Gauss weighed the pros and cons, hesitated a moment, then decided.

“Let’s scout toward the hidden room first. Once we’ve got eyes on it, we’ll decide whether to go in.”

Compared to whatever payout a labyrinth “dark room” might hold, safety was the priority.

And for some reason, a faint unease had been nagging him—like his sixth sense was trying to tap him on the shoulder.

Alia caught his hesitation and nodded.

“Then we play it steady.”

Serandur nodded too. He’d brought the lead; how they moved afterward was Gauss’s call.

There were clearly fewer adventurers on the second level than above. Even so, the numbers were what they were—fresh tread marks showed plenty had come and gone from the stair.

After a short breather, the trio set out in the direction Serandur indicated.

“Did you run into anything nasty on your solo scout?” Gauss asked, using his steel longsword as a clearing to hack back the tangle of brush ahead.

Serandur shook his head. “Just avoid anything suspicious. Most common monsters, I can smell them from a ways off, then detour and skip the fight.”

Gauss understood. That was how lone wolves survived. It wasn’t always about winning; it was about the tradeoffs—what if something goes wrong, what will the fight cost, who patches you up when you’re alone?

With three, they could afford to be bolder and conserve energy. They rotated point—each taking turns clearing a path and then dropping into the middle to rest. Even moving nonstop, the team could keep a good pace.

A short while after they passed the second level entry, several figures flickered briefly into view, cloaked in green that blended with the growth. The leader crouched, pushed aside moss, eyed the clear fresh prints in the damp. Two trails.

“That way’s three; the other’s four.”

“Take the smaller group.”

They sank into the foliage, slipping forward like silent hawks.

…

“Watch your step,” Gauss warned, flicking a pebble.

It smacked into lush growth—and instead of bouncing, punched straight through vines and moss with a “thunk,” vanishing into a hidden acid pool and throwing up a splash of green.

“Cccch—!”

Where it spattered onto vines, the plant tissue blackened and shriveled, white vapor curling up.

In the labyrinth, danger was everywhere—built traps and natural hazards both. Fall into an acid pond, panic and lose your bearings, fail to find the lip… even with Gauss’s force field you wouldn’t last long.

“Let’s find a spot to rest.”

Past the acid patch, they found a clear area and sat. Gauss ate, and with his free hand kept practicing Clay Shaping. Getting it to Lv2 was urgent—or more accurately, developing the spell as quickly as he could was urgent.

He could feel it: ever since he started practicing clay magic, his class XP—once moving at a steady burn—had loosened and surged again. Maybe developing this spell would open a window for another fast level.

After a while, the bar ticked up: 7/10. In his palm, three lumpy little figures took shape—height and stance hinting at the trio.

At this rate, if he ever retired, he could open a figurine studio and scrape by selling “otherworldly” kits.

He chuckled at himself, pocketed the clay, and they moved on.

This route was completely different from their first. The deeper they went, the more insects there were—more species, too. Most were just fauna, not monsters; his index didn’t budge. He did unlock his 32nd common entry, though—the Acid Borer Beetle, a 40–60 cm bruiser with a sprayer for corrosive spit and head-tentacles for ramming.

“Should be here?”

Gauss scanned the empty corridor, senses keyed up.

“Huh?” Serandur, for once, sounded surprised. He wasn’t entirely sure anymore.

They searched a bit and finally found the shallow scratch he’d left last time.

“Yeah. Here. There used to be a trunk over there covered in vines—you pull them aside and there’s a tree hole that goes way down…” His voice trailed off, face tight with embarrassment.

He’d dragged them out half a day only for… this. Gone.

That was the labyrinth for you—risk and opportunity, and when chance closed, it stayed closed.

Seeing Serandur’s discomfort, Gauss just smiled, rose on his toes, and patted his shoulder.

“Forget it. Even if it were still here, we might not have gone in. Your description sounded nasty. And we came to explore—this wasn’t a waste.”

“Mm.”

Gauss opened his mind map; their second level coverage was still low. This floor was more dangerous, the terrain more twisted—branching corridors and vertical shafts like a real maze.

They searched around and pressed on.

“Gauss. Over here.”

Alia’s boot had struck something. She used her staff tip to brush back glowing moss and braided vines. A faint scent—earth, wet green, and light rot—rose, and a naked male corpse came into view.

“An adventurer.”

Alia flinched a half step. The second floor’s plants grew so fast the body was already melding with the ground. A viscous, translucent white film sheeted over most of it like a fungal skin, glowing the same sickly green as the moss, as if the corpse were growing out of it.

At the waist, a smooth wound swarmed—thousands of tiny maggots ceaselessly tunneling and writhing. They filled the mouth and nose, ear canals and sockets; where the eyes should have been were two dark pits crammed with moving rice grains.

“Something’s off.”

Gauss took in the body, then the surroundings. The corpse was intact—no sign a big animal had torn it up.

“Where are his teammates?”

If you were on the second floor, you almost certainly weren’t solo.

They searched, and soon found three more bodies under the moss and vines—four in all, two men, two women, stripped naked, gear gone, unnaturally clean.

“Humans killed them,” Alia said, understanding at once.

Monsters don’t strip gear. They sure don’t leave intact bodies; they eat them.

Even knowing how deadly this place was, the sight sat heavy in Gauss’s chest. They probably never imagined dying here. In the eyes of commoners, adventurers were strong—yet here they were, swallowed without a sound. If the three hadn’t stumbled across them, a little longer and the labyrinth would have turned them to mulch and nothing of them would remain.

Tragic…

“Keep your guard up around strangers,” Gauss said quietly.

Whether it was a fight gone wrong or outright murder, the message was the same: in the labyrinth, the most dangerous thing isn’t always the monster.

…

Half a day passed. The phosphorescent moss and bug-glow dimmed.

They found a broad spot to camp. Light, ward, and repellent—set.

With his chores done, Gauss opened his adventurer’s log. That afternoon he’d unlocked his 33rd common—Spore-Core Beetle. He’d kept the explosive spore bulbs from their backs—he’d need them for clay magic later.

His clay skill sat at 9/10. With luck, he’d break through tonight.

They pitched tents after dinner.

“I’ll take first watch,” Gauss said. With three, they could distribute the night. He wanted the slot anyway—so he could push clay shaping to Lv2 and stop thinking about it in his sleep.

“Thanks,” Alia yawned, ducking into her tent. The walking, plus the effort of learning Beast Form, had worn her down.

Serandur still felt fine. He sat by the fire a while, watching Gauss knead the pale clay, changing it from one form to another without a word.

Suddenly, a small flicker of joy crossed Gauss’s face.

“Got it.”

He checked his panel.

Yup—updated:

Shaping Magic: Clay Lv2 (0/20)

The clay felt different in his hand now, less like cold mud, more like something faintly alive. A thought—and the clay figure refined, the serpent tail picking up faint scale texture, the face taking on a ghost of Serandur’s features.

“Look like you?” Gauss handed it over.

Serandur examined the crooked little clay half-serpent. “Kind of.”

“I did my best…” Gauss sighed. Even at Lv2, the real limit wasn’t the spell—it was his sculpting skill. The earlier rough-ugly was now detailed-ugly.

“Can I keep it?” Serandur asked, still studying it.

“Yeah. If you like it.”

Serandur held it near the fire, letting the heat harden it. The firmness under his fingers brought a satisfied smile.

“Then I’ll turn in. Call me when you’re tired, Captain.”

He tucked the figure away and slipped into his tent.

Darkness pressed close. Aside from the fire and a few light-stones, Gauss was alone, practicing. He snagged a few mosquitoes with Mage Hand, pinched off their wings, and nudged a marble of clay over.

Moments later, the clay opened like a hungry mouth and devoured the grounded bugs.

“…Hm?”

As he used the clay to kill them, he sensed—very faintly—something new gather around him. Not matter; not mana. A very peculiar presence, hard to describe.

Animus?

He thought back to the spell’s model and muttered to himself.

There wasn’t much of it—yet.

His gaze shifted to the drifting cloud of mosquitoes. The corner of his mouth lifted.

Before long, the air around him was dotted with tiny “spirits” of mosquitoes. When it felt like enough, he stopped and closed his eyes, focused.

The clay in his palm wriggled, its outline quietly changing…

A hundred meters away, at a bend in the corridor, several shadowy figures flashed hand-signs and slipped closer in silence.