Although Benny had taken serious injuries, he had three lesser healing potions with him. It should be enough to heal wounds like these. He'd heard how expensive they were, so he hadn't bought any for himself when he'd come down here. "I know it was stupid, but I had no money at that time. I'd just paid off my house." The three he had now were gifts from his teammates.
He decided to use one of them to heal his injuries. This might also fix his previous wounds that had been festering.
"Shit, this is going to hurt," he muttered, bracing himself as he consumed the potion orally. That was the most effective and efficient way to get the benefits. You could pour it directly on wounds, but that would only heal that specific area. Taking it orally allows your body to distribute the healing effects to all damaged parts.
There were three types available on the market: lesser potions, high potions, and high-speed regeneration potions. The high-speed regeneration potions were the most expensive of the three, but they could supposedly heal even unknown injuries you'd had since birth and reattach limbs within minutes of consumption. They were hailed as potions that could save someone from death's door, so the price had skyrocketed accordingly.
The colors varied depending on the mixtures used by alchemists and mages—quite colorful, really. The process of making them was incredibly complex, requiring a top-tier mage and alchemist working together, or the formula wouldn't work properly. Only about a hundred were produced each year, and they sold out the moment they hit the market.
High potions could be made by either a skilled mage or alchemist, though the effectiveness varied depending on their abilities. Lesser potions were just diluted versions of high potions—about ten times diluted, so one high potion equaled roughly ten lesser potions in effectiveness. But there was a catch with lesser potions: while high potions were regulated, lesser potions weren't. Where you bought them really mattered, since there were plenty of quack doctors selling fake ones under the counter.
"I can only hope this is one of the reputable ones, or I'll die from my injuries anyway," Benny thought.
The vial wasn't large—a cylindrical tube about five inches tall holding maybe 5ml of liquid. It was light and practical, making it more preferred than high potions for field use.
Benny gulped down the entire vial. As soon as it dispersed through his system, he felt the searing pain of wounds and bones being healed. His broken ribs moved back into their original positions, and previous wounds began closing themselves. It was an agonizing process—if you used these in combat, you had to be mentally prepared for the pain of being healed. He'd heard that wasn't the case with high-speed regeneration potions, which healed everything in under a minute, with little to no pain.
Since he had so many injuries, it took time for the bones to realign and the wounds to heal. The cuts would close, but scars would remain—one of the downsides of lesser potions. High and high-speed regeneration potions would eliminate even scars and make your skin look younger.
He screamed in pain as he lay there, and soon his consciousness began drifting until he fell asleep.
An hour later, the process was complete and he woke up. His body felt sore, but when he checked his wounds—both old and new—they had healed. The scars would remain, but that was better than infected wounds.
His stomach grumbled, reminding him how hungry he was. He grabbed his pouch containing what remained of his food supply and ate, needing strength for what came next: butchering that mutated rat he'd killed. He had to check first, though, hoping no other beasts had gotten to it.
After confirming the coast was clear, he ate his fill and drank some refreshing water afterward.
Now it was time to work. He took out the knife he kept at his chest and got to butchering. First, he cut off the beast's head with his sword, then began skinning it and separating the hide—he might have use for it later.
The meat wasn't tender at all. The muscles were tough and stringy, but it was better than nothing. After a few hours of going back and forth between the carcass and sanctuary, he'd separated all the usable meat. As for the other parts—innards, tail, and head—he had no use for them, though the claws and bones might come in handy later.
It was disgusting to even look at the bastard's face, so he kicked the head and watched it roll away somewhere. The innards he threw far from the sanctuary so that if other monsters were attracted to the smell, they wouldn't linger near his safe zone.
At least with just the meat, he wouldn't feel disgusted about eating it.
Now he faced another problem: how to preserve the meat from rotting. The carcass had yielded at least 10-15 kilograms of meat. That was a lot to store without proper preservation methods.
Looking around the sanctuary, he found some wooden debris scattered about. How or why it was there, he didn't know—probably remnants from whatever ancient civilization that had once lived here. At least he had a kindling now. He could smoke the meat and dehydrate it. He still had a few spices and herbs in a separate pouch meant for improving food taste.
He gathered all the meat and some bones from the rat, sharpening the bones into makeshift skewers and stabbing chunks of meat onto them.
It smelled like gamey shit, but that was better than nothing. With his remaining spices, he mixed them with water to create a rub for the meat. He built a fire pit from the wooden debris and constructed a crude smoker from whatever materials he could find. The meat would take a few days to properly smoke and dry.
While waiting, he decided to improve his hygiene. Thankfully, his water source seemed nearly infinite—though how that worked, he had no idea.
He stripped off his bloody clothes and nearly destroyed armor, finding fresh garments in his backpack. As he got comfortable in clean clothes, he wondered what else he could do to kill time.
He began sharpening the remaining rat bones, turning them into stakes and potential weapons. Then he worked on his broken sword—it was better than nothing, even though the balance was off and the weight distribution was ruined. This weapon had served him well so far.
His mood and psychological well-being seemed to be improving. As long as he kept busy and didn't spend too much time staring into the darkness outside, he thought he could actually improve himself here.
After finishing his other tasks, he was back to the question of how to pass time.
"I might as well train my body and weapons. These will be my tools to survive. Yes, what a brilliant plan! Haha, thanks for thinking of it, myself."
Although talking to himself might have sounded crazy, someone alone in the darkness of a labyrinth was bound to lose himself eventually.
Hours passed. He'd gained valuable resources, trained, improved his mental state, and most importantly, secured warmth, food, clothing, and shelter. Sure, if you really looked at it, everything was utterly shit. But beggars couldn't be choosers, especially here in the labyrinth.
How long would this last? This weak-willed man would find out one way or another. Here in the darkness of the labyrinth, he would learn its secrets as he progressed deeper into its mysteries.
For the first time since entering this hellhole, Benny actually felt something resembling hope