Navigating between floors may seem straightforward, but wandering the expanse of a dungeon floor presents a whole new challenge. Take, for instance, the enigmatic 0.5 floor. It stands as a remnant of civilization, whether ancient or modern, sprawling enough to establish its own peculiar dynamics. Here, the sunlight filters in differently than on the level below, casting an unusual glow. The air is thick with potent, dark mana, and an ever-present sense of negative energy looms—echoes of a fallen king yearning for his lost power, or the lingering regrets of a couple who never reconciled in their past lives, all intertwining in a haunting tapestry.
The real danger lies in how these energies manifest, turning into threats for those who dare to tread here. Liches, though rare, are not unheard of. The ones I faced in the past were formidable, but many lesser liches wander this floor, each a potential menace. Additionally, there are mimics that lure unsuspecting adventurers with the promise of treasure, or those that have adapted to cry out for help, only to ensnare the unwary who come to their aid. In summary, traversing this floor is a far more daunting task than simply moving between the levels above and below.
Setting up the first teleporter is a straightforward task, taking only about fifteen minutes after casting a protective spell. However, the subsequent trek can feel like an endless slog. While it's certainly preferable to being caught in a relentless cycle of pointless battles, the monotony still weighs heavily. As I stroll past the ruins of crumbled buildings, with the occasional skeletal foe lunging at me—offering nothing of value in return—I can't help but stifle a yawn. Sure, I could take to the skies to speed things up, but that would quickly drain my mana and stamina. In a pinch, I'd need those reserves to defend myself, so walking is the wiser choice.
This is also why traveling in a group has its advantages. Beyond the obvious safety in numbers, there's the benefit of conversation to break the tedium. Yet, I find myself more of a lone wolf. While a team can bolster strength, they often overlook my struggles with collaboration. I tend to get in the way, and I'm not keen on sharing the spoils. I want more loot for Elise and myself, and the thought of raising my voice to claim my share feels inefficient and exhausting. Thus, I prefer to work alone.
In the wake of the recent Lich incident, I can only imagine that the other twelve nations have implemented temporary safety protocols. Typically, this means that only a select group of high-ranking adventurers will be permitted to proceed, while unnecessary expeditions will be halted. It's unfortunate, but for both the nation and the guild, the loss of life is a significant blow, especially when it could have been avoided. The sensible course of action now is for each country to exchange information, and only when they deem the situation secure should dungeon exploration resume. However, this is far easier said than done. Even the Adventure Guild, tasked with delving into the depths of the EYE, sometimes chooses to withhold information from other guilds. It's a foolish decision from both external and internal perspectives, yet, as Guild Master Ram pointed out, it's a necessary evil. As an A-rank adventurer, I understand the reasoning, but just contemplating it gives me a headache.
For now, let's concentrate on the task before us.