The Fool's Freedom

Florence screamed and stumbled back, falling on the floor.

“Ash!” Alan had no time to think as he sent the [Synaptic Failure] he had been holding for the blood elemental towards his best friend.

Ashlyn stopped just short of Florence, her muscles twitched and she struggled for a few seconds before her eyes rolled back and the tension left her body. Alan rushed to catch her and gently lowered her to the ground.

“Huh,” Florence exhaled, “She was going to kill me.” It was a statement that came out much calmer than the girl looked. She was pale and her eyes were wide and terrified. Alan hadn’t seen Florence so riled up before; she was acting more and more like a normal human since they reunited.

“This was not her. Something went wrong,” Alan said.

Florence crawled closer and gently put Ashlyn’s head on her lap.

“She uses animal blood for her skill and it makes her stronger, giving her instincts like a beast… Is it possible your buff let the skill take over?

“I don’t know what’s possible, Alan. I am as new at this as you are.”

“Right.”

Ashlyn’s weak voice drew their attention, “What… happened? Is the elemental dead?”

“You don’t remember?” Alan asked.

Ashlyn frowned and struggled to get up but he held her down. It was a few more minutes before she looked well enough. Alan took out some of the water and they moved away from all the blood and imp remains covering the floor, choosing a somewhat clean corner almost next to the door they had come from. The dirty elemental core was rinsed and put in Alan’s shadow pocket.

The smell of the blood-plastered room, no matter how large it was, wasn’t doing anyone any favors.

They went over the events and Ashlyn seemed horrified and ashamed.

“I am so sorry, Florence.”

“It’s alright. You did warn me you would kill me, should’ve seen it coming.” Florence smiled, her hands still shook but she looked calm otherwise.

Ashlyn sighed. “That I did. I am truly sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, Ash.”

Alan was glad things were going well, but he still felt some guilt as well, “Listen, Ash, I want to apologize for blasting you with [Synaptic Failure] too, but…”

“I would have killed Florence, and probably you after, if you didn’t. I should be thanking you for stopping me, don’t apologize. Do it again if I go crazy.”

“You won’t go crazy. Now we know some skills don’t go well together. Can you recall what exactly happened?”

Ashlyn thought for a bit and shook her head, “It’s a blur. One of [Imitate Predator] effects allows me to fight free of thought as I said, I guess the… [Battle Focus], was it? I guess [Battle Focus] just made me dig deeper into the instincts of the beast whose blood I was using at the time. A strange Mutated Dusk Wolf I met. It is the strongest one I have. It makes me fast and strong, but I am hardly able to think clearly.”

“I see,” Florence put her hand on Ashlyn’s shoulder and squeezed slightly, “I guess we will be more careful then.”

“Yeah.”

“Look at you two bonding,” Alan said earning a murderous gaze from Ash and a smile from Florence. “Anyone hungry?”

“You are bleeding, let’s take care of that first,” Ashlyn said and started rummaging through her bag. She took out some clean bandages and a strange salve and quickly dressed Alan’s wound.

The three ate some fruit, as no one was in the mood for meat, and rested for about an hour. It was hard to tell the time. Alan focused on the feeling of his regenerating mana, trying to get a better picture of the process and the flow. It was not very different from breathing, but it was more of a constant flow that went through all of his pores and disappeared into his body.

At some point, he heard Florence calling for him and he opened his eyes.

Did I drift off?

“Sorry, catching some shut-eye.”

“We noticed.”

Alan stood up and dusted himself off. His thigh hurt a bit but there was no bleeding, “Shall we continue?”

No one was as enthused as the start but they continued through the dungeon.

Alan was excited to level a few more times; Ashlyn had gotten her strongest skill at level 10, and he needed some more variety. His current style depended on being able to send shadow slashes reliably while being close enough to the enemy so they would hit. Unfortunately, boosted as they were, his physical attributes were nowhere near close to those of a regular fighter. He was left in a strange place, combat-wise.

They continued down the spiral hall. Alan tried to open the next door they found under the judging looks of the girls. It was as heavily shut as the first one. The next one opened, revealing a cave-in that left no path forward. There were many blocked passages throughout.

It was the fifth one that opened to a small room and another cave-in. There was an open door to the left that led to another room filled with broken crates, vases, and all other types of worthless junk. They rummaged for a while, trying to find something of value, but the space seemed to be some storage area for old decorations.

Alan considered using the monocle to see if some of the junk was more than worthless but quickly dismissed the idea. It had limited charges and he didn’t know how long it would work. Maybe Mr. Muge would be able to do something about it.

Their descent continued for the next hour, door after door they found emptied-out rooms or cave-ins. There were a few groups of blood imps but Alan and Ashlyn quickly cleared them out after Florence sent a wave of fear that made them freeze. They were not enough to level, but it was something.

The group finally stopped their descent, reaching a circular hall with two doors. Three if they counted the one they were coming out from. The light was dim, and there was surprisingly what looked to be an intricate coat rack in the middle of the room. It was on the larger side and the hangers were oddly sharpened.

Alan simply chose one of the two doors at random, and the girls followed, the trio finding themselves once again bathed in red light. Alan had hoped this was the tower’s base. It hadn’t looked that tall when they had looked at it from the bridge, but the sea of undulating red flowers had probably fucked with his sense of perspective.

However, after following the bare corridor, they found themselves in a much larger hall. There were multiple small doors and one immensely big one surrounding a long, stone table, and Alan groaned. If this was a game he would go into each door, turning the space behind it upside down in fear he would miss something important or valuable. But this was not a game and there was almost no loot. What is a Dungeon without loot?

The hall was mercifully empty, apart from the long table that looked quite inviting as it reflected the light of the red chandeliers. Shadows played in the corners as the light seemed to flicker from time to time, creating an ambiance that had been lacking in the previous spaces.

“Door to door?” Ashlyn asked, making both Alan and Florence cringe.

“I guess,” Alan said. He walked carefully further inside, staring at the table. There were a few simple iron chalices on it, along with iron cutlery and plates.

Who makes these things from iron?

The doors around the table suddenly opened as one with a loud bang making them all jump. Alan took out his spear and cast [Shadow Weapon], while Ashlyn already had an arrow nocked in her bow.

Strange humanoid constructs walked out. Their bodies were almost entirely made from twisting copper-colored tubes and metal plates, giving them a crude, almost unfinished look. The web of tubes had wide gaps that revealed thick vein-like cables which curled and twisted entering the various parts of the constructs. In the middle of their chest was a beating pale heart to which all the veins connected.

There were ten of them- five on the left side and five on the right side of the long table. Each held a pitcher and stood waiting. Most eye-grabbing of all was the pitch-black bowtie tied around each copper neck.

“Are those… servers?” Florence asked.

“I guess?” Ashlyn seemed similarly flabbergasted.

Alan didn’t know what to say. The constructs seemed to be waiting for something. It was a bizarre picture.

“Fuck,” Alan walked confidently forward, trying to pretend he belonged for some reason, and took one of the iron chalices from the table. Instantly the nearest construct walked forward only to stop next to him.

Alan tentatively rose the chalice and watched with wonder as a pale red liquid fell in lumps into the chalice. He almost gagged at the display, but held on to the cup. The construct waited. Alan stared at it.

“Do you want me to drink this?” Alan asked. There was no way he would do that. If he did, he would probably die from the taste long before those things finished him off.

Surprisingly the construct nodded once, its featureless face holding off on further details.

“Will it kill me?” Alan decided to try his luck with some questions if the constructs were open to communication.

The faceless head shook sideways.

“Will YOU kill me if I don’t drink?”

The construct before him and all other constructs nodded as one.

Alan frowned, “That’s shit service if I have ever seen one.”

He swirled the thing in the chalice. It looked almost like thick pale blood, but it was the small lumps that worried him, although the smell was not half bad. It was an almost sweet scent with hints of something he hadn’t smelled before.

“Will it change me?” he asked again.

Nod.

“For the better?”

No nod, no shake.

Huh. Maybe it’s up to chance?

“You can’t seriously be considering drinking this?” Ashlyn suddenly blurted out and came up to him. Another construct came up to her almost immediately and waited to pour.

“What if it makes me a vampire or something?”

“You want to be a vampire? Are you fucking insane?”

“Why not? I got shadows, I’ve seen most vampire movies and even a few teen-oriented TV shows. I will be a pretty good vampire, plus I won’t have to worry about dying anymore.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you will be dead, fuckface.”

“You don’t know that! We have yet to meet an actual vampire. They might not be undead in this universe.”

“I won’t debate you on what vampires are like here, Alan!”

“Listen, do you think this guy will lie to us? Huh? Look at his honest face!”

Do constructs understand sarcasm?

“For fuck’s sake, Alan, you are not drinking this!” Ashlyn moved to grab his chalice and the construct reacted lightning fast, grabbing her arm with its free bronze hand. All other constructs took a simultaneous step forward.

Ashlyn tried to pull away, but the construct’s arm didn’t budge, despite her high strength.

“She was joking, I will drink, give me a minute,” Alan said reassuringly. There was a pregnant pause before the construct finally let go.

Alan held Ashlyn’s hand as she reached for her hatchet, “Relax, Ash. Let me check something, but be ready.”

The monocle appeared in his hand and Alan slowly pointed it toward the construct, expecting retaliation.

Pale Heart Copper Attendant (40)

This was bad. Level 40s seemed to be on the stronger side as far as monsters without classes were concerned, and ten of them were worrying. Were there even monsters with classes?

Alan eyed the pale heart in the construct chest and then pointed the monocle toward the liquid in his chalice.

Blood Corpse ??? Liquid ??? Stage

“Hey, uh, Mr. Attendant? Will this liquid turn me into a blood corpse?”

Ashlyn’s eyes widened at the question, “The fuck?”

Florence remained some distance away, silently observing the constructs. She seemed deep in thought.

The construct shook its head.

Alan frowned, “Then… will it start the process of me becoming some sort of a living corpse?”

Nod.

“Huh. Hey Ash, I think now is the time for some red make-up. Just don’t freak out.”

“For fu—, oh.” Ashlyn took a step back, eyeing the constructs, she shook he head at the vial in Alan’s outstretched hand and took out another one that was half empty from her belt, before applying some on her face. She didn’t seem to activate the skill yet, as the blood didn't disappear like the previous times.

At the same time the construct that had been waiting to pour her a cup walked back, falling in line with the rest.

“Well, fuck,” Alan said, “Would you have let us pass if I did not pick up the chalice and let you pour?”

The construct shook its head again then raised its free hand and showed one bronze finger.

Alan sighed, and his fingers started itching but he pushed down the urge to just stab the thing, “One of us has to drink?”

Nod.

“And that one won’t die?”

Nod.

“But they will be changed, forever?”

Pause, then nod.

“Does the change—”

Florence suddenly made her presence known and exploded, surprising both Alan and Ashlyn, “Alan, goddamn it, no one, especially not you, is drinking this.”

“But—”

“Ugh, are we fighting or what?”

“I wasn’t seriously considering drinking…” Alan sullenly set the cup down.

Florence turned toward the construct next to them, and smiled sweetly, “Will you die for me?”

There was silence, as its heart started beating louder and louder, much like Alan’s when Florence got too close. The construct tilted its head in a very human gesture of confusion.

Then its pale heart exploded into a shower of tissue, mostly contained in its chest cavity.

Florence wiped a drop of pale flesh from her face and turned to face Alan, there was a surprise in her eyes, “I didn’t know too much adrenaline could do that.”

“It can’t,” Ashlyn said and the blood on her face glowed for a second before disappearing. Her presence instantly swelled and her eyes changed with it, becoming darker, beastly.

“Oh? Well, I leveled up!”

The nine remaining constructs walked as one and the group pulled away from the table. The constructs set their pitchers on the table and then attacked.