Into the Labyrinth

As Han and his group rested, their search turning up nothing, Joseph finished preparing to leave his makeshift refuge. On the floor lay a large sack stitched from horned orc hide and cloth fragments, packed tight with essentials.

A sizeable hide canteen—topped up with fresh water he’d conjured using basic magic—hung from the sack. Inside, a good stock of dried provisions sat over a bed of useful odds and ends: cloth strips, horns, rivets, and more.

Weapons were latched onto the outside, positioned where he could grab them at a moment’s notice. After countless hours of checking and rechecking, he finally sent the pack down to the floor, while he recovered a bit of stamina and mana.

Bow ready, he adjusted the quiver on his back, buckled the makeshift dagger belt at his waist, and tightened his grip on the staff. He gave the shelter one last look.

The dried remains he’d stored lay undisturbed in their carved recesses, dark stains long since drying. Around the space, the usual clutter: heavy rivets, wood scraps, and the concrete and stone spheres from his first experiments with earth magic.

With a resigned breath, Joseph climbed down the wooden door, grabbed the pack, and crossed the chamber toward the smaller stone door—only a third the size of its wooden twin. He activated Spirit Sight; the pitch-black corridor resolved into crisp, outlined greys.

Before stepping in, he channeled a thread of spirit power into each piece of clothing and gear. Normally, he’d avoid the telltale glow of imbued items, but he’d layered coverings to mask most of the light.

The result: slightly tougher garments, a touch of extra speed and resilience, and a pack that felt just a little lighter. It demanded steady focus to maintain, but he wanted the practice. If it dropped, he’d move as if it weren’t there anyway.

Fully set, he drew a slow breath to steady his hammering heart. Then, placing each footfall with care, he ventured into the unknown—footsteps softened by the spirit-imbued gear as the darkness pressed in.

Hours blurred. He moved through corridor after corridor, marking his path with faint magical sigils so he could backtrack if needed. Dead ends earned a quiet turnabout and a mental note; at intersections he kept to one wall—left, always left—to methodically sweep the maze.

Four hard hours brought nothing but split brick, flickering torches, and silence. No scaffolding like the last area, no traffic, no monsters—only winding halls and the patience to keep going.

Finally, something: deep wall gouges, not his own marks. A horned impact, by the look—mass driven into stone. He heightened his guard, swapped staff for bow, nocked an arrow, and crept forward, wary of an ambush.

Five more hours, and still only that first set of gouges remained as signs of life. No new signs. No movement. Just the endless maze.

He stopped to rest—body and mind both tired—and shaped a concrete platform from the wall to ceiling: a sideways “L,” stable and just big enough for him and his pack. In half a minute it was done. He climbed via a few concrete holds, hauled up the sack, and tucked in.

Even ten meters of ceiling wouldn’t tempt a three-to-four-meter orc to climb, but he kept alert. Something larger might exist and sleeping is when he’s most vulnerable. He drank, ate, took a fair nap, then eased back down and left the alcove in place to avoid needless noise.

Six more hours of marking, doubling back, and eliminating false paths. When he finally felt the tug of real fatigue, he crafted a smaller high ledge—barely big enough to lie on—and slept… as well as he could at least.

He woke sometime later, sharper but still groggy after his nerves prevented him from a deeper sleep. After food and a quick visit to a tucked-away corner, he set off again.

All day, the thought returned: just blast through the walls, carve a straight line, be done with it. Reason won every time. Random demolition in an unknown dungeon was an invitation to disaster, let alone the time, effort and other unknown factors at play.

Fourteen more hours passed before he found fresh signs: new horn-gouges. It wasn’t much—but after so long, it was something. He sighed, both relieved and wary.

He shaped another tiny roost and settled in. Sleep didn’t come right away. His thoughts circled what this place was for.

'This is a maze—huge, maybe with only a handful of exits. Those horn marks aren’t from the same horned orcs as before. There are too few and much larger judging by the depth of those impacts. That suggests a small number of powerful roamers were released here as hunters. Minotaur and labyrinth, maybe—predators meant to punish loud groups?'

Another thought clicked into place.

'So why haven’t they found me? Maybe because I’m alone—quiet, clean, leaving almost no trail. My spirit-imbued gear mutes my presence a bit, I’ve kept to an alright hygiene routine, and I’m not stomping around in a crowd. Nearly all predators rely on a key few senses; namely ears, nose and sight.'

A sharper realization struck.

'If this place is meant to stress groups into mistakes and fights, then by being silent and careful… I’ve possibly skipped the intended challenge. I haven’t even checked my status since entering. If I’ve been constantly avoiding something…'

Name: Joseph

Class: Spirit Ranger [E+] (+3 Spirit, +2 Dexterity, +2 Agility, +1 Magic)

Title: Survivor of the Unsurvivable

Level: 14

Vitality: 5
Strength: 20
Dexterity: 38
Agility: 38
Magic: 29
Spirit: 27

Available Stat Points: 0

Active Skills: Channel Spirits (D), Spirit Sight (D), Magic-Spirit Communion (D), Condensed Fireball (E), Concrete Creation (F)

Passive Skills: Survivor (D), Spirit’s Affection (E), Exploit Weak Point (F), Mana Control (E), Concealed Presence (E), Silent Steps (E), Focused Hearing (F)

Concrete Creation (F) – Create concrete through magic within a limited range.
Concealed Presence (E) – Slight reduction in detectability of presence.
Silent Steps (E) – Slight reduction in sound produced when moving at slow speeds.
Focused Hearing (F) – Minuscule improvement to hearing acuity with the ability to focus on specific sounds.

‘Heh. Nice. I’ve been ranking up just by moving smart. Considering I haven’t even met this maze hunter yet, it must be high level for these upgrades to happen so fast.

Survivor and Spirit Sight got a slight bump— which I noticed but assumed was just me adapting. Concrete Creation’s lower than I hoped, but I can increase it over time. The stealth trio is perfect. If I can land invisibility or proper camouflage next, I’m set for ambush play. Until then, a bit of caution and these passives will do quite well.'

He leaned back, grinning.

'Wild that I got these just by slipping past whatever’s in here—maybe more than one. Should I go hunting? My arrows punch deep enough into those other horned orcs, and the difficulty has to be high but not impossible.

If arrows aren’t enough, there’s always Condensed Fireball—and maybe I can bind the blast to an arrow. There’s no rush… but making a little noise to see what answers… might be interesting.'