The Square of Babel
The Wall Shadow died without ceremony in the narrow corridor.
My cleaver caught it mid-lunge, the serrated edge grinding through its core with a sound like cracking ice.
The skull charm on my pommel levi added rang against stone as I ripped the blade free.
No flourish. No victory pose.
Just the mechanical harvest—fingers closing around the warm crystal, shoving it into my pouch with twenty-two others.
The Frog Shooter got me on the way out.
I felt the tongue wrap around my exposed shoulder before I saw it, the barbed tip punching through torn fabric into skin.
Venom flooded the wound immediately—a cold, burning sensation that turned my left arm into dead weight. I twisted, my skinner finding its throat before it could reel me in. The moon charm spun as I flicked blood off the blade.
Twenty-four stones. Three finger blades from wall Shadows.
The Babel exit stairs were a mountain of white stone and failing legs. Each step was a negotiation with my body.
Just one more. Just one more.
The venom had spread to my chest now, making my lungs feel like they were coated in frost.
I stumbled out into the square.
The sunlight was a physical assault—blinding, hot, merciless. I caught myself against the tower's outer wall, my fingerless gloves leaving a smear of Dungeon filth on pristine white stone. My pouch hung heavy against my waist.
Twenty-four stones.
Maybe twelve thousand Valis, if the handlers were feeling generous.
Yesterday's haul was eight thousand nine hundred. Saved up in my room.
Just under twenty-one thousand.
The math was simple. Brutal and absolute.
45,000 Valis. Reinforced chest piece. Two days.
Levi's voice echoed in my skull, patient and matter-of-fact. "Come get it then."
Today was day two.
Sorry, Levi. Can't make it. Need three more days.
Turns out valis don't grow on Wall Shadows.
I pushed off the wall, my torn hoodie catching on rough stone.
The crowd noise hit me then—a roar of voices coming from the notice board. Too many people. Too much sound.
I wanted to slip past them, disappear into the backstreets, collapse somewhere dark.
But the name on the parchment stopped me.
[RECORD HOLDER: BELL CRANEL. LEVEL 2 ACHIEVED IN 1.5 MONTHS]
Good. He made it.
The path was still the same.
Freya's eyes would stay on the Rabbit.
That thought settled something tight in my chest.
I turned to walk away.
The air in the square suddenly turned ugly.
"Six weeks?" A man's voice boomed, thick with the oily arrogance of a veteran.
My legs stopped in their tracks. The frost-burn of the venom in my shoulder flared, a sharp reminder of the two days of hell I'd just crawled out of.
"That brat found a shortcut," someone scoffed.
"His loli goddess must've rigged it."
"Or he's using a cursed item. Either way—"
"—it's a spit in the face of everyone here who actually earned their rank."
My jaw clenched at the mention of Goddess Hestia. Dungeon dust grated between my teeth.
Earns their rank?
The math of the forty-five thousand Valis debt screamed in my head. I looked at my fingerless gloves, stained with the black ichor of War Shadows.
A dry laugh slipped out.
You don't know what that kid went through to level up this fast, you morons, I thought, my grip tightening on the strap of my pouch.
"Fraud!" someone shouted from the back. The word spread through the air like a curse.
A man stepped into the center of the circle. Polished plate armor. A red silk cloak that looked like a fresh wound. An ivory-handled sword rested against his shoulder, gleaming with a wealth that felt like a slap. He looked like a statue of a hero.
"He is clearly cheating," the man said, his grin turning predatory. "I say we find him. Catch the Rabbit in a blind alley after dark. Beat the secret out of him. Break a few fingers until he talks."
Laughter erupted. Sharp. Hungry. The sound of vultures finding a carcass.
Something snapped inside my chest.
Not anger.
A sharp ping—like a wire pulled too far.
I didn't think. I didn't plan. I just stepped forward.
"You're loud."
The words weren't a shout. They were a flat, dead rasp that seemed to suck the heat out of the square.
The laughter died in ripples. The armored man pivoted, his ego visibly searching for the source of the interruption. His eyes found me—a ragged kid in a torn hoodie, swaying slightly, looking like something the Dungeon had spit out because it tasted too bitter.
"What did you say, rat?"
"I said you're loud."
My voice carried now, bouncing off the white stone of Babel. "Eat. Drink. Go bother someone else."
The big man's eyes narrowed. He took a heavy step toward me, his bulk towering over my frame. I could smell the lilies on his cloak fighting the stench of the tavern ale beneath.
"You're talking about a kid who did more in six weeks than you've managed in years."
In the crowd, a few people went still.
A couple of younger adventurers looked down at their boots, a flicker of shame crossing their faces.
"You're not mad he cheated. You're mad because even with that pretty armor, you're too afraid to look a real threat in the eye."
The silence in the square was total now. Even the wind seemed to stop. The man's face went a bruised, ugly purple. The ivory handle of his sword creaked as his grip tightened—a sound like dry bone snapping.
"I'll kill you." he hissed.
"Go teach him a lesson, Sirus!" a voice barked from the crowd, breaking the tension like a gunshot.
I didn't run. I didn't even flinch. I just stared daggers at him, my hand hovering near the hilt of my skinner, the moon charm swaying gently against my waist.
"Try me." I whispered.