On the table is the black silk umbrella. Together with the Atmosphere-eater—the living sword—it is the most prestigious object I own.

I rarely have to resort to the internal blade. Usually, I carry it around the dungeon as a decorative umbrella. In the desert, this is not possible due to the wind.

Too annoying when the wind blows it up. If I got close to the tornado, I am sure. I could take off like a bird.

I take the umbrella, weigh it, and open it. I let the rays twirl between my fingers. I take a couple of steps around the house.

I stop to look at my reflection in the bathroom mirror.

It is a nice umbrella. I try to imagine the first owner, whoever it was, reflected in my place.

I leave it alone and go back to the room. I have very little to do these days.

{N, N, you're a terrible goddess, know that!}

Uh, that voice again.

{Using Prayer is annoying and doesn't work very well.}

What is it saying? Whose voice is this?

Now that I am alone, it does not seem mental. It is not my thoughts—it is more…

{Look, I'm telling you telepathically to come here. Do you want to leave your trusty Gron in trouble?}

Gron?

Gron…

… It is a name I am familiar with. Or is it a trap?

There are no other living beings in the Underwasteland. I am sure.

But I am also sure of the magical abilities of this voice. This is a telepathic spell. The voice itself said so.

{Last call. Then, I will try to move forward even without you. I'm a little disappointed but, then again... look, I don't want to make it personal, just come here.}

Ah, this type of exhortation is not the best…

As hard as I try, I cannot think of who or what this Gron could be. It is a fiction of the communication source.

However, there is indeed a position.

I do not know what place it is, but I can reach it. Maybe I have to reach it. Perhaps, it is a message from the System.

Hmm…

I bite my lip thoughtfully.

At worst, it is a trap. But whose? And why?

I have defeated the [Devil] and its servant, Kirlh'iau. Therefore, it cannot be an enemy.

And even if it were, I can count on my abilities.

Fine, I get it.

[Dungeon path]

♦

I emerge into a dimly lit quarry. The bluish luminescence of ivy and error corals is familiar to me. This is an offshoot of the area [A-9].

“Prr. Finally! Do you like being worshiped like a goddess? By now, I thought my abilities were clogged. Don't make any more jokes like that. It could be fatal for me. I might suffer from it.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

The voice comes from below, but as I turn around, I notice a zombie.

“Ah! Prr, where are you looking!”

Oh, it does not move its mouth!

A ventriloquist? A telepath?

It would not be the first time I've met people like this. But not here…

Hmm…

[Dispel]

The zombie scatters to dust. [Dispel] is a [skill] I got when I reached [a: 2]. Allows me to dispel the effect or activation of magical [skills] of [3] or less. Canceling it.

So, it is a [Necromancy] summon?

“Hey, what are you doing? It took me a very, very, veeery long time to summon that undead!!! Prr, what ways are those!? Not everyone is like you, who can evoke it as if it were breathing.”

I look down at the source of the voice. A black cat with an orange mane and paws looks with grim expression at me. Very pretty, actually, but sulky.

“Oh! But you're a cat!”

“N, you're N right? Are you the Empress of the Underwasteland!?” The cat sits on its hind legs and passes a paw over its head.

Aww, cute.

“It's me, what's a cat doing here? The area you are in is separate from the rest of the Underwasteland. Tell me, where you are from. How do you know my name?”

“Brake, brake. N, it's me, Gron.” The cat puffs out its chest by talking.

I shake my ears and tilt my head.

Gron.

Gron…

Gron?

“Hm, have we met before?”

“…N, I am your priest, your four-legged friend. We have similar ears. Leviathan, the fish, Dal-Dazzer—in short, indeed, I haven't been heard from for decades, but to snub me like this… forget me like any deceased.”

“I do not forget the deceased. I must remember who I judge.”

“Exactly, much worse then! Do you remember mere work collaborations and don't remember your friend? Come on, you're not funny, pff.”

Gron turns its head stiffly. Instinctively, I look in that direction.

Ivy, coral, rocks, and nothing else.

Ci-cin.

I bend over, sitting on my heels, and keeping my hands on my knees.

I raise my ears and try to listen to the breathing, while I look at the beautiful cat.

I know the [Leviathan]. But I do not know who this Dal-Dazzer is.

Gron is free of injuries. But it is not breathing. If Gron was dead, it would stink, but it is also true that it talked about decades.

The sand covers the smells.

“Hmm…”

“Sigh… I guess you don't remember. That's perhaps why you didn't grant my request.”

I carefully watch the cat's movements. It did not give up even for a moment. It is not an act.

It does not breathe.

“Are you deceased?”

Gron raises its ears and stares at me with its big orange eyes.

“Yes, but you already knew this. Is it possible that you don't remember the great Gron?”

I frown.

A deceased person who is my friend. A deceased walking free in the Underwasteland.

It is supposed to be against the rules. But if its level is a threat, the System would warn me.

So—

“Care to explain to me? You seem to know me well, but I don't remember anything about you. I'm very sorry.”

Gron gets on all fours and takes a few steps into the vegetation. It sighs.

“N, in recent years I have learned many things. I don't know if I was right to summon you, this meeting was certainly an unfortunate discovery—but…” It turns towards me. “But I'm happy to see you again. You seem more mature, and maybe it's normal for you to forget.”

I scratch my forehead. It is not normal for [Bakenekro] to forget.

Its words fit with my sense of loss.

That ‘something’ that I should do. But if I think about it, I cannot clarify.

Maybe it is something related to Gron?

But who is Gron?

A talking cat?

Should I use [Scan]?

Ci-cin.

I shake my head and stand up. The snake-headed tail is thrust forward and stares at Gron in silence.

It reciprocates without saying anything.

Weird.

My tail usually hisses at strangers. It never shows this silent interest—being semi-independent, maybe it remembers something I no longer know.

Anyway…

“Gron, I would like to tell you that it is a pleasure to see you again too. But that would be a lie, I hope you can understand and forgive me.”

“Yes, don't worry. I am in no position to take offense.”

That sudden submissiveness aroused nostalgia in me. Have we already discussed this in the past?

“I don't know why you're here, but it's clear that if we know each other, you've stopped by my house.”

“That's right, we even played and sang together.”

“Oh, I'm sorry. Really. Would you like to come up and tell me about yourself? Of me? Your call here also surprises me. This place should not be reachable from—”

“Prr, I reached this place through some disused pipelines. It's too large for me to say, but since I haven't found any other facilities, I don't rule out the possibility that regular income doesn't exist.”

“Oh…” I am impressed. Here is a plausible solution to an age-old mystery.

No [Bakenekro] can get here without [Dungeon path], because the entrances are not there. But Gron's presence and its words demonstrate that the area [A-9] is indisputably one part of the dungeon among many.

It is not a sub dungeon, nor a separate reality. It is just an area that is difficult to access.

However—

“…Gron, did you happen to encounter any plants even before reaching this area?”

“No. They started towards the end of the pipes.”

“I understand.” Yes, it is an area like the one where I chased the [Devil].

There are rooms whose geography and climate are isolated from the rest.

“Look,” Gron approaches me and rubs its tail against my ankle. It is very soft. I caress it. “Prr, would you like to talk about it while we play chess?”