Plink.

Plink.

“...water?”

She blinked. Twice. Thrice. Wet. The drips had somehow landed on her philtrum — just outside her nose. It lingered for a breath before down and her tilted head burst it puddle into stream. Passing through her blocked, mucus-filled inside, and clutched the back of her throat.

“Ahk..”

Not even a cough, she winced. The freezing water, streamed down and down until it reached the base of her throat. There it became so little, a fraction, it disappeared. It as if weakness grasped her, strangling her body in a weight of thousand rocks. Just a whimper —a gargle. Her eyes blinked hard, red, strained. Her head pounding.

She could barely even move.

Reaching, reaching toward anything, she pushed the little muscle on her midriff. Breathe. Gasp. Anything. The lingering drip tortured her still. Every breath she took chilled all incoming air to freezing.

She pushed, pushed the heckle though. Breathe in, she willed. Breathe in, Breathe out.

Wicks by wicks as her chest fluttered, tensed. Bundles of blue and white and green and yellow filled her vision thick. All expelled from her exhume. It painted the sky briefly, covering the gray, drab ceiling lighted only by sparse moss to a brief halo of color before, as always, got themselves dispersed.

Two, three wicks later when not more than a fifth of her exhale contained the mana’s excess, she found the weight had somewhat lifted. Somewhat. Somewhat and not much. Just enough to push herself up.

So she did just that. Crawling, slithering — scooting. Step by step she hefted, pushed. Crawl then down, crawl then down, moving herself further back and back until her feet — her shoes touched something. One something. It was big, tall —a wall.

Got it...

With all the remaining energy she had, she pushed her hand against the ground, propping herself to sit.

“Ehk!”

Cold! Cold! Cold! Her body jumped —angled to front, Thank light she managed to balance herself. Her hand grasped the floor — pushing it, averting the fall to stagger and slight pain on her elbow.

“I hate the first floor...” she looked at her scraped palm filled with loose gravel.

It was not until a half wick later, after another round of laborious breathing and expelling that she was relatively ...fine. The pounding had relented itself to a mere throb and the damn weakness had long left most of her limbs, the ones mattered. Her back she could do without.

Reaching to her haversack, she pulled a waterskin. The tangy smell of boiled Mores assaulted her as she downed a quarter of it in two big gulps.

“It’s getting worse...”

It wasn’t like this last time, wasn’t it? When was it again? Two weeks? Three weeks? Now the mana —the excesses were almost too much. Way too much.

If this trend continued…

She shook her head. If her party succeeded — and she’d make sure they would, further delving would be moot. Moronic. By then she’d have already at her first job, preferably at Glitters. Or. Or! She could even get herself an apprenticeship. The dream, you know. At that point she could care less about whatever happened in the dungeon. That would be the town’s problem.

“For now, though.”

She pushed herself to stand, cringing against a bit of stiff on her back. Willing it, her left hand flickered. Bursted to [Light]. While she didn't have Lyd’s or Clem’s eyesight, she was pretty sure it should be around here — found it!

Left of Emily and up still groaning Rene, a symbol was painted. Apparent on the wall, it depicted a half-spilled goblet paired with a plate of bread. The symbol wasn’t bright, it wasn’t dim. It glowed with just enough glow, and nominally almost unseen.

It was a drawing of light and sap. Made from crushed Acress not even a moon old that had just sprouted its first five leaves. Like when waters of different streams merged into one tributary, it shone from clear blue that very slowly transitioned to green. Every breath, it rippled. Releasing a wave of calm and assurance. It was the [Minder’s] sign.

To those who consigned, we plead our stewardship.

“Thank her light…”

“...new one?” A voice blurted. She turned her head, careful not touching still sprawling Rene. Emily. How long she’d been awake? Oh. Half-awake. Half of her breath still colored in mana, her eyes opened but barely.

“No.” she shook her head. Pushing her knuckle against the symbol’s bounce. “Three more wicks and it’d run out.”

“...shouldn’t they...ughk...last three bells?“ the party leader said. “Where were the [Minders]?”

“I...” she paused, wondering if it was good to tell her. After all, it’d distract her from flushing. Which was light know, more pressing. But... “I think they don’t know.”

“What??”

“They don’t know. This — this is just my guess, all right? My guess. But” —she pointed at the symbol— “look at here, at the spill.”

“Kind of occupied here.”

“Right, sorry. Anyway, the spill is receding — fluctuating. It was too fast. Way too fast.”

“It’s the dungeon.” she sighed. “Damn thing drain it faster than normal.”

“Faster??”

“Yes. Two times faster.” she caressed the stone wall, redirecting a flicker of the mana meant for [Light] into a slight zap, pushing it to the sign. The waver felt distant, weak. “At least.“

“Damn…” Emily said. “Can you reinforce it?”

“No...” she shook her head, frowning. “This is skill. Not a spell.” she peered at her, lips taut. “You should know that.”

“Ah… And here I thought we could have a proper break today.” the [Spearmistress] sighed. “Set a perimeter then.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“But—”

“No, Lene. Don’t you feel it?” the woman looked at her. “The mana?”

“Of course, I do...” she harrumphed.

“With that kind of intensity, Clem wouldn’t wake for at least a bell,” Emily said. “It means, we’d only be doing the first floor today.”

“Right...” she sighed. Light, how could she forget? Clem. Of course. Turning her head around, she saw him, the rogue. He was hidden far left of Rene, his boots popped out by the bend.

Around him the mana were dense, thick. Damn. Those at least four times of hers. She almost fished her haversack for tarps — for blankets. The man was just that concerning. While like the rest he was also unconscious, not even Lyd had was this — this shaking. Or two shades paler. She sometimes wondered if his kind weren’t meant for delving. At least not near a break.

She left him be though, flushing wasn’t that dangerous. It just took time. [Light] raised, she proceeded toward the edges, not far, just twenty steps deeper into the hallway.

“I need to turn off the light for this,” she said, trying to peer through the far darkness, pass the overarching stones, just in case a gaggle tried to ambush her when setting the perimeter. “Emily, is Lyd awake?”

“No.”

“If I may, Lady Emily, Lady Arlene.” A voice interrupted her, it was airy, tonal, and carry a hint of refinement of those Hightowners. Oskar.

“Lady Lydia still asleep,” he continued. “But we believe we could lend an assistance.”

“Rishi, if you would?”

“Yes, Mr. Oskar.” the man replied, even this far, she could hear his low reserved grumble, an echoing sound when a staff clanged to the earthen stone.

Then it burst.

“[Activate Enchantment: Fifty Paces of Sunbright]!!”

At once, the dim, starry ceiling was pierced. Warm yellow replaced her snuffed bright white, piercing all the diverging hallways. The moss, the [Minder] sign’s glow receded, outshined. Leaving only smudges of dark green and light almost unseen.

“Thanks.”

Choosing a rather dried patch, she began inscribing. First the center rune, the all-seeing eye of [Alarm]. Then the second layer, the [Ring], the [Flash: Loud]. She connected three of them with modified Tower’s Triangle and close it in a circle of manaflow.

“Warn us of approaching peril!”

The spark flew. From her hand to the circle, first to the [Alarm] rune, then to the two others. Buzzing, the manaflow circle sloped, glimmered. Drawing the surrounding mana to compel. To rotation. Swish by swish. Swirl by swirl. She saw the chalk sparked with a final flash of blue and green. The spell was complete.

"There, done!" Storing back the chalk, she spread a bit of her mana out, making sure there was no leak or anything like that.

It wasn’t as good as the [Minders] sign. Those could ward off monsters. Hers only warn them if they were incoming. Basically a [Detect Life] but constant and cheaper.

The problem was it drained her a tick every breath. Not much, she could last a bell but — haah.

She could use another meal.

“Big!”

“Right, right.” he nodded, puffing up his chest. “It called benefit of doubt, Clar.” His pearly white teeth showed up as he picked up a crescendo — the rare teaching moment which he missed so much. ”It means if you know a person, trust a person, you should give them a chance even though what they’re doing seem counterproduc— Clar!””

“Mwhaster?” he facepalmed. One of the dough, the biggest one yet, was already halfway through the glutton mouth.

“It still needs to be ...baked.” he sighed, watching her continue to munch it. He just turned his head for a second! “Jeanne?” he pleaded. “Help me here…”

“Clar comes on spit it out.” the scullery maid said. “Look here, big sister cooked pene for Clar.”

“Clar is a good girl, yes?” added Mrs. Crombe

“Bwut, it’s gwwod.” she said, sadly. Also continued to munching-ly. Ugh. That puppy eyes were so unfair.

“No but!” he shook his head, steeling his heart. For her future, he needed to brandish a stick here. Carrots weren’t enough it seemed. “Uncooked food could give you a stomachache.”

“Swtomwachache?”

“Yes.” he nodded. “Do you know what happens to children who got stomachaches?” he stared at her eyes. “They could only eat porridge for a month.”

“Nwo bread?”

“No.”

“N—no couchee?”

“No.”

“Nwo pene?”

“No.”

“A—ah…” she seemed shocked. The dough ball, half-eaten splatted to her feet.

“Oh and what do we have here,” he picked out the now smudged dough, lifting it in front of the little girl’s face. “It looked like Clar would get stomachache! ”

“Nooo!!”

“Jeanne, cancel her roasted couchee. For the next four weeks, all her meals will consist just porridge. One porridge.”

“Y—yes young master.” the maid nodded, hiding her chuckle.

“Noooooooo!!”

“Do you want to get stomachache, Clar?”

“No, no, stomachache!”

“So don’t eat raw food anymore, do you understand?”

“Yes!”

“Now be a good girl and have a cup of warm water with sister Jeanne. As punishment, your breakfast has to wait until me and Mrs. Crombe finish cooking.”

“Wuu… master...”

“Yes, stomachache’s Clar?”

“No, no, no.” she shook her head furiously.

“Come on, Clar.”

Unwillingly and with lots of pouting, Jeane managed to drag Clar in a half-hug. Like literally dragging. Across the floor. By her hands. He just nodded when the maid checked it with him if it was fine she dragged Clar like that. Which understandable, even good wood paneling still had scuffs, area between two or more panels which relatively rough. But knowing the glutton and this world magic thingy, she’d have to be dragged across a hundred kilometers long before even her outermost epidermis began scraping.

“Finally.” he sighed. Seeing the troublemaker had left the kitchen. “Now let’s continue with— ”

“Master bad!!!”

“That girl…”

“Hehehe.” Mrs. Crombe laughed. “You’re a good older brother, sir.”

“Thank you Mrs.” he smiled. “It just been hard since both of her parents passed away, you know” he tossed away the half-eaten dough. “I just hope I’m enough.”

“Clar will grow up to be a nice and beautiful lady, sir.” the woman smiled. “I’m sure of it, yes?”

“Thank you,” he said, taking the remaining dough, and put it on a copper tray. “Now, had you preheated the oven?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.” he nodded. “Let’s bake.”