Straying from this line of questioning, Zelsys requested the dungeon core to, “Show me the map projection with my location highlit, please.”

A smaller version of the dungeon map showed up in the glyph projection’s upper half, small enough that there was enough space for the dungeon core’s answers. It had changed since the first time she saw it, many chambers moved about. It highlit the intermediary chamber she resided in, showing that there was only one more chamber before she reached the next Fog Transit chamber. The chambers she’d already traversed were also directly connected, her path sticking out like a sore thumb among the tangle of myriad chambers.

There were three other recognizable paths, each saddled with the same number of chambers and each very obviously straightforward.

A question naturally arose, “Are you shortening our path?”

Out of necessity, yes.

Partly because I wish to be rid of the Parasite,

partly because I have been starved of time and resources.

I am using what few resources are available to me,

to replicate my usual functions as best as I can.

Your rewards for this floor will be much lesser than they would otherwise be,

but the perils you face will be equally diminished.

“I wouldn’t exactly call the Locust Nobles a diminished peril,” Zel thought. Despite the fact it wasn’t meant as a question, the dungeon core still answered.

A Locust Noble cannot be adjusted to best challenge any given individual,

thus they are an inflexible cog that jams the mechanism.

The one you faced was meant to kill you,

if the Parasite’s screeching is to go by.

“I thought you could not provide new knowledge.”

You already know she was meant to kill you,

the Parasite said so explicitly.

She glanced off to the side towards the door glyph, and saw that it had lit up almost two thirds of the way. While it wasn’t a hard timer, Zelsys felt an urgency that drove her to pass through the door as soon as she could. Thus, she tossed out the last of her questions.

“Very well, last question,” she began. “The Sister said Azoth Stone Cultivation is a dead end, but she also said the Azoth Stone is an egg that must be hatched through resolving one’s inner conflicts. How, then, could the Heroic Families never come upon the revelation?”

One: The formation of an Azoth Stone is achieved twofold,

through deeper understanding of an essentia,

and through inner reflection on this understanding.

Therefore, the Azoth Stone could be misunderstood as the repository,

rather than an egg that must eventually be broken.

Two: It could seem that because another’s Azoth Stone can be consumed,

the possession of an Azoth Stone must be a necessary part of cultivation.

If ‘hatching’ the Azoth Stone requires one to resolve their inner conflicts,

then indulging in contradictions and growing conceited,

could foster further, tumorous growth in the stone.

Thus, the Heroic Families would naturally create an environment,

conducive to this false path of pseudo-cultivation.

Their stones would become larger,

as they grew conceited and malicious.

The larger the egg,

the thicker the shell,

the harder it is to crack.

In pursuing Azoth Stone Cultivation,

it becomes more difficult to pursue another path.

Each line, each word, she took care to remember, that she might think on them later, when she had the time. She soon noticed that the door had already grown fully lit. Curiosity still burned at the back of her mind, but the urgent need to keep moving forward burned brighter.

So it was that she moved on, passing through the door to be faced with another suspiciously long, winding corridor. Right, left, right, left, straight, right, straight, left, left, down, down, down, left, left, down, right, down… Looking back often faced her with a solid wall, the dungeon making no effort to hide that the corridor was changing as she moved through it.

It took so long, she even remembered the watch that the governor had given her, using it to track how much longer it would take her to reach the next chamber proper.

“Only seven minutes?!” she questioned out loud in disbelief, standing before what she assumed to be the real door to the next chamber. With a heavy sigh, she stowed the watch and approached the door, only to find herself in a small chamber with a square layout and another door at the other side.

There was an altar in the middle, a square button protruding from its top. It also had the expected proximity glyph and a Fog-writing nozzle on the front. Before she went as far as to approach the altar, she took care to observe the chamber. There was exactly one other standout feature.

A projection glyph above the door, much simpler than any she’d ever seen. So simple, in fact, that she could make out individual numbers carved in its pattern.

Approaching the altar of course triggered the proximity glyph and the nozzle spouted words written in Fog. Suspiciously, the glyph briefly lit up in red before it turned the usual pale blue.

The button resets the countdown.

The moment she read that line, the chamber’s lightgems faded until it was as dark as a starry night, just barely bright enough to see after her eyes adjusted. Then, the glyph above the door lit up a bright green. At first, it just read the numerals for thirty. Then, twenty-nine. Twenty-eight. It was counting down from thirty, second by second.

More Fog-writing came from the altar.

Do not let the countdown reach zero, or the floor will rise and crush you.

There is a way out, if you can find it.

Even the Fog-writing looked off. Between the arrangement of the text and the shape of the letter, it looked less like smooth cursive and more like the handwriting of one accustomed to using an entirely different writing system.

She just didn’t trust it.

Allowing the countdown to go below twenty made the projection change to orange, but nothing else.

When it crossed ten, it turned bright red and began flashing.