There is No Epic Loot Here, Only Puns

126: Slivers of Silver

It... felt... like...this...

Was..

It.

...


...?

Sensation. A sharp poke that brought reality crashing back. A reflective mana tapping her very essence. Delta twitched as something broke the time dilation over her own mind.

"I like your grit, but there's biting more than you can chew and suffocating yourself in dessert," a voice broke through the endless loop. A woman had simply walked out of thin air. Silver hair, amused sculpted features... too beautiful to be real.

She reached in and pulled Delta out of the pedestal as if grabbing a fish stuck in a net.

"Who... are you?" Delta said slowly, the connection to her dungeon coming clearer now and giving her energy through the decaying dungeon veins in here.

The once Silver dungeon...

"Sil...ver?" Delta asked and the woman snorted.

"No. Don't let the hair fool you. I used to be a different colour. My name is Lorsa and you, little step-sister are a long way from home," the woman said with a sigh.

This Lorsa was a dungeon but not.

She was old, but new.

She was strong but weak.

Lorsa was sad but she was determined.

"You should come to my dungeon and have cake," Delta said the first thing that came to her mind. Her most base thoughts... her first instincts in a stressful situation.

Lorsa smiled and they were moving through the Dungeon system links, bouncing between dungeons like bounce pads. This was how Lorsa 'teleported'. Her control was years above Delta's, however. She could make sharp turns with ease and the other Dungeons moved to get out of her way.

"The good news is that you for a few minutes managed a dungeon with about 34x the amount of levels of your own and didn't instantly snap. That means you're tough," Lorsa complimented. Delta still felt groggy... confused as the tunnels around them shot past like stars in the sky.

"Bad news?" she asked, frowning.

Lorsa's frown grew and Delta decided she would have to add ice-cream to the offering table.

Under her silver hair, like lines on her skull, the glint of diamond sparkled in the passing light.

"You set off every alarm on the way down," Lorsa said simply.

Oh... Delta didn't suppose that was very good, now was it?

---

The gleaming tower was a marvel of stone and rare imported glass from the desert, farmed from the fabled Ruby Dungeon of beauty. The constructs had been infused with rare glassmaker mana, making them permanent.

The appearance was open, airy, and approachable.

The stairs leading up were physically exhausting but brisk. One could pay a small fare at the entrance gate for the platform that would lift them up as they relaxed on benches. It was affordable so it really was a choice of endurance vs time.

Along with the ten free rides around noon each day, it was all very liked.

Such was the way to the Fairplay Tower.

Near the top, but not quite the top floor, Director Ripdoy looked out the window over the expanding town of glinting glass and streamlined mage colleges.

Water mages would be going to the sewage treatment plant along with fire mages to the waste management.

Local air mages would collect the spill off and fill them back into blocks that Fairplay would take back and feed to the Smog Dungeon to the east. A long trip to simply dump waste, but it was the only dungeon that naturally developed such a... taste.

The dungeon was an amenable one. Keeping to its word and the deal they had struck. One of the smoother deals, but that might be due to the gluttonous nature of the Dungeon rather than their own negotiation tactics.

The sheer profits they made off enchanted air masks were also not to be ignored, so Ripdoy considered the journey of waste to be worth it.

His door opened and he looked over his shoulder to see a lanky boy shuffling in, holding a tea tray. It shook, but at least there'd be no more stains on his expensive rug this time.

"Gentle, come in boy," he beckoned and the nervous teen with dull brown hair and a uniform he still struggled to fill out did so, managed to put the tray down without spilling anything this time. Ripdoy internally sighed in relief.

The tea was a bitter sort, but Ripdoy had grown to enjoy many flavours in his years.

"Sir, a report from upstairs in the Manatracer came in. They need to see you immediately," Gentle said, not stammering. Ripdoy nearly promoted him on the spot. How far the boy had come from the stuttering clumsy idiot he had taken under his wing.

"Very good, Gentle. Stay here and enjoy some tea. Anyone comes looking, you know what to do," he instructed. It had not been his intent to turn Gentle into an assistant of sorts, but it just worked out that way. The boy seemed happier when he was elbow deep in work, so he didn't have the heart to actually hire someone to take the duties away from Gentle.

"S-sir?" the boy asked before he was out the room. Ripdoy turned back with an arched brow.

"If the Manatracer is acting up then it means a new Dungeon... a strong one," he said, not actually asking anything.

"Gentle, remember not to dawdle with your words, lad," he reminded and the boy straightened up, saluting.

"Sir! I want to know if I can finally join a scouting expedition?" he asked, unable to hide his excitement.

Ripdoy brushed his silvery beard, unable to quite hide his frown. Men and women could legally join up at the age of 18, however, special permission from a guardian could allow one at 16 to join the various groups.

Since Ripdoy was Gentle's guardian in the eye of the law... he could grant the boy's wish.