There's a three-pronged fork in the hallway ahead. Above the left option is a crudely drawn picture of a golden slime. Not crayon. The right option is adorned with an incredibly realistic depiction of a spike trap, skewered skeleton included. Species unknown. The final choice, the one in the middle, is denoted by a drawing of a wooden chest, reinforced around the edges with metal. Crayon.

A laugh that is trying too hard to be ominous sounds out. The Announcer then starts coughing, having seemingly choked while trying to improve the delving experience. With a clear of its throat, it says, "Choose wisely, Challenger. On the right, you have a fight. Wait... Is that your right or my right?" It hums thoughtfully. "On my right, you have a fight. But your opponent won't be armored this time. Take that as you will. On my left, you have a prickly experience waiting for you. Better watch your step. And on my middle, you have a gamble to make. Will the reward be worth it?"

"You don't have to clarify whose middle it is."

"Don't interrupt, Challenger."

"But you were done talking."

"I wasn't!" After clearing its throat politely, the Announcer continues with its faux-serious tone, "You may only choose one." Then it whispers out, "Psst. Go in the middle."

With background accompaniment of utterly innocent, and utterly bad, whistling from the Announcer, I walk down the middle path.

The trial room I end up at is identical to the first two. In its center is a chest closely resembling the one depicted above the entrance.

The whistling turns from just blowing out air to barely suppressed giggling.

Analyzing the chest shows it as an entirely solid mass of unidentified matter. But if one were to squint a little, an interesting discovery would become apparent. The chest is breathing. Or at least moving its lid up a few millimeters and then down a few millimeters.

"Is the chest going to eat me?" I ask.

The Announcer starts to sputter barely understandable words out, their summary amounting to 'no'.

This fight is going to be hard. I can't deploy my normal Knight drones with all the disruptions present. Not only would their warp drives be disabled, but their gravity drives would be useless too. Unlike myself, my drones don't get the benefit of a mana field. Thus, their spatial folds would probably destabilize quite spectacularly.

A fold-less drone somehow climbs out of my body, towering over me. Coiled biomechanical muscles hidden underneath layers of composite armor. Equipped with a modest, but still respectable, sensor suite. Armed with nothing but its hands. Squire class.

The Announcer's voice is quizzical. "That's not a challenger."

The Squire's nearly silent steps move its impressive bulk toward the dubious chest. Once it's right in front of it, the drone rears back a fist and strikes from above.

The lid flies open, purple tentacles springing out. The oozing appendages wrap around the approaching arm and stop it in place. More tentacles shoot out, constricting the drone fully, restraining its movements. The perfectly disguised slime's limbs tighten around the drone, but they don't crush it instantly, fighting against a significantly underpowered energy shield. And something else. A shimmer flashes across the surface of the Squire. It struggles in the vice-like hold, the enchantments on it—courtesy of Councilor Alir—giving it an edge it so desperately needs.

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A quivering arm pulls away slowly, centimeter by centimeter.

The stored slime easily lifts the drone in the air and throws it at a wall. Energy shield and defensive enchantment flicker when it impacts. Before the Squire can even try to stand up, using its tentacles as improvised legs, a skittering chest slams into it, crushing the drone against the wall and disabling it.

Five other Squires dash to avenge their fallen comrade. Temporarily fallen.

While the chest is brawling with my drones, the Announcer asks in a whisper, "What are those?"

"You don't know?"

"No idea. Are they against the rules? I think they're against the rules."

"I made them myself. Are swords against the rules?"

"No, swords aren't against the rules. Hmm. I guess it makes sense that drones are technically equipment. Oh, seems like I do know what they are. I'm really forgetful today."

Another five drones jump out of my fold, joining the melee.

I ask the Announcer in English, "How do you know what drones are?"

"Sorry, I don't speak {English}." Then I repeat the same question in High Draconic. "Don't speak that one either. But your pronunciation is immaculate." I go back to Common, finally getting an actual answer. "No idea. How do you know what drones are?"

"I learned."

"Same."

"From where?"

"I don't know. Should I know? Challenger, that's strange, isn't it? That I don't know where I learned it from." I detect some concern in its tone.

"It is. How do you know that whatever you are learning is true? Why are you receiving that information in the first place? With what intent?"

The Announcer is silent for a while. The only sound heard is the constantly replenishing drones mercilessly piling onto the trial's singular monster.

Eventually, the Announcer speaks up again, "Let's talk about something else. I don't like this topic. It's not fun." The disruptions that are present inside the dungeon spike in intensity. A flare of tempering feels limited too. But then, it all returns to normal. Interesting.

"Wanna bet on who will win, Announcer?"

"Sure! I bet on your drones. Double or nothing."

"I'll take those odds."

Regretfully, my supply of Squires turns out to be insufficient. When the last falls, the slime-in-a-chest is sporting only a few scratches, making it look rugged rather than ragged. It turns its front to me, like it's staring at me through its slightly open lid. Then it flops to the floor again.

The Announcer groans in frustration. "I really thought this was my lucky break... Do you know how expensive rent on this place is, Challenger?"

"What's the square footage?"

"No idea."

"Has to be at least a few million. Prime location, close to the city center. You're looking at twelve. Probably even thirteen."

The Announcer is silent for a moment. Then it speaks up, "I have something to confess. I don't rent. I own the place. Only said the rent was expensive to get out of the bet."

"Wow." I shake my head and tisk in mock disappointment. "Real low. And here I thought we were friends."

"We are friends! I'm so sorry, Challenger," the Announcer sincerely proclaims.

Now I kinda feel bad for it. "How about this, let's say that I beat this trial, and you don't have to pay me anything."

"Oh... No can do. Rules."

"Hmm. Then how about instead of paying me, after I defeat the blobbie, you give me my spellcasting back."

"Okay! I was gonna do that anyway, though. That's what the reward was. Also, I don't have any money."

"You know, I kinda figured."

My twitching hands, antsy to tear into the monster, finally have a purpose. One grips my sword tight. The other gets ready to rend apart anything it can grab. My lips curl up again, the building anticipation almost irresistible.

Fighting Ren was... interesting, but too stressful. I couldn't let myself go. It was enjoyable in the same way that spending time with him always is. Learning from one another and honing our craft.

Fighting the false dragon was just a step forward. Inevitable. And safe, calculated. A box to tick. But I no longer have the time to tick boxes. I am different from every other person that throws themselves in places like this. That simple reality could have been avoided until my plan was complete. But reality is never simple, is it.

Fighting this Greater Slime is what I've been unknowingly craving. A challenge.

Every time it slaps me away, I return, even more persistent than my Squires.

With every strike I take, the next seems a little slower. With every strike it dodges, the next comes a touch closer. I feel like I'm locked in an endless engagement. But my pounding heart keeps the time for me, each beat making me feel alive.

I am kneeling in the shattered remains of the chest. And the shattered remains of myself, dyeing the room a crimson red. My ruined body gets replaced by a newly created copy.

My shell supply has been mildly reduced. And, more importantly, I am utterly spent. Best to rest before the next trial—replenish my shells, and my energy. There's still time to savor this.

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