Chapter 50: Hollow Ridge [You have cleared the Third Floor: Serpent’s Labyrinth.]
The voice of the Mire whispered silently as Nightingale and Rose stepped through the gateway descending toward the Fourth Floor.
Apparently, they had destroyed the source responsible for the labyrinth’s unpredictable shifting. As a result, the entire floor had realigned itself into a single, straight path. Whether that was due to luck or misfortune didn’t matter much. Perhaps this had been the labyrinth’s original design, but there was no way to know for sure.
No one had ever attempted such a thing before. At the very least, no one had made a report about it.
Pathfinders, after all, were still human and humans were greedy creatures. If they ever discovered an easy way to navigate the floors, they would simply exploit it without a second thought.
That was the nature of Climbers; ever so ambitious, ever so hungry. The Tower rewarded progress, not prudence, and those who lingered too long in caution were often the first to be erased.
Nightingale let out a tired sigh as he descended another step down the spiraling staircase.
’Why are humans always so greedy? Would it really hurt to share something useful for once? Then again... maybe it’s too early to judge. It’s possible no one ever discovered this secret. But still, the Mire has existed for ages. How could no one have noticed this phenomenon until now?!’
Obviously, his bitter thoughts held no weight and did nothing to change reality. Even so, he couldn’t help but furrow his brows in quiet frustration.
What would’ve happened if they hadn’t followed his lead and kept relying on the map instead?
He could easily imagine that they’d still be wandering through that twisted maze, circling endlessly, trapped in confusion and despair until exhaustion eventually claimed them. Sooner or later, they would’ve become an easy meal for the lingering Chaos Creatures.
Speaking of which... where were those strange monsters when they destroyed the core?
It all felt almost too easy.
Not like that mattered anymore. What was he supposed to do? Complain that they survived?
How ridiculous.
Did someone who won a lottery of improbable luck have the nerve to complain about the prize not being big enough? Actually, there were people like that, those who grumbled about things others would gladly ignore, and needless to say, such individuals were irritating to be around. A fine example was the grumpy old man, Mr. Stepmen, who, much to Nightingale’s dismay, lived right next door.
There was even a time when the old man had barged into his apartment in the middle of the night just to complain that Nightingale’s footsteps were "too determined for someone with no future."
Just what the hell was that supposed to mean?!
Recalling that memory, Nightingale clicked his tongue and twisted his lips, as though he were chewing on candy that had suddenly lost its sweetness.
"Tch. Guess I’m overthinking it."
He adjusted the collar of his coat as they continued downward. The spiral staircase stretched endlessly, carved from the same cold, gray stone that seemed to drink in the faint illuminance around them. Each step echoed faintly, swallowed by the silence of the Mire.
Ahead of him, Flaming Rose led the way wordlessly. The faint glow of her Azure Fire still danced across her hands, casting wavering blue reflections along the way.
For a while, neither spoke nor showed any intention of starting a conversation.
They simply walked, walked and walked. Step after step, descending at a steady pace, casually yet cautiously, deliberately yet free of disorder, following an unspoken rhythm that only the silence seemed to understand.
Nightingale was slowly growing fond of the darkness. Some would claim that light was liberating, but the same could be said of darkness as well. There was solace in the silence it offered. Without light, the true faces of people became clearer, stripped of masks and pretense.
It reminded him of the nights he spent camping with Chloe and Marcus; how they would gather beneath an old oak tree, huddled close, talking for hours about everything and nothing.
Those fleeting moments had become the memories that shaped his story.
If only life could return to that simplicity. But reality, as always, had other plans for him.
He remained silent for a long while, matching the rhythm of his steps as he sorted through his thoughts. Just as he was about to speak, the "Voice" suddenly echoed:
[You have reached the Fourth Floor: Hollow Ridge.]
’We’re here already?’
Noticing the sudden shift in scenery, Nightingale halted his steps and took a moment to observe his surroundings carefully.
A vast expanse stretched before him, an endless ridge bathed in pale gray light. Jagged peaks rose like ancient spires, glinting faintly under the muted sky. Between them sprawled a wilderness of crimson trees and wind-swept plains, the horizon swallowed by distant mist.
The world of the Fourth Floor was massive and far larger than the First. From a single glance, he could tell this place was different. Expansive, untamed, and brimming with something quietly ominous.
He approximated that this world stretched for hundreds, maybe even thousands of kilometers.
Disregarding the faint metallic scent of blood that lingered in the air, it was surprisingly refreshing, perhaps even more so than Earth’s atmosphere, which had long since become saturated with pollutants and artificial compounds.
Back on Earth, the air was dense with microscopic particulates from industrial reactors, synthetic carbon chains released by megacities, and trace residues of nitrogen-based stabilizers used in climate regulation satellites. Even the supposedly "clean" zones of 2135 carried measurable concentrations of aerosolized graphene dust, remnants of decades of overengineering in atmospheric filtration systems.
Here, though, there was none of that. Only raw, unprocessed air, untouched by human intervention.
Nightingale inhaled deeply, feeling his lungs expand in a way they hadn’t for years. The sensation was so pure, so startlingly clean, that it almost felt alien.
When was the last time he’d felt something like this?
’It’s almost better than sex. Almost. Hehehe.’
A crooked grin spread across his face for a fleeting second before he quickly shook his head and forced his thoughts back into order.
’This is not the time to be thinking about such things!’
He let out a sigh and turned toward Flaming Rose, who was still carefully observing their surroundings. Then deciding to break the silence, he said:
"By the way, now that we’re here... what exactly should we do next?"
Wandering aimlessly was clearly not an option. There was only so far luck could take them, and both of them understood that well.
Rose paused, considering his question for a moment before answering in a measured tone.
"That’s a good question. To be honest, I hadn’t planned this far ahead. My assumption was that we’d clear the Third Floor, gather a few shards, and retreat for the day. But the labyrinth’s layout threw our entire plan off course."
Nightingale replied dryly:
"In other words, you don’t have a map for this floor."
"I’m afraid not." She lowered her head slightly, perhaps out of embarrassment, though her expression was hidden behind the pristine white mask.
Before he could comment further, Rose added quickly,
"But... it should be possible to get a map here."
"Please, elaborate."
"There are several monster settlements scattered throughout this floor. While most fiends possess little intelligence, there are a few exceptions, particularly among those of the Fallen rank. With their unnatural strength and partial sentience, they can establish colonies made up of both lesser and greater monsters."
"Wait, hold on. I thought only creatures of the Tyrant Class could command a monster army?"
Rose tilted her head slightly, as though amused by his concern.
"Are you perhaps scared?" she teased, her voice carrying a faint hint of mirth. "You needn’t worry. At best, such a colony would be no larger than a small village. A group of Squires could easily wipe them out if it came to that."
Nightingale asked with a frown.
"How did you acquire this information? Isn’t this your first time coming here?"
She shrugged her shoulders and nonchalantly replied:
"Does that matter? If you must know, I heard it from a few passing Espers. Don’t tell me you’ve suddenly become paranoid?"
He scoffed inwardly.
’Paranoid? I’m paranoid? Why are you suddenly so carefree? What happened to that professional demeanor of yours?!’
Some might say his plan back on the Third Floor had been reckless, but at least it worked. Rose’s words, however, bordered on the absurd.
Setting aside how she had even obtained such information, the idea that Fallen Fiends could form organized colonies didn’t sit well with him. It defied everything he knew about monster behavior. Then again, nature had its own logic. Biological organisms often gravitated toward social structures, no matter how violent, primal or chaotic they appeared.
For example, even the so-called king of the jungle did not hunt alone. In reality, it was the lionesses who coordinated the hunt while the lazy males simply reaped the rewards of the hunt.
In that sense, perhaps the Fallen Fiends weren’t so different.
’So that means they shouldn’t be that tough. Maybe that’s why she isn’t bothered.’
Nightingale brushed a hand through his hair as he stared out into the mist-covered ridge ahead. The haze stretched endlessly, swallowing the horizon in a veil of shifting silver.
He stared for a long while, as if trying to glimpse something that couldn’t be seen.
But in the end, he saw nothing.
’Guess I shouldn’t be too concerned, then.’
Of course, that was merely foolish optimism that he would come to regret soon enough.