arms and stayed out of it.

Every failed attempt cost someone equipment, and nobody seemed willing to accept the guide had already given them the answer. The barrier brightened after each impact, then settled back into its steady glow while the Maxers searched their packs for something else to sacrifice. He could admire their stubbornness, if nothing else. The map offered them no treasure or shortcut, yet half the room seemed determined to prove something had to be hidden behind it. With nothing working, the group turned west together.

Maxers did not keep many rules, but the few they had were usually learned the expensive way. Staying together was one of them. It did nothing for the arguments, but it stopped most bad ideas from becoming lonely funerals. Nickels noticed two figures drifting toward the eastern hall anyway, putting far too much effort into looking casual. He let them go. They were probably hoping to pocket something valuable before the loot was divided, and Maxers willing to break formation for profit rarely needed encouragement.

He gave them poor odds. Twenty per cent if the corridor was trapped in some obvious way, less if it looked safe. The smell drifting from it carried burnt soup beneath something sour and chemical, which suggested someone had already been cooking. Nickels shuddered and followed the others into a hall that looked like it had been stolen from an old castle. Cracked pillars lined the walls, and the stonework had the heavy, gloomy look of a place built to make visitors feel unwelcome.

"What is this place's theme?" someone muttered. A fair question. Caves and goblins made sense. Those were beginner hazards. A jungle was stranger, but still within reason. A full castle, complete with gargoyles that looked one yawn away from moving, felt like a much larger jump. Nickels understood the confusion. Most of them had never bothered with the Guildhall's guide, dismissing it as childish because of the crayon maps and the smiling stick figure on the cover.

The fact that one of the happiest kids Nickels had ever met sold it probably hadn't helped its reputation. For five coppers, though, it told the truth. This Dungeon did have a theme, and it was mushrooms. They were everywhere. The caves had them, the jungle had them, and now the castle did too. Clusters pushed out from dark corners and worked their way between bricks. A few had forced floor tiles upward, while another patch had spread along the stained-glass windows without covering the light.

The orange glow passing through them only made the whole display look more deliberate. Nickels stopped to watch one cap slowly open, scattering faint golden dust that glittered before fading. Nearby, another mushroom vibrated with a low hum that travelled into the walls and returned from deeper in the castle. More answered it further ahead until the corridor carried a heavy, droning note that reminded him of music heard through thick theatre walls. The Dungeon was proud of its mushrooms; that much was obvious.

Why else would it keep finding new places to grow them? According to the guide, the next floor was all islands and open water. Nickels wondered how the Dungeon planned to fit mushrooms into that. Judging by everything so far, it probably already had an answer.

"The library is up next," one of the veterans announced, his voice carrying easily through the corridor.

"Rare tomes, high value. Some are worth a fortune to look at, let alone touch. Remember, infuse your Mana first. Confirm the glow before you pocket anything. I don't want another haul turning into Dungeon dust." He was not the official leader, but nobody objected. His battered equipment showed how long he had been doing this, and he had survived enough bad delves that the newer Maxers listened when he spoke. Some still ignored the advice.

They immediately started feeding Mana into chipped relics and damaged containers along the walls, hoping one would prove valuable. One adventurer pushed too much into a cracked pouch and yelped when it caught fire in his hands. The veterans kept walking. Everyone learned eventually. Nickels did not move yet. He watched the others instead, quietly counting who would still have Mana by the next fight. Caution was not glamorous, but it worked.

Other Dungeons had a habit of making lessons expensive, and he had already paid enough in blood and burned fingertips. He had no interest in learning what failure cost here. Adjusting his pack, he waited for the smell of singed leather to fade. There was no point loading yourself with treasure if you never made it back to the exit. The library door creaked open, releasing a wave of stale paper and old ink. Something faintly charred lingered underneath, like a candle that had burned out years ago.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Oil lamps guttered along the walls, their flames coughing through bad fuel and throwing more movement than light. Shadows shifted between the shelves, making every gap look deeper than it probably was.

"Ceiling clear, floor trap-free," one of the scouts whispered, her voice tight with habit. Nickels stayed back for another breath and let his eyes adjust. Rooms like this usually had a pattern, and rushing only made it harder to find. He remembered another library years ago, cold and damp in almost the same way. The fourth step had triggered a ceiling full of spears, and the noise afterwards had followed him into sleep for weeks. His gaze moved across the shelves.

Books leaned in crooked rows, their spines cracked, while loose pages fluttered without any wind to move them. Since the Dungeon had started announcing their stages, even harmless rooms had felt less harmless. The others began moving, slow and careful. Somewhere deeper between the shelves, a lamp hissed out. Spikes were not the only things Dungeons liked to repeat. The library itself was not as sombre as Nickels had expected.

Other Dungeon libraries had appeared before, usually formed from swallowed books, memories, and scraps of knowledge. The result was rarely a sensible copy of a real library. The Ruby of the Desert was one example, and the name still made experienced Maxers wince. Its books had not been bound in leather but in something tougher and unpleasantly flexible. Their covers shifted beneath the fingers.

The writing bled across the pages and reformed when disturbed, preserving the final thoughts of dead people rather than ordinary stories. Some books trapped a single death inside them, forcing the reader through the same final seconds every time another page turned. The room itself had been worse. Sand had fused into black glass across the walls and shelves, leaving edges sharp enough to split a hand before anyone even reached the books. Nickels remembered one story that still circulated in taverns.

An explorer had pulled at a book glowing on its own shelf. It resisted in his grip, shuddered once, then began leaking something cold enough to numb his fingers. Trying to wrestle with it beside glass shelving had gone about as well as expected. That was before anyone mentioned the glass guardians patrolling the aisles, or the shelves that sank into the floor when someone stood in the wrong place. He paused beside a shelf displaying what looked like neatly chopped firewood balanced on small brass stands.

Out of habit, he gave one a cautious poke with his knife. The log shuddered, hummed once, then began playing something resembling an apologetic flute struggling to remember a song. Nickels blinked and leaned closer to the little tag above it.

'Audio Logs'. He listened as the wooden melody wandered through another few notes. Someone sneezed farther down the aisle, and the log immediately changed key before continuing.

"Whoever built this place," Nickels muttered, "had too much time and a sense of humour." Strange as it was, the sound made the library easier to stand in. The lamps cast a softer light here, and nothing lunged from the shelves as they crossed the first aisle. Dust drifted through the glow as the Audio Log continued its awkward little tune. Nickels lowered his knife but kept it in hand. Peaceful was useful, but he had survived too many Dungeons to mistake it for safe.

He kept looking around, increasingly baffled by how well-kept everything seemed. The books were lined up like soldiers at inspection, spines polished, pages crisp, none of the usual Dungeon corruption creeping in with claws or teeth. The lamps even had the decency to flicker on cue, giving the place a cosy, mildly ominous charm. Then the subjects became harder to follow. Metal birds. Machines inside people's hearts. Peanuts crushed into butter. Nickels turned another page and frowned.

"No way," he muttered, as though the book might explain itself. Some ideas sounded less like scholarship and more like what happened when a Dungeon was left unsupervised for too long. He moved along the shelf, reading titles as he went.' Practical Levitation for Idiots'sat beside' Hobbies for the Afterlife'. Both showed signs of recent use, with bent corners and faint marks along the covers. Further down was ' So, You Wanna Be a Hag?

'followed by an entire shelf of self-improvement books.' Grow Your Own Warts'had a cracked spine, while' Fifty Shades of Green'looked almost new. Someone had wedged' Smile Less in Seven Days' between them. Nickels caught himself leaning closer and stepped back. Nothing magical was pulling at him. He was simply curious, which had caused enough trouble on its own.

"Does it think we're children?" someone complained, their voice carrying between the shelves. Pages fluttered somewhere nearby. The man hurled another book over his shoulder. It landed open on the floor, leaving the painted sword on its cover smiling up at the ceiling. Nickels could feel the room winding tighter around them. His pulse had the sharp, unpleasant kick of drinking tea far too fast on an empty stomach, and every small sound seemed louder than it had a moment before.

The newest Maxer stood out immediately. His boots were too clean and his grin had not yet learned caution. He held up a thin book titled ' Miss D Teaches Art'. The cover was painted in cheerful pinks and yellows that looked completely out of place underground. Inside were bright, uneven drawings and simple instructions that looked meant for children. The newcomer tore out one page, then another, apparently searching for something hidden between them. The ripping sound carried farther than it should have.

Every lamp in the room flickered once. Nickels stopped moving. A faint rustle answered from somewhere between the shelves. More followed until books began opening by themselves, pages turning faster with each passing second. The sound spread through the library while the smell of fresh ink sharpened enough to sting the back of Nickels' nose. His instincts moved before reason caught up.

"Retreat!" Nickels yelled, already running. His boots hammered across the uneven floor as the noise behind him swelled. Loose pages whipped through the air and struck his shoulders and face hard enough to sting. He kept his head down and did not waste time looking back. Nickels threw himself through the doorway and hit the floor hard enough to rattle his teeth. The others spilt out after him, stumbling over one another as they tried to clear the entrance.

He rolled onto one knee in time to see an orange film slide across the doorway, sealing the library behind something that looked like molten glass. The sound continued inside. Pages turned rapidly while overlapping voices rose between the shelves, too tangled for Nickels to make out individual words. He pressed both hands against the barrier. Idiots deserved a smack for tearing apart Dungeon property, but he still wanted to get them out before whatever punishment followed.

Mana snapped against his skin the moment he pushed harder. When he brought out a tool, the barrier caught it with a sharp pulse and jerked it sideways before the edge could bite. The magic reacted differently to every attempt, knocking his hands aside whenever he tried another angle. Inside, the remaining Maxers drew their weapons after realising the exit was gone. Behind them, the shelves began shifting across the floor, carving deep grooves into the stone as they arranged themselves around the trapped group.

Dust rolled outward from the movement while the lamps above them flared white. Books lifted in clusters and began circling with clear intent. Pages sharpened into edges. Covers slammed together hard enough to sound like shields meeting in battle. The collisions rolled through the corridor in heavy bursts until the air itself seemed to shake. Burning parchment filled Nickels' nose as the first larger shape pulled itself out of the storm, something massive built from bindings, paper, and anger.

The trapped Maxers now faced a towering creature made of books. Its body was a shifting mass of whipping pages and snapping covers, yet it moved with unsettling control, each step sending loose sheets skittering through the air.

"Move!" Nickels shouted, his voice cracking as the idiots inside finally understood. They scattered, stumbling over chairs and each other, but at least they moved. The creature brought one arm down, and a cascade of tomes smashed into the floor where they had been a moment earlier. There was never a good reason to bunch up when a monster appeared. Some idiot always claimed it helped spread the impact. Maybe it did, if you were the Dungeon. For everyone else, it only changed the shape of the damage.

One Maxer hacked through the creature's arm. The limb did not fall so much as come apart, the books separating before calmly pulling themselves back into place. Nickels caught one title as it rotated free, ' So, You Set Off a Trap', only for it to slide aside and be replaced by ' So, You Can't Learn'. The golem lifted a huge hand toward its attacker. In the centre of its palm sat a bright blue book titled ' Marine Life of the Deep'. The cover opened by itself, and saltwater poured onto the floor in a sudden rush.

The smell of seaweed reached the corridor a second later.

"Water! Is that all you've got? Ruining your own books?" the swordsman shouted, charging again with more confidence than sense. Nickels stayed at the barrier, forced to watch as the man rushed it. The golem twisted its wrist in response. A pale snout pushed through the fluttering pages of the open book. Teeth followed, then a broad head with fins pressed tight against its sides. The creature hung halfway out of the pages, snapping at anything within reach while seawater poured around it. The golem swung its arm.

The beast lunged and clamped its jaws around the Maxer's sword. Metal screeched between its teeth before the blade snapped cleanly in two. The Maxer stared at the remaining hilt for a second before finally backing away. The golem pulled its hand back, and the creature dissolved into the book. Its cover slammed shut before drifting away, another volume already sliding into the empty space in its palm.

"That's a new tale for the tavern," someone beside Nickels said, sounding rather less amused than they probably intended.

"A shark tale..." another answered. Nickels grimaced.

"Use the books! Read!" he shouted through the barrier. The noise inside actually faltered. Even the golem paused and tilted its massive head, as though waiting to see whether anyone would take the hint.

"I can't read," the now swordless Maxer admitted after a moment, giving a helpless shrug. Another muttered the same, while a third suddenly found the floor very interesting. Nickels closed his eyes and counted to ten, but that did nothing useful.

"Wonderful," he muttered.

"A monster made of books versus people who can't read." Inside, the golem opened another tome titled ' On the Care and Feeding of Idiots'.

"If nothing else, the Guild will pay for this information," Nickels said, earning a few reluctant nods from the others. His attention drifted toward the eastern corridor and the two Maxers who had split off earlier. Maybe they were having a better time, though he doubted it.

Jeb happily dunked another hummie into the pot head first, humming a little tune that might once have been a lullaby if anyone ignored the bubbling soup and the screaming.

"Plenty of soup for the guests!" he announced proudly. The pot answered with a thick burp, sending greasy steam curling toward the ceiling. Nearby, Gnashly sat on the lid of another cauldron, kicking her legs as she occasionally shoved against the metal beneath her. She treated each attempt like part of the game, shifting her weight whenever the lid started to rise.

"Please... please... s..." the man inside managed before Jeb dunked him again with cheerful efficiency.

"Please more soup!" Jeb corrected, beaming. His grin widened. He had managed to predi... predic... predu... Jeb frowned hard enough to wrinkle his whole forehead. Guess! Yes, he had guessed exactly what the hummie wanted. He was very considerate that way. --