Spathian almost died today.
More accurately—
I also almost died.
Possibly at exactly the same time.
I should explain.
Today we reached the fourth floor of the Heartspike Catacombs.
The Memory Abyss.
Of all the floors we have crossed so far, this was the first one that genuinely felt wrong.
Not dangerous.
Wrong.
The distinction feels important.
The Vein Chambers felt hostile.
The Fractured Halls felt unstable.
The Memory Abyss felt as though it remembered something unpleasant.
And wished everyone else would remember it too.
The tunnels were narrower here.
Twisting.
Uneven.
The stone walls looked cracked and dry, like old skin stretched over something living.
Large red crystals grew from the rock at strange angles.
Their light flickered constantly.
Not enough to create darkness.
Just enough to make every shadow appear alive.
Thick black roots pushed through ceilings and floors alike.
Some disappeared into walls.
Others emerged from them.
Several seemed to move when I wasn't looking directly at them.
I chose not to investigate.
The air was cold.
Damp.
Heavy.
Occasionally a distant crack echoed somewhere beyond the tunnels.
Or the slow scraping sound of roots shifting beneath stone.
None of it was comforting.
We were traveling toward the fifth floor alongside several veteran hunter groups.
Apparently everyone had similar destinations.
Ryn spent much of the journey exchanging information.
Artifact prices.
Recent discoveries.
Dungeon routes.
Market conditions.
I noticed that hunters and merchants eventually speak the same language.
The vocabulary changes.
The obsession remains.
Spathian and I followed behind.
For a while everything went surprisingly well.
Several monster encounters occurred.
Enough to keep everyone alert.
Not enough to stop our progress.
A Memory Leech descended from a ceiling tunnel at one point.
Its translucent tentacles drifted through the air like floating veins.
The thing pulsed slowly.
Like a giant heart hanging upside down.
One hunter accidentally brushed against a tentacle.
He immediately forgot where he was walking.
And almost stepped into a pit.
Another group dealt with an Abyssal Stalker.
I barely saw it.
Only a blur of red skin.
White eyes.
Then shouting.
Then a corpse.
The monster's corpse.
Thankfully.
A Root Devourer appeared later.
Which I identified immediately thanks to the guidebook.
This accomplishment felt significantly less impressive while watching it attempt to strangle someone.
Still.
Correct identification is technically progress.
Everything was under control.
Mostly.
Enough that I began relaxing.
This was my mistake.
Because whenever I begin relaxing—
something happens.
Today that something was Spathian.
We were moving through another narrow corridor when he suddenly stopped.
Then grabbed my sleeve.
I looked where he pointed.
A side room.
Small.
Dark.
Unremarkable.
Except for one detail.
A chest.
A large wooden chest sitting directly in the middle of the room.
I remember blinking.
Once.
Twice.
Then looking ahead.
The veteran hunters kept walking.
Ryn kept walking.
Nobody reacted.
Which seemed strange.
Because there was clearly a treasure chest.
Inside a Treasure Vault.
This felt suspiciously convenient.
Unfortunately.
It also felt exciting.
I looked at Spathian.
Spathian looked at me.
He was smiling.
The wide smile.
The dangerous smile.
The smile usually followed by property damage.
Or scientific progress.
Sometimes both.
Then he ran.
I followed immediately.
Which, in hindsight, was not one of my stronger decisions.
Behind us I heard something.
A voice.
A familiar voice.
Horrified.
Panicked.
Distant.
"Nooooooo!"
Ryn.
By the time I turned back, Spathian had already reached the chest.
He opened it.
Inside—
gold.
Piles of gold.
Hundreds of coins.
Maybe thousands.
The entire chest glittered.
I distinctly remember thinking:
"Oh.
Then I ran faster.
Spathian laughed.
Actually laughed.
He reached down.
Grabbed one coin.
Raised it triumphantly above his head.
Victory.
Achievement.
Financial success.
Then the coin moved.
Not because Spathian moved it.
Because it moved.
On its own.
The entire chest shifted.
The gold darkened.
The surface rippled.
Suddenly every coin exploded upward.
A black cloud erupted from the chest.
Spathian immediately fell backward.
I attempted to stop running.
Physics declined this request.
My foot slipped.
The floor vanished.
The world became panic.
Somewhere during this process I reached into my Infinity Bag.
Grabbed the first object available.
And raised it in front of my face.
As a shield.
The object happened to be my lucky coin.
I do not know why.
Instinct is rarely intelligent.
The next five seconds happened too quickly to understand.
A black blur.
A loud—
"WOOOMP!"
Something passed over my head.
A spray of liquid.
A horrible smell.
Then silence.
I remained frozen.
Still holding the lucky coin.
As though it had personally saved me.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
I turned around.
Ryn stood behind us.
Both hands gripping the handle of her cart.
The cart was covered in green slime.
The walls were covered in green slime.
The floor was covered in green slime.
The room was covered in green slime.
Several veteran hunters stood motionless.
Completely silent.
Ryn was breathing heavily.
Spathian was breathing heavily.
I was still holding a useless coin like a holy relic.
The flying gold was gone.
Every single piece.
Only slime remained.
Then came the lecture.
A long lecture.
An educational lecture.
A lecture delivered by someone gripping a cart handle hard enough to bend metal.
According to Ryn, we do not possess functioning brains.
According to Ryn, this Treasure Vault is centuries old.
According to Ryn, this is still surface level.
According to Ryn, if an untouched treasure chest appears in the middle of a traveled route—
it is never treasure.
Never.
Not once.
Not ever.
She repeatedly instructed us to use logic.
Spathian remained silent.
I remained silent.
Not because we lacked arguments.
Because survival instincts finally activated.
One incorrect sentence felt capable of causing immediate death.
Eventually everyone calmed down.
Mostly.
We continued toward the nearest checkpoint.
Where I immediately consulted the Hunter Guide.
The creature was called a Golden Mimic Beetle.
A colony predator.
Each individual disguises itself perfectly as a gold coin.
Entire swarms gather inside abandoned chests.
When disturbed, they attack simultaneously.
The green liquid is apparently a paralytic acid.
A particularly unpleasant combination.
The guidebook also noted that inexperienced hunters are frequent victims.
I appreciate the accuracy.
As I finish writing this, the checkpoint is quiet.
The crystals continue flickering overhead.
The roots continue moving inside the walls.
Spathian is pretending not to avoid eye contact with Ryn.
Ryn is pretending not to notice.
Neither performance is convincing.
My lucky coin rests beside this journal.
Still useless.
Still not magical.
Still somehow involved.
Today I learned something important.
Experience is expensive.
Sometimes the price is money.
Sometimes the price is dignity.
And occasionally—
the payment almost includes your life.
Considering the alternatives, I suspect Ryn's lecture was the cheaper option.
Only slightly.
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