CHAPTER 2: The Black Fiends

01

“It’s chilly in the cellar, Mariela. Why not take a break?” called out Sieg as he made his way toward Mariela, who was busy at work.

Huddled next to a small magical tool for heating, she immersed herself in her task. Her hands had grown numb from the cold, and her fingers were red and puffy with frostbite.

Mariela rubbed her hands together in front of the fireplace to warm them.

Before passing her a cup of cocoa, Sieg handed her a low-grade potion he’d brought from underground. When she massaged it into her fingers, the frostbite was cured, and she applied the remaining potion to her face and hair.

“Down to up, down to up. Lift it up.”

This was a common sight in the imperial capital where potions could be obtained for cheap.

Potions healed injuries. Technically, rashes were a minor dermal injury, meaning they could be cured with a low-grade potion. Households that didn’t struggle to make ends meet doled out low-grade potions to children sustaining the smallest of wounds. It was common for the mothers to use the remaining bits on their faces for beauty.

Obviously, the commoners didn’t live lives of luxury where they could use them on the regular. There were cosmetics for daily use that circulated on the market. Low-grade potions were what could be called “intensive repair.”

“Here, Sieg. You too. That scar on your face hasn’t really faded,” Mariela commented, dribbling some of the low-grade potion into Sieg’s hands.

“It’d be weird if this scar just disappeared all of a sudden. Better for it to remain,” Sieg responded, spreading the potion over the scratches from Nierenberg’s training. Afterward, he handed Mariela the cup of cocoa.

With the low-grade potion applied to it, Mariela’s face had become smooth as a peach. She brought the steaming cup close.

Ahhh. Her face looked like a freshly peeled egg. Mariela was making good use today of the uses she’d been born with.

Before a blazing fireplace, the living room was furnished with one couch across from a stool and a table crowded with some knickknacks. These had been purchased at the Furniture Market, which opened soon after Sieg’s group had departed for the Ahriman Springs. Every piece of furniture had been discovered by Mariela, approved in design by Sherry, appraised in quality by Caroline, and haggled over by Amber. In fact, they were such pros at seeking out the best items in the store that the four of them could have been offered employment in the furniture industry.

The pieces all came secondhand from noble families, but they were minimalistic and charming, suiting the living room of Sunlight’s Canopy. Though they were created by different artisans and removed from their original sets, their colors and charm brought it all together. They did a great job. The wooden box had been retired from its position as a desk substitute and now served as an actual box in the cellar.

“I spent a little too much at the Furniture Market. Sieg, I’m almost out of the funds that you gave me to use while you were gone.”

Mariela had even used the money meant for food on furniture. While Sieg wasn’t there, she apparently survived by chewing through orc meat from the magical refrigeration tool, medicinal herbs from her garden, and “samples” of sweets delivered by Merle.

“I mean, it’s your money. It’s fine if you can make it work.”

“I guess. Oh, but look at this! It’s as fluffy as the one at Lady Carol’s house!” Mariela laughed happily as she bounced up and down on the couch.

Sieg didn’t know that this was the first time Mariela had hopped on it in glee.

Boing-a! Boing! Boing.

Aw, man…

Without someone to scold her, Sunlight’s Canopy had just felt too big for one person.

Sieg’s group had been away at the Ahriman Springs. The customers had left, and Nierenberg had gone home.

“Hey, Slaaaken? Can you hear me?” Mariela would say, clutching a box of sweets as she booked it to her atelier, trying to converse with her Slime-in-a-Vial, Slaken. She had munched on sweets, making potions in between bites.

Sure, she’d squandered a portion of her allowance at the Furniture Market, but it wasn’t as though she had been broke. Her meals might have been lonely—or maybe just bothersome. Either way, Mariela hadn’t wanted to talk about that kind of thing. But her time together with Sieg was flooded with warmth.

“Your cocoa is the best, Sieg. Top me off with another marshmallow, please,” she whined.

And he always responded. “…Am I spoiling her…?” he murmured. “Just for today, all right?” He plopped another one into her cup.

Ever since he had returned, she savored these days.

“And what did you make today?” Sieg asked with a shy smile.

Mariela was blowing on the new marshmallow, making it move around. “Hmm. Just some specialized insecticide potions.”

That was what she had just been working on in the cellar. Instead of hauling everything to her atelier, she’d done everything in the cellar to make a big batch of potions. Plus, the materials were heavy and generated too much by-product for the slime tank garbage can. It just made sense to do it there.

02

Let’s go back to when Sieg’s group was training hard at the Ahriman Springs.

Even though he wasn’t training Sieg anymore, Nierenberg still arrived early in the morning. During those minutes before the store opened, he asked Mariela questions about potions and checked her physical condition.

One of those questions: “Are there any potions that can kill insects?”

Up until this moment, he had only asked about their effects on people.

“Insects…?” Mariela repeated, cocking her head as she thought. “There are potions that repel them and ones that kill them. But their compositions are different depending on the type of insect. There are about five different kinds of your average insecticide potion. But the ones that are extra effective are the mid-grade potions. I don’t know how well they’d work on monsters.”

Two hundred years ago, Mariela lived in a house in the Fell Forest, which was swarming with insects. To prevent them from ravaging the medicinal herb garden or entering the house, she had mixed and matched several types of potions. But the City must have had its own species of insect to combat. Mariela figured the five types of insecticide potions would cover them.

“Hrm. I see.”

After that exchange, Nierenberg wrote a note and handed it to a soldier who had come for a medical examination.

That night, Malraux had come to pick up the potions as usual.

“Miss Mariela. We would like to order ten of each of the five insecticide potions,” he asked.

Because Mariela was the one who’d asked the Black Iron Freight Corps for a contract of confidentiality, she had no right to complain, but this was roundabout and slow. She would have been able to get the work done sooner if Nierenberg has just made the order on the spot.

To this day, Nierenberg still stuck to the “alchemist from the imperial capital” storyline.

Could he really think that? Mariela wondered as she made the five types of requested potions.

A few days after Mariela supplied the potions, she received a large order for one type in particular.

Really? This one of all things?! Oh, this is bad!

Mariela could guess the pest in question from their request.

She told herself that it was fine. Malraux had reported her potions were effective. But when she scanned the order, she couldn’t help but feel that they’d accidentally tacked on some extra zeros!

Where the heck are all these insects breeding? I have to sprinkle some on Sunlight’s Canopy, too! This situation was beginning to drain the color from her face.

Mariela believed bugs and people could coexist—because bugs were small.

I mean, they’re gross if you look at them too closely!

Well, it wasn’t a scientific hypothesis, but a personal one.

There were some bugs covered with eyes and others with bundles of legs. There were caterpillars that hid their eyes and limbs in their gooey shapes. Of course, she’d wanted to observe them to figure them out. But either they moved too quickly, or they were too confounding, because she really couldn’t get a good grasp on insects.

And they oozed with juice when you squished them.

Animals are way juicier, people might protest. It was true: When dismembering animals and meat monsters, their blood and sinew went everywhere. This was not a pleasant sight, but Mariela was more overcome with empathy for the pain and cruelty the animals endured. It was totally different from the feeling of the gunk dribbling from an insect.

She had a particular insect in mind.

There were seven deadly sins: gluttony, lust, greed, wrath, pride, envy, sloth. They served as guides for humans to avoid committing wrongdoing. If that was the case, They were the furthest from sin.

This was because They exhibited self-restraint. They did not overeat. They could savor the smallest bit of leftovers—including trash, which was furthest from food. They could survive from surprisingly meager scraps.

This was because They were far from lustful. Some were even chaste. A group consisting of at least three females could procreate on Their own. There was no reason for Them to succumb to lust, destroying Their bodies in the process.

This was because They had no greed. They were humble creatures, seeking the slightest bit of warmth. There was no doubt They had to turn toward each other to provide warmth and find relief.

This was because They left anger to other creatures. They did not attack humans. On the rare occasions of assault, it was said to be a risk that They’d taken for survival. Compared to creatures that carry diseases, They were much more merciful.

This was because They were not slothful. They continued to plug away during the night, recognizing persistence was needed to obtain food.

This was because They were far from envious. They were cloaked in simple black garb reminiscent of mourning clothes. Their stubborn survival was the embodiment of perseverance.

This was because They quietly stayed alive near arrogant humans. There’s no way to guess whether They knew They were unwanted, but it was not an exaggeration to say this was Their way of life, staying in the shadows, out of the public eye, admirable and modest.

Although They possessed all these virtues, the humans called Them the “Black Fiends.” And they despised Them.

03

“Gaaaahhh! Here they cooome!!!”

They weren’t “coming.” This was Their habitat. They must have wanted to prove that the Labyrinth Suppression Forces were the ones intruding. They had a search-and-destroy target marked on their backs; they must have known their fate. It must have made the Black Fiends—the cockroaches—of the fifty-fifth stratum particularly enormous, tough, brutal.

“Aaaargh! Don’t come any closerrr! Fire Wall!” shrieked the magic user, confounded by the Black Fiends and allowing flames to wash over them.

Their exteriors—slick and shiny with oil—burst into flames. However, they kept rustling around as the flames licked their bodies. It was as if they had taken no damage at all.

Over a yard long, the Black Fiends scuttled around, engulfed in flames. It drew the people’s eye, whether they wanted to or not. The texture of their wings, the movement of their legs, and even their little hairs had been magnified. But every soldier of the Labyrinth Suppression Forces was agile and perceptive enough to capture even the slightest of movements.

“Oh, it’s taken flight.”

Bzz-bzz-bzz-bzz.

“Retreat! Retreeeat!!!”

Scurrying around with their backs ablaze, the Black Fiends evolved into flying creatures.

I believe I can fly. For I’m the true king of this great forest!

With the winged roaches spreading flames as they flew, the forest in the fifty-fifth stratum was instantly transformed into a roaring sea of fire. Weishardt slumped over—either from the smoke screen surrounding him or the sheer visual impact of the Black Fiends. When all the members of the Labyrinth Suppression Forces managed to escape to the stratum above, the entire floor was engulfed in flames.

“Hurry and take roll! Treat the injured. No! Better to check on everyone. Physically and psychologically!” roared Leonhardt.

Assigned to each squad, the healing mages assembled to make their report.

“All bodily injuries have been healed. No problems there. However…”

“I’m scared, I’m scared, I’m-scared-I’m-scared-I’m-scared-I’m-scared…”

“Are you serious…? They can…fly…?”

There were a group of soldiers cowering, clutching their heads or cradling knees as they mumbled.

“Not again…”

Every time they marched into this stratum, the number of soldiers requiring a break had increased.

A month had already passed since the subjugation of the Sea-Floating Pillar, and treatment of the soldiers suffering from exposure to the black new medicine was going smoothly.

But attempts to capture the fifty-fifth stratum had been rough. Though the Labyrinth Suppression Forces hadn’t sustained any serious damage, they hadn’t even found a lead. As Weishardt grew more haggard with each passing day, Leonhardt was starting to get worried about his younger brother.

Weishardt had despised insects for a very long time.

In the cellar of the Aguinas household, the slumbering alchemists had managed to awaken from their suspended animation. But their lives were cut short, crumbling into salt, perishing from lack of magic or energy.

There was no guarantee the same thing wouldn’t happen to the last remaining Alchemist Pact-Bearer. Ever since that incident, the Forces had tried to reduce as much of the burden on the Pact-Bearer as possible. They had become better at distributing the correct type of potion that corresponded to the severity of the wound; started to order more low- and mid-grade potions; used Nierenberg to perform medical exams to scan for magical disorders; and presented her with nutrient-dense cookies. Leonhardt had heard that her complexion had improved, in part from his efforts.

He’d continued to grasp for a way the Labyrinth Suppression Forces could subjugate the Labyrinth on its own without placing a burden on the alchemist, but they might have hit their ceiling. Sure, they had managed to make impressive progress in the past few months—in the grand scheme of things, it had taken over two hundred years to reach the fifty-second stratum. But he wasn’t proud of the situation.

“Contact Nierenberg.”

Leonhardt decided to throw potions into the mix. A few days later, they had one of the five kinds of mid-grade specialized insecticide potions, which demonstrated mind-boggling results, and Weishardt had recovered in a miracle of all miracles. Well, it might have taken him in a weird direction, because his eyes sometimes appeared terrifying. But the new-and-improved Weishardt had let them begin to subjugate the fifty-fifth stratum with a large-scale extermination.

04

It hadn’t been long after the subjugation of the Sea-Floating Pillar in the fifty-fourth stratum when the scouts finished their investigation of the fifty-fifth to give their report.

“The fifty-fifth stratum is a warm and verdant forest, and we found no sign of hostile monsters.”

Although the Labyrinth Suppression Forces were skeptical, preliminary members went down to the fifty-fifth stratum anyway. Just as the scout had reported, it was indeed a lush forest, smelling of perennial summer. Flowers of many hues bloomed across the ground, and fruit ripening on the trees filled the air with a sweet scent.

They had come in a large group. If this were the Fell Forest, the monsters would have immediately advanced on them en masse. Instead, they saw butterflies flitting around and insects sipping on tree sap.

It was winter outside the Labyrinth. The temperate and abundant forest in the fifty-fifth stratum started to ease the soldiers’ caution, and one from the bunch reached out for a piece of fruit hanging from a neighboring tree. It could be found in the wholesale market in the Labyrinth City and fetched a pretty penny. The fruit was bewitchingly red and ripened to perfection—sweet, juicy, golden flesh held together by its velvet skin.

Sure, there were monsters in the Labyrinth, but it could bear fruit, too, alternating types to match the climate of their respective stratum. It was true that the edible plants became sweeter as they ventured deeper into the Labyrinth, though the reason why was unclear. In this deepest stratum, the soldier had no doubt this would be the best he’d eaten.

“Hey, we’re in the middle of an operation. Cut it out,” warned a comrade.

But the soldier had already plucked the fruit from the tree. The sugariness of dripping honey reached his nose, enticing him to sink his teeth into its skin.

ZZZZ-ZZZZ-ZZZ-BZZ!

Something began to overflow from the fruit—something that had wormed itself inside, gorging itself on the golden flesh.

“What the—? Blegh! Ah! No!… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAH…”

The soldier spat out his massive bite, splattering onto the ground to reveal hordes of rounded bugs that scurried under the shelter of a nearby bush. In the piece of fruit in his hand, more bugs poured out of the missing bite, fastening themselves to his fingers or scuttling down all over his neck and torso, under his clothes and armor, to get away.

“—gh… AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH…” The soldier’s eyes rolled back in his head before he passed out.

He was the first dropout of the fifty-fifth stratum. Fortunately, he’d spit out all the fruit, meaning there was little damage to his body, but he’d needed extensive therapy for a long time.

It was said that even after he returned to the war front, not only did he not go into the fifty-fifth stratum, but he would no longer eat any kind of fruit. It was fair to say this was the opening of an extremely disastrous nightmare.

The fifty-fifth stratum was the Forest of Black Fiends.

As they continued their investigation, they were finally able to get a full picture: roaches that spanned a yard and appeared with no end in sight.

There was no doubt the soldier had gotten a mouthful of their larvae.

There had been no lie in the scouts’ report. There were no hostile monsters. The Black Fiends didn’t count—for they had no desire to attack people. They behaved as normal cockroaches, scuttling around, flat bodies slipping into gaps between vegetation or rocks. Their size didn’t change their nature. On the fifty-fifth stratum, they chewed on fruit and fallen leaves, lurking in the shade. They must have grown to this size because the forest was abundant in its harvests.

In Weishardt’s opinion, these creatures were the boss of the fifty-fifth stratum. If even a single one remained, the door down to the next stratum wouldn’t budge an inch.

On their own, a Black Fiend didn’t possess much power to attack. What was particularly horrifying was their defensive power and stamina. They were resistant to every kind of magic, and they never seemed to die—even from attacks that would have easily killed other monsters. Even if their heads were crushed, they could still move. How on earth was that possible?

“They must have more than one brain and heart,” the insect summoners of the scouting unit happily suggested.

But all the soldiers of the Labyrinth Suppression Forces who heard these comments scrunched their faces in extreme disgust.

But if just came down to pure strength, even a C-Rank adventurer could come to defeat one in time in an isolated space.

With the Gold Lion General Leonhardt leading the Labyrinth Suppression Forces, it was possible to defeat them…if the Black Fiends didn’t run away.

In comparison, the monsters in the Fell Forest that came out in droves were almost cute. These Black Fiends were an assault on their vision with their color, form, and movements, and their uneasy rustling was an affront to their ears. These abysmal, sophisticated creatures were psychological terrorists. It was beyond the scope of magic. And yet they still ran away. Perhaps a strategic hit-and-run?

In the conference room, Weishardt cursed their craftiness as thoroughly as spoken language would allow, but he didn’t have any good ideas to battle them.

The Black Fiends boasted their resilience. Pouring boiling water on them had no effect. The women in the Forces proposed the use of liquid detergent, raining soapy water on the creatures. But it dripped down the tree branches, ineffective on the Black Fiends who escaped through gaps in the foliage. In the fantastical scene of the wind blowing soapy bubbles through the forest, all the soldiers could see were the Black Fiends soaring into the sky in triumph. Stores selling soap made a slight profit, including Sunlight’s Canopy, but the Labyrinth Suppression Forces sustained heavy psychological damage.

Frustrated by this mission, Weishardt had once burned the entire stratum to the ground with the help of magic users. In front of the blazing forest, he had roared with laughter—which was what nightmares were made of.

I can’t tell which one’s the fiend, thought Leonhardt.

In their astonishment, the forest had returned to its original state the next day. And, of course, the Black Fiends were still there.

Well, it wasn’t totally back to normal. Without fruit hanging from the trees, the remaining Black Fiends had shrunk a size. They must have been starving—as they stole the provisions from the Labyrinth Suppression Forces, who were immobilized by sheer shock at the regenerated forest.

“I’m guessing the eggs hidden in the rocks and soil escaped the fire—and hatched with explosive growth. I’m impressed by their survival,” the insect summoners marveled.

If only these Black Fiends weren’t the boss! They would have captured them and brought them home!

Weishardt noticed the Black Fiends devouring the provisions and silently hurled fire magic at them…and the insect summoners. As a result, the Forces were compelled to retreat for the day.

Burned to the ground again, huh? Next time, we need to keep an eye on the provisions…

In his room in the base of the Labyrinth Suppression Forces, Leonhardt rubbed his eyes in exhaustion.

As with the Sea-Floating Pillar, they were going to need to buy time without attacking the stratum. This was a better strategy than allowing the Labyrinth Suppression Forces to get totally annihilated and becoming more common as they reached deeper levels. And it would be especially important in this case—where the Black Fiends were strong but prone to scurrying away. Even if the entire stratum was set on fire, it would regenerate in a day.

Leonhardt was thankful that no one had had collapsed from lack of oxygen, but the real problem was that Weishardt seemed all out of whack. He was pushing himself too hard; after all, his opponents were his detested bugs—and cockroaches at that. Weishardt had practically become a different person altogether.

Leonhardt thought back to when Malraux had brought the specialized insecticide potions from the alchemist.

Weishardt had inched his face closer with blazing eyes. “You’ve made me wait for too long, Malraux! This must be the medicine that’ll wipe them out!”

Malraux started and jumped back, then answered, “Indeed. Here is the recommended way to use it.” He offered the instructions Mariela had written and included with the specialized insecticide potions.

It seemed the application type depended on the target insect. It could be mixed with bait, burned as incense, or diluted with water and sprayed.

“Heh! Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh… With this… Let us make preparations, on the double! All the materials ought to be in the base! Get ready by tomorrow’s subjugation mission! There are still twelve hours before dawn!”

After he scanned the instructions for the specialized insecticide potions, savoring every word, Weishardt ordered an all-nighter as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world.

“Sir!”

The aide took the instructions and the specialized insecticide potions, turning away to handle this urgent and important matter. Pulling an all-nighter wasn’t a big deal—especially seeing how the Black Fiends had tormented Weishardt, who had become murderous with rage. Gauging from the dark circles under his eyes, it was obvious he was sleeping less than anyone else. Apparently, his older brother Leonhardt wasn’t the only one who worried about his eerie transformation.

The soldiers prayed: We’ll do our best so you can rest.

Their wish might have been granted. Or it may have been that the potions were that effective. The next day, reports indicated the Black Fiends had ceased movement immediately after eating bait laced with one of the potions. All their eggs disappeared, too.

“Let’s shift into mass production! Use the square acreage of the stratum to estimate their population! We’ll kill every last one of them!” Weishardt boomed, eye bags and all, taking on the appearance of an unhinged dictator. “Exterminate them! Eradicate them! Don’t let a single one go!”

And they really needed to annihilate them to capture the fifty-fifth stratum. Their enemies were the Black Fiends; the statement was cruel but not inaccurate.

“Sleep, Weishardt,” ordered Leonhardt, worried about his haggard younger brother.

I don’t want to poison these benign creatures, even if they’re cockroaches… But they’re the stratum boss, which leaves us no choice…

Leonhardt didn’t think much of their appearance, feeling sorry that they were judged for their looks. But that didn’t stop him from solemnly handing down orders to the Labyrinth Suppression Forces, who were wild with excitement at the idea of defeating the creatures.

05

“Whaaat? Again? Oh, that’s way too many. Nah, that’s impossible; I mean, Sieg’s not here.”

“How about we think about ways to get it done instead of making excuses?” Malraux suggested—all logic—as Mariela grumbled.

It might have been a great pep talk from a charismatic boss, but it was ineffective on Mariela. All she wanted was someone to make cocoa for her when she got tired, cook and eat meals with her, and pacify her when she did something stupid.

In short, she needed those sharp comic jabs to balance out her airheaded nature. Without them, she became very cranky. With “nah” as her catchphrase, Mariela was already starting to transition into Mari-nah-la. She might as well have been in her terrible twos. She was regressing. Definitely.

“One of the ingredients is sarsoral stones processed in slime acid,” Mariela started. “But we need five to ten times the amount to make one potion. It’s impossible for me to lift something that heavy alone. And you need me to make a scrumptious sweet treat for bait? What if I accidentally eat it?”

If Malraux had made a snappy comeback—“Jeez, don’t eat it”—Mariela’s mood might have improved.

“Which means it’s poisonous to humans…?” he muttered instead. “In that case, we’ll outsource the processing of sarsoral stones, since it doesn’t need Drops of Life. You can give us your insight for appropriate bait, and we’ll outsource its creation, too.”

The suggestion was to alleviate the burden on Mariela and help Weishardt get better from his weakened mental state. Malraux forged ahead on the work, moving forward in a practical manner.

“I will bring an estimate tomorrow—which will exclude the cost of the outsourcing,” he said, hoping it would be the coup de grâce to whip Mariela into work mode. Not that he had any hostility toward her.

But this was why Mariela’s mouth remained in a perpetual frown until the very next day when Caroline and the other girls chatted with her over sweet treats.

Urgent news reached Weishardt’s ears: “The alchemist is in a sour mood.” He ordered additional sweets be sent to Sunlight’s Canopy. Nierenberg received the order to “cheer her up,” which was not really his forte, and he couldn’t stop Mariela from gobbling up one snack after the next. For Marinahla to get her way by throwing a tantrum displayed the weaknesses in the Labyrinth Suppression Forces’ management system.

Ever since Sieg’s group had left for the Ahriman Springs, Mariela had adopted a sulky look, and her figure had expanded little by little. Chubbyela didn’t know whether she was sullen or swollen. Until Sieg’s group returned, she devoured snacks as she plugged away making potions alone.

06

At the edge of the slums, a large atelier opened in a certain abandoned building near the outer wall.

It was an atelier in name only. With its recent expansion, it had boards for walls and a dirt floor. No one could live there because it didn’t meet the Labyrinth City’s building standards. Plus, even the residents of the slum preferred not to take up residence near the outer wall, where the Fell Forest lurked on the other side. It was an ideal place to secure a large plot of land.

The Labyrinth Suppression Forces hauled sarsoral stones mined from the Ahriman Springs, slime acid, a wide selection of medicines, and pungent foodstuffs into the atelier. There had been people assigned to process these materials: Some sat hammering the sarsoral stones into tiny pieces and putting them in buckets, while others carried the buckets to an appointed spot. There were those who carefully poured the powdered sarsoral stones into tanks filled with slime acid, and others who lowered the temperature of the tanks with cooling magic.

Though it was commonly called “slime acid,” wild slimes spat out a cocktail of components. By feeding domesticated slimes a fixed diet, you could obtain a simple acidic liquid of high concentration. The acid in this atelier came from slimes who were fed eggs, putrid vegetables, and yellow powder taken from hot springs. It generated heat when dissolved in water. At a glance, sarsoral stones appeared to be dry minerals but produced water and generated heat when dissolved in slime acid. If large quantities were left unsupervised, the tank could theoretically heat up to the point of danger. As they worked, they reduced its temperature with cooling magic.

The solution contained necessary and unnecessary components, which necessitated some filtering. The varying boiling points of the components allowed one to separate them into their usable parts. An outsider would have no idea what they were observing. With high-level alchemical skills, you could mass-produce this concoction as long as your magic didn’t run out. But without these skills, it required a series of complex steps, equipment, and labor.

The ones overseeing this operation and giving directions to the workers were the engineers involved in the creation of new medicine under the Aguinas family. Many were alchemists who had experience working in the imperial capital. Although they couldn’t make potions in the Labyrinth City, they could provide their insight. Half of them were survivors, materials for the red new medicine.

In a corner of the atelier, Caroline and her father Royce were having a discussion with a magic technician about magical tools that could optimize the work. Because the magic technicians had helped develop the “mixing machine for medicine manufacturing,” they were acquainted with Caroline, kindly lending her an ear.

Mariela gazed at her excited friend from a bit of a distance away.

Outsourced due to Mariela’s protests, the steps to process the sarsoral stones and develop a delectable treat had been assigned to the Aguinas family. When Mariela first heard this, she was anxious that she’d caused trouble for Lady Carol.

“In all truth,” Caroline had admitted with a relieved smile, “it helped us out when Lord Weishardt came to us with this proposal.”

Ever since the Aguinas family incident, the manufacturing of new medicine had halted. With their only business in selling potions and new medicine, the family had lost most of their income.

They generated the bare minimum of income to support Caroline, her father, and the rest of their small family. But they had to feed the alchemists from the imperial capital; alchemists who’d been involved in manufacturing the new medicine; and the surviving slaves used as materials for the red new medicine. This whittled away their assets with little they could do to stop it. The alchemists from the capital knew too much about the new medicine—and particularly about the Sacrificials—making it far more dangerous for them to return to the capital. Slaves with physical deficiencies had been prioritized as materials, and their bodies had weakened as they had been forcibly bedridden. No one would buy them.

Caroline was working hard to support these slaves with her earnings made from medicine, but it wasn’t enough to make ends meet.

This was why she jumped at the chance of creating “roach-icidal sweets,” an order from the Labyrinth Suppression Forces. It was a onetime thing, but since there were cockroaches in the City, they could count on a steady income, even after their work for the Forces was done. Even without specialized insecticide potions, they could expect a sufficient effect on non-monster insects from the extracts of sarsoral stones. Plus, the manufacturing of these poison sweets required relatively expensive equipment for processing the stones, so they had no competitors in the Labyrinth City. If the initial expenses were covered by the sum that they received from the Labyrinth Suppression Forces, they might be able to provide for the alchemists from the imperial capital and the slaves.

Caroline had had it rough. She’d been engaged to a man twenty years her senior to establish family ties but called off that union because of her older brother’s disgrace. She’d been elected the head of a family that had seen better days and now supported alchemists from the imperial capital and slaves.

Whatever their reason, the alchemists and slaves began to collaborate with the girl who was always trying her best.

“And how are the killer treats going?” the lieutenant general of the Labyrinth Suppression Forces, Weishardt, had asked when the atelier had begun its operations.

“Oh my, Lord Weishardt,” Royce, Caroline’s father, replied in greeting. “It’s good to see you. Work with the sarsoral stones is proceeding as planned, and the results are quite satisfactory. Carol, go on. Show him.” He left the tour to Caroline.

Mariela had succeeded in separating Caroline’s father from his older brother Ruiz—the one who had been possessing him. Royce was in recovery, having been bedridden for years, and he sometimes struggled to maneuver his wheelchair among all the tools and materials strewn over the floor of the atelier.

“This way, Lord Weishardt.” Appointed as his guide, Caroline led him to the back of the atelier. She answered his questions about the production equipment with no hesitation; Weishardt could tell she was the one running the place.

Finally, Caroline showed Weishardt to a small laboratory constructed inside. There they were researching the ratio of materials that would make the treats perfectly enticing for the Black Fiends.

“We’re collaborating with Mariela, an alchemist from the imperial capital, to make adjustments,” Caroline explained, gesturing to Mariela.

Although their social positions differed, Mariela was her friend and a colleague in making and selling medicine. She’d helped a lot with the development of the delectable sweets, too. From Mariela’s point of view, all she’d done was pass on work to her friend and provide information from the Library, but Caroline was grateful for the help with her family’s predicament. This time, she’d invited Mariela to the laboratory to properly report her distinguished service to Weishardt.

When Caroline beckoned, Mariela slowly trudged over.

“My gratitude for your assistance,” Weishardt expressed.

There were many eyes within the atelier. This was more than what the lieutenant general of the Labyrinth Suppression Forces ought to express to a civilian collaborator. Weishardt might have presented as stoic, but he admired Mariela in his heart.

When I heard about the outsourcing of the sarsoral stones and sweets, I couldn’t understand why, but…I shouldn’t have underestimated an intelligent alchemist who survived for two hundred years. She’s got good judgment. To save the engineers and slaves used as materials by getting the family to manufacture a portion of the specialized insecticide potions…

With this project, we’ll have a way to manufacture a treat laced with insecticide for household use. It’ll be possible for them to generate enough cash to survive. No, not just them. With this business, it may even be possible to employ slum residents if they can just secure a market for the items.

Weishardt was ashamed of himself for putting all his energy into the Labyrinth subjugation and failing to take the Aguinases into consideration. A number of those working in the atelier had limited mobility or physical constraints, but each was appointed work that they were capable of accomplishing in this assembly line for sarsoral stones. In the Labyrinth City, there was an abundance of magical tools, which could be used to manufacture products. Even then, “skill-based production” was commonplace. It was rare for those with no skills to produce goods in assembly lines in ateliers.

Even this process was this alchemist’s idea, huh…? In sight of this new manufacturing process, Weishardt shivered at Mariela’s perceptivity.

The idea had come when Caroline was consulting Mariela. “Those with only one hand cannot break the stones,” she’d said.

“Then leave that to those who can. Or use a magical tool instead. Those guys with missing hands can do something else,” she had replied without much thought.

“…I agree. Let’s move forward with that!”

The concept of an assembly line had not existed at the time, yet Caroline had managed to map this idea from Mariela’s incomplete thought. A genius worthy of being an heir of the Aguinas family.

Oh yeah, I used to have Sieg knead most of the general oil, huh? I hate doing it myself. Though now it would be done with the magical mixing tool. I kind of wanna eat meat fried in general oil for dinner. I haven’t had that in a while, mused Mariela next to Caroline, completely overcome with thoughts of orc meat. Maybe she’d contributed to this process… Maybe.

But Weishardt was none the wiser, letting his misunderstandings snowball. From last time, the lady alchemist has…well…a very…improved physique… I have no doubt she has a lot on her mind.

“Mm,” he offered to no one in particular.

Caroline continued explaining the roach-icidal sweets. “The sample is done. We tinkered the original recipe. For a normal type of creature, I have no doubt this will be the best.”

“Mm, may I open it?”

Caroline handed him a wide-mouthed vial containing a few sweets that were the size of a human mouthful. When he opened it, an acrid odor spread through the room. It wasn’t a smell that would whet a human’s appetite—slightly sour and bittersweet. Weishardt and Caroline were particularly unacquainted with this odor as those who had maids and servants waiting on their hands and feet.

“Packs quite a punch for its size.”

“Yes. They will be lured by this scent,” Caroline promised.

Rustle-rustle-rustle.

An uninvited guest had immediately turned up to further prove her point. It wasn’t a one-yard thing from the fifty-fifth stratum, but an exceptionally ordinary type of roach. Of course, its scuffles were muted, quiet.

But thanks to his outstanding hearing, the lieutenant general of the Labyrinth Suppression Forces did not miss it. The nightmare of the fifty-fifth stratum passed through his mind. He remembered the abominable luster of their bodies. He hid the tension from his expression, so no one noticed it in the rest of his body.

It’s here. On the slanted wall behind me. Judging from the sound, it’s about one and a half yards above the ground. It will come into view in three…two…

PLAP!

Caroline moved before it even came into Weishardt’s field of view. In her hand, she held something resembling a flexible riding whip, though the tip was too wide and large for one. It whizzed at an impressive speed for the daughter of a noble family, but Caroline was frail. Her attack didn’t crush it, but it did stop moving for a moment.

“Ice,” Caroline chanted without missing a beat.

It had little power, but it was sufficient to trap the thing in a chunk of ice.

“My apologies for such an unsightly display, Lord Weishardt.”

With the tip of her whip, Caroline skillfully scooped up the ice, nonchalantly tossing it into a slime tank. The movement was smooth and elegant and almost reassuring. After dealing with the creature, she collected the vial of the poison sweets back from Weishardt and closed the lid to prevent any more summonings. Their fingertips lightly brushed as they made the exchange, and Caroline smiled sweetly.

Ba-dump. The sound from Weishardt’s chest signaled the start of something.

Wh-what…? What’s this…?! He grew flustered at his own throbbing heartbeat. For all his life, he’d been assisting his older brother in defeating the Labyrinth. He had never been exposed to this emotion before.

His brother Leonhardt had specialized in “Lion’s Roar” to use in the military. This skill had a higher hereditary chance of being passed down to a direct descendant than a more distant relative, meaning Leonhardt’s children would succeed the family of Margrave Schutzenwald. This was a matter of course to Weishardt, and he didn’t have a rebellious bone in his body. But to prevent the unlikely chance of a quarrel over inheritance, he was forbidden to marry or even become engaged until Leonhardt’s heir reached adulthood.

Weishardt prioritized the subjugation of the Labyrinth and understood the dangers of the strata past fifty better than anyone else. He had no time for love, which was convenient because he felt giving gifts and courting daughters of noble households was a waste of time. Weishardt recognized his own marriage was a political tool. After Leonhardt’s child grew up and was formally established as the family heir, he had the vague idea that he would probably be sent out to marry to make family ties.

In other words, Weishardt was absolutely clueless when it came to love—even as a superior specimen with “only” an attractive face, muscular figure, and sharp mind who came from a good family and who was popular with the ladies.

“Is something wrong?” Caroline looked worried as she peered at Weishardt, who was acting strange.

Sh-she’s s-so cute… Weishardt involuntarily gritted his teeth. Even though he was poised most of the time, his facial muscles were refusing to behave. He knew his face was flushed. Was Caroline really this charming?

No, this is bad. Calm down. This is nothing more than a moment’s thought! I mean, just compare her to someone else! She’s nothing special!

Weishardt recalled the scene and the faces that he’d encountered when he came to the atelier.

It was typical for there to be hordes of people working in the atelier. He could imagine the introductions of the introverted engineers (“I love research!”) and the penal laborers (“Yes, hello, sir, I’m a damned reprobate”). Then there was Royce Aguinas, who had lost his mind until recently.

I knew it; Caroline is lovel— No! Why am I comparing her to men?

When he lifted his head, he zeroed in on the very young woman behind Caroline… Nine out of ten people wouldn’t give her a second glance. Well, maybe two or three would, based on her unusual physique. An alchemist in the shape of a sweet treat…

Yes! I knew it! Caroline is lovely…!!!

Was the difference between them part of a scheme? Could she have really gone this far? Did she eat pastries and gain weight on purpose? Was he really unable to even grasp the cunning of the sole alchemist in the Labyrinth City that was even more profound than the Labyrinth?

“Um, you’re pale. Are you feeling ill after all……?” Caroline approached him, looking worried.

“I…I’m taking a break for the rest of the day!” he shouted for no reason whatsoever, hurriedly dragging his soldier away.

Even after leaving Caroline, Weishardt’s heart was pounding out of his chest.

He felt like he could hear it everywhere, enough to block out the rustling of things lurking around.

07

“And then, while you were gone, Sieg, Lady Carol started an atelier to make sweets infused with insecticide. The processed sarsoral stones are brought here from underground; I refine them into mid-grade specialized insecticide potions; and then the Labyrinth Suppression Forces take them to Lady Carol’s atelier.”

As she sat in front of the fireplace sipping a cup of cocoa, Mariela filled in Sieg on everything that happened while he was at the Ahriman Springs. Sieg rubbed his eyes, as if she’d suddenly reverted back to Chubbyela during their conversation.

“So that’s why Lord Weishardt keeps coming to Sunlight’s Canopy…?” murmured Sieg.

Mariela was present during the tour of the atelier, but she hadn’t caught on that there was something eating away at his heart.

“And then Lady Carol conquered the cockroach in front of Lord Weishardt!” That was all Mariela had reported to Sieg.

Of course, not even Sieg could pick up on all the nuances from Mariela’s paltry explanation. Lynx might have possessed the secret new ability to guess everything from a single mention of “Mariela,” but alas, Sieg did not.

But he did notice that ever since that day, Weishardt had started coming to Sunlight’s Canopy in a soldier’s uniform at the times when Caroline routinely stopped in. He tried to blend in with the soldiers requiring treatment, apparently in “disguise.” Not that anything could hide his natural charm. After all, Weishardt’s and Leonhardt’s faces were famous enough to be recognized. Even if he swapped his clothes to a lower-ranking uniform, he wouldn’t have been able to pass off as a total stranger. It would seem the genius was blinded by inexperience and love. Those around him knew exactly what he was trying to do; they were only uncertain about whether they should just pretend not to notice.

“Good day, Lady Carol. You’re looking lovely as always. I was wondering if Nierenberg was in?”

“My, Lord Weis. I’m flattered. The doctor is that way.”

Wondering if Nierenberg was in? The doctor had settled in his seat obviously in sight from the entrance to Sunlight’s Canopy—their resident monster-warding statue. But it would seem that all Weishardt could see was Caroline. The shop’s owner and the sole alchemist in the Labyrinth City might as well have been invisible to him.

And at some point, he’d started copying Mariela by calling Caroline, “Lady Carol,” who called him “Weis” in return. When he flashed her his princely smile, it had 20 percent more sparkles in it than usual. With every visit, he bombarded her with treats and flowers, but the person in question, Caroline, was oblivious to it all.

To the delight of the regular customers at Sunlight’s Canopy, his flowers decorated and spruced up the store. And most of the treats found themselves comfortably in their stomachs. In fact, the exchanges between the heated lieutenant general and the oblivious girl had become the new special at Sunlight’s Canopy.

“If you are here to discuss work, the examination room is open,” Caroline suggested, shooing him away, even though he’d come to see her. How pitiful.

Even the famed fiend, Nierenberg, couldn’t help but lend a helping hand.

“If it’s the usual business, we can talk about it here,” he said, and the pair moved to a corner. It had become a place to exchange innocuous information.

“And when will the pastries be ready?”

“Approximately two to three days. We need manpower for their delivery. Come with us, Nierenberg.”

“Understood.”

With Mariela churning out more mid-grade insecticide potion the day before, they were able to gather enough to get started. A massive quantity of sweets was now being manufactured in Caroline’s atelier. They had created a large-scale medicine mixer, which let them mass-produce the treats, which were brought to the base of the Labyrinth Suppression Forces. It had taken time to get the atelier on its feet, but they were still able to drastically reduce the production time of the treats that Mariela would have had to make by hand.

These pesticidal treats were made from wheat, potatoes, onions, sugar turnip dregs, orc lard, lynus wheat rind and skin, waste products from the wholesale market, including monster lard, marrow, and the skin and dregs of fruits and vegetables. They were then either ground or minced, before mixing them with specialized insecticide potions. With the sheer quantity of ingredients, just accomplishing this was a huge task. After the ingredients were kneaded together, they were rounded by hand, dried, and then sealed in a bug-proof container. It could be said that this was only possible due to the masses of people who devoted themselves to it day and night and the efficiency of the magical tools they utilized.

For days in a row, Caroline visited the atelier during shift changes to assess their progress—and note their health. Her managerial style motivated those working in the atelier.

“These are strategic goods using rare potions. I cannot provide any more details, but they are essential in determining the future of the Labyrinth City,” she would say, reminding them of the importance of their work.

After the last shipment had been sent to the Labyrinth Suppression Forces, the former “materials” and “managers”—the slaves and engineers—experienced a budding feeling of solidarity. There was even talk among them that they wanted to keep working at the atelier, which was a happy miscalculation for all parties.

When he caught wind of her excellence, Weishardt’s feelings for Caroline swelled more and more. That said, he hadn’t realized that as long as she managed the atelier, the Black Fiends would continue to lurk in her shadows.

08

A few days later, the Labyrinth Suppression Forces had received the entire batch of poison treats and headed for the final battle with the Black Fiends.

“Fortunes be with you,” Caroline had said as they left.

Equipped with the sweets and her words of encouragement, there was nothing that scared Weishardt anymore.

Well, he still hated bugs, but now the thoughts of the Black Fiends were accompanied by Caroline’s heroic PLAT! as she did away with cockroaches, and he became calm again.

“I suppose fire magic is fine, but ice magic is more effective,” Caroline had instructed.

Weishardt had stepped up his ice magic. He would no longer make the same mistake of shooting fire magic in the chaos. In fact, he was close to earning the new nickname of the “Ice Prince,” blasting magic as he heard that dreaded rustle-rustle.

The plan of subjugating the “Black Fiend Swarm” in the fifty-fifth stratum was simple. First, a small unit containing mages would shoot fire magic at the stratum. On this stratum, there were fixed intervals of downpours—as though rain flooded out of holes at the bottom of the fifty-fourth stratum. They would time the spells in between the rain when the trees were dry. Even if the whole stratum burned to the ground, these rainfalls would extinguish the fire, allowing the forest to regenerate at a staggering speed. The eggs left behind by the decimated Black Fiends would hatch, and the young would be nourished by the abundant forest, springing back into shape. It took one night for the forest to regenerate, including the Black Fiends. This would be the time to scatter the treats. As they went through a growth spurt, the Black Fiends would be ravenous for nourishment. Although they normally fled from the Labyrinth Suppression Forces, this growth period was the only time they approached the army for its provisions. They would have to devour every last one of the poisonous treats available.

To disperse the treats required speed. If they were careless, the next rainfall might come, washing away the odor of the sweets and causing the potion to leak out of them. This operation called for all hands on deck: from Leonhardt’s horses to the Forces’ raptors. With the infantry and cavalry hauling the sweets, they were akin to large-scale merchant caravans.

Right around the time when the fire had been extinguished in the great forest, the troop reached the stratum above it. Since bosses didn’t get revived in this labyrinth, the fifty-fourth stratum had become a safe zone ever since the defeat of the Sea-Floating Pillar. After the pillar was destroyed, the stratum became a shoal of sea caves, and the strange fish appearing as mermaids were never seen again, perhaps returning to the deep sea. Either way, it became possible for the Labyrinth Suppression Forces to occupy the area near the stairs connecting the strata. Now the soldiers were waiting for the cue to rush into the fifty-fifth stratum.

“Commence the operation to subjugate the swarm of Black Fiends on the fifty-fifth stratum! All troops, move out!” boomed Leonhardt.

The soldiers charged down the stairs in succession, almost gleeful compared to their previous loathing as they plunged into the fifty-fifth stratum.

“I heard that they flip over and vanish when they eat these poison treats.”

“Seriously? Nice! I wanna see it!”

The soldiers whispered to each other before the start of the operation. A feeding was always a fascinating sight, whether it was an animal or an insect. Even when the insect’s mouth was a weird and unknown thing, they wanted to observe this scene—especially if it had promises of being packed with drama.

The operation to poison the Black Fiends piqued the soldiers’ curiosity and childlike cruelty. Plus, the chances were that they wouldn’t need to fight in hand-to-hand combat. It might as well have been a picnic.

“Don’t get careless! We’re not done until we get back to the base!” shouted Nierenberg.

But even his voice was unconvincing. It was close to a teacher lecturing, “You’re on this field trip until you get home.” Except the soldiers weren’t toting around their snacks—but three lethal potions.

The carefree attitude of Sunlight’s Canopy must have rubbed off on him. Had he grown soft? Nierenberg frowned slightly, lazily stroked his long beard, and headed to the stratum stairs to help scatter the treats.

As they got closer to the stairs, they noticed the temperature rising, humid and hot. In its perennial summer, the fallen rain on the fifty-fifth stratum must have evaporated and risen to this floor. The monsters couldn’t move between strata, but it would seem the air could circulate between levels.

From cool coastal caverns to a balmy summer forest. When they stepped into the fifty-fifth stratum, they could no longer feel the coolness of the floor above. Even upon the defeat of the boss on a stratum, the climate remained unchanged—albeit it could better regulate climate when the boss was present. Though they had scorched the fifty-fifth stratum more times than they could count, the oxygen levels hadn’t decreased at all.

Nierenberg led his assigned squad and began to dash toward their designated area. He realized he was damp with sweat in the tropical atmosphere. The newly regenerated forest was still sparse, and light filtered through semitransparent foliage. Even Nierenberg felt more alive sucking in fresh air and smelling new leaves. If it weren’t for the silhouettes of the Black Fiends everywhere, he might have wanted to take a leisurely stroll.

When they arrived at their destination, Nierenberg’s group began to lay out the pesticidal sweets.

A black shadow wasted no time following his path, taking the treat from the spot. As he pretended not to notice, Nierenberg silently scattered more on the ground. Although he didn’t particularly abhor the Black Fiends, he didn’t exactly want to see them, either.

If the air hadn’t been cycled out, they would have suffocated, which would have been bad news. He thought as he finished settling up the sweets and went back the way he came. With a subtle glance to his side, he could confirm Black Fiends lurking in the shadows of grass—flipped over with their legs twitching.

I guess this is interesting.

Their movement ground to a halt before the light pouring from the ceiling seemed to sweep away their physical forms. Though it hadn’t been long since they’d hatched, their short lives had ended, evaporating into the light. Although if any eggs were left, it would all be for naught.

Jeez, it’s balmy down here.

The heat rising from the ground after the rain was unbearable. He felt like he was being steamed from below. This might have been the optimal temperature for those things, but it was unpleasant to humans.

Ah, is it because this climate is suited for them? Nierenberg mused as he made his way to the meeting spot in front of the stairs.

In the Labyrinth, the climate on each stratum had been set to accommodate its monsters. That was why the oxygen levels never changed, even when the fifty-fifth stratum burned to the ground. These monsters might not possess the skills to fight, but they did multiply and regenerate with impressive speed.

About half the soldiers had already returned to the meeting spot. The backup troops were technically allowed to withdraw after making their report, but they hung around, standing firmly in a line in a corner. They must have wanted to witness the door to the next stratum opening upon the boss’s defeat.

I guess it’s fine this time.

There were few chances for backup troops to witness the defeat of a stratum boss. Plus, it wasn’t as though they were just loitering. And there was nothing better than learning from experience. Leonhardt and Weishardt must have come to the same conclusion, as they hadn’t ordered the formation of backup troops to retreat.

“Except you.”

“Ow!”

Nierenberg slammed his fist down on a soldier he knew. Although the soldier was an excellent member of the main force, he was perched on a rock in a hidden spot to rest.

“Hey, Doc. My ass is nice ’n’ warm here. Have a seat. Warmin’ yourself up in a hot place. Weird, huh?” The soldier chuckled.

“We’re in the middle of an operation. Don’t let your guard down.”

“You’re so stuffy, Doc. It’ll be over any minute, right?”

Nierenberg ushered the sluggish soldier back into the line. There was the distant sound of rustling vegetation. The soldiers assigned to farther areas to distribute the poison-filled treats must have returned.

What an unsatisfying end to those Black Fiends who had tormented them.

As he headed toward Leonhardt and Weishardt, Nierenberg looked out over the calm Labyrinth Suppression Forces, knitting his brows together and tracing a finger along the stubble on his jaw.

Mm… Hmm? Something’s bothering me…

“Thanks for your hard work, Nierenberg. It shouldn’t be long now.”

Leonhardt thanked the returning soldiers and gazed around the area near the stairs. The operation had gone smoothly, and a new staircase was going to appear when the last Black Fiend fell.

“I wonder what kind of stratum we will see next…?” muttered Leonhardt to no one in particular.

This stratum was hot. Blistering. After the rain, the steam was scorching. Even the soldier from before had claimed that his rock perch was warm.

“Since this one was so hot, I take it,” responded Weishardt, who had relentlessly set fire to the fifty-fifth stratum, making it even hotter.

If the Black Fiends hadn’t needed oxygen, the operation might have been even more difficult.

What if…? Nierenberg managed to piece together a single hypothesis. What if there was a stratum where the monsters didn’t need oxygen?

Would the air be replenished if the oxygen was depleted?

What if this stratum was heated from below?

Nierenberg crouched down and touched the ground with his hand. His eyes opened wide. The ground was unnaturally hot. He could feel it shaking, boiling from below.

It happened right at that moment. The last of the Black Fiends must have died out, because the ground right next to the stairs leading to the upper stratum weakened and began to rise with a groan.

“Run!”

It was difficult to tell which came first, Nierenberg’s shout or the opening of the stairs leading to the fifty-sixth stratum, but the way opened with a blast of hot, reeking gas that transformed the area into a zone of death.

09

Blistering gas mushroomed up, shaking the ground, and became a barricade separating the strata.

Shh-rrumble. This low groan was nothing compared to the heat and toxic compounds released in the air.

A cloud of dust swirled up with the thick gray smoke, reaching all the way up to the ceiling of the fifty-fifth stratum.

Some ways away, Nierenberg had caught a whiff of an offensive smell. He whipped around, turning his gaze from the ceiling to the source of the smoke, witnessing soldiers lying on the ground.

From the tremors and odorous gas, his comrades began to collapse with audible thuds. This stirred the soldiers to believe it was an assault from the lower stratum.

“Get away from the stairs!” Nierenberg tried to shout, but it was lost in the explosion. It did not reach the soldiers. Before the group could rush toward their fallen comrades, they fell to the ground.

The Labyrinth Suppression Forces had no way to handle an invisible poisonous gas that rapidly reached its evil tentacles toward them. Was this the end?

“All troops, follow me!”

At that moment, the Labyrinth Suppression Forces were jolted with motivation—that could have almost been coercion.

They didn’t hear his voice. He didn’t give them concrete directions. But every single member of the Labyrinth Suppression Forces knew they had to follow him.

The Gold Lion General Leonhardt. His skill Lion’s Roar increased the abilities of his followers and allowed them to function as a group with a single will. He knew that this skill—of powerful charisma—was their only hope of escape.

The chaos instantly died down, and the will of all the soldiers focused on Leonhardt.

“Weis, block it. Even just for a little bit. Nierenberg, do we have any way to deal with this?” Leonhardt asked.

It was more than enough for Weishardt to pick up on his orders. He created a massive chunk of ice that contained most of his magic, a conical icicle as big as the tip of a steeple, and drove it into the stairs emitting the gas. The point plowed through the stairs to the lower stratum as if delivering the finishing blow to a monster. Under Weishardt, the mages cast ice magic to reinforce the icicle and fix it in place.

“This gas dissolves in water. Dampen a cloth and cover your mouth with it. Let’s evacuate to high ground; it’s heavier than the air,” Nierenberg explained.

Leonhardt nodded at his straightforward explanation, turning his gaze to the fallen soldiers near the stratum stairs. “Take care of the troops,” he ordered the remaining men. “Use a wet cloth as a mask! All healers and cavalry extricate the injured! Conjurers support them with wind magic! The rest of you follow me!”

Leonhardt directed all the soldiers with the aid of his skill. From his voice, they knew he would save everyone, and in reassurance, they immediately used lifestyle magic to dampen hand towels or cloaks and wrapped them around their mouths.

In particular, the soldiers and backup troops who had toured and gathered materials at the Ahriman Springs were of great help. They remembered, as they regained their composure, that this was the smell of the gas that had gushed forth from the hot springs.

They had brought back two types of minerals back from the mountains. One was the sarsoral stones, and the other was yellow clods. Both were materials needed for the specialized insecticide potions, and the yellow stuff was mixed into the bait fed to the slimes that produced the acid. There was a colorless poisonous gas that permeated the area where they collected these clods, and they’d been thoroughly warned to be careful: If they could no longer smell it, it was already too late. Before they went foraging, they’d received proper training where they learned the characteristics of the gas and how to deal with it in cases of emergency.

With efficiency, the soldiers placed masks on themselves and those around them and began to evacuate. Those who could use wind magic sent a breeze toward Nierenberg’s group as they headed to rescue the fallen soldiers, protecting them from the poison gas. The rescue group placed the injured on the raptors carrying the pesticide-laced sweets, and healers performed first aid.

“Hurry! There’s no time.”

The icicle plugging up the hole was beginning to melt from the heat of the gas. The gas gave a high-pitched whine as it whistled through the gaps forming between them. Nierenberg’s rescue group managed to collect all the injured, joining up with the rest of the Forces just as the icicle was blown away with a loud thud and gas began to spew forward again.

“Go! Go! Go!”

The elite halberdiers at the front of the army cut down trees blocking their way, clearing a path of retreat through the forest. The Labyrinth Suppression Forces scrambled through vegetation and trampled the road at full speed. Their destination was the only small hill in this stratum. They ran and ran, but the odor only got progressively stronger, and they knew the invisible tentacles of evil were bearing down on them.

Run! Run! Run! As long as they could still detect the smell, they were in the clear. Not a single soldier fell by the wayside. Even though they were encouraged by no one in particular, they sprinted up the hill to their destination. On their way, along the cleared path to the peak, the archers fired anti-undead silver arrows that they always kept in reserve. If the gas corroded silver, it would turn them black.

“Call roll! Use potions if your eyes or noses are in pain! Or if you have difficulty breathing!” yelled Weishardt.

The Labyrinth Suppression Forces lined up at the top of the hill in accordance with his directions. All of them carried potions, albeit low- and mid-grade ones. Many of the soldiers who’d reached the hill without losing consciousness were in bad shape from the poison gas, and the healers alone weren’t enough to help them out. With Nierenberg, the healers administered treatment to those who’d passed out from inhaling a high concentration of the gas. Although they were unconscious, they mercifully still had life left in them.

Oh, thank goodness, we managed to reach the hill, thought the soldiers. But Leonhardt, Weishardt, and Nierenberg’s worries were far from relieved.

It was very slow. The silver arrows peering over the bottom of the hill blackened. Slowly. Very slowly. From the silver arrows changing color, the men could see that the flood of gas was steadily climbing the hill and permeating the surrounding area.

Higher than this…?

There was nowhere else to escape to in this stratum. The stairs up to the next stratum were right next to the spout, closest to the deadly area.

Somewhere higher than this…?

Leonhardt looked up at the heavens as if to pray. Above him, there was no sky, only the gray ceiling of the Labyrinth illuminated by sunstones.

It was slow, but the color of the last silver arrow changed.

The unseen tentacles would soon reach their feet. They could no longer detect the stench from before.

Is this…the end…? Leonhardt resigned himself to his fate.

Pitter. Patter. Patter-patter-patter. From the ceiling, large globs of rain began to fall.

When he craned his neck upward, there wasn’t a cloud in sight. But heavy rain came down, soaking through the ceiling. Even though the upper stratum was full of seawater, the rain didn’t smell salty. Leonhardt didn’t know what was going on. He only knew one thing.

We’ve been…saved…

This gas dissolved in water. They had come to set up the killer sweets between one of the downpours. They had come expecting rainfall.

In the midst of the storm, Leonhardt took a deep breath, soaked to the bone.

We survived, but… What’s in the lower stratum…?

As rain fell in the Labyrinth, it washed away the stench of gas…and wiped away the smiles from the faces of the Labyrinth Suppression Forces.