Of the areas of the dungeon I can explore, resuming searches beyond area [A-9] unsettles me a bit.

I promised myself to get to the bottom of that mystery, after all with [Dungeon path] I can get just beyond the chasm.

But then?

What if it was like the desert? Or like the dungeon itself?

I mean, what if there was no explanation?

No limits to reach, like in the ash desert.

Maybe that is a point beyond which there is nothing. Just desolation and tunnels and plants.

But the plants are there…

From some shrubs in that area, I can take berries and herbs useful for my infusions.

All right.

I will do a thorough exploration. There is time and it is calm up here.

I use [Dungeon path] and appear at the end of the area [A-9] beyond the chasm.

Emerging from the darkness I feel the cold stone and soft grasses under my feet and caressing my ankles.

From here on [Dungeon path] will be useless.

Ci-cin.

I take a step forward.

I baptise this area [Sanctuary] as it is a location impassable by my power.

Sigh.

And now?

The glowing vines continue down a long tunnel.

In case of crossroads, I will go back. I have no choice. Getting lost in a potentially infinite place could be the eternal damnation of an immortal.

Taking a breath of stale air, I move forward.

Down the tunnel.

♦

There's nothing.

No odors.

No sounds except my footsteps on the bare rocks and my breathing. Not even insects burrow in this area. If this were not the case I would hear their scratching, their slow nibbling of rock.

No colors except the blue-green phosphorescence of the vines.

I'm at a crossroads.

Two mirrored caves, two unknown roads.

I should go back, I know. But something is stopping me: what's at the end of the tunnel? How was the tunnel formed and who created the other tunnels?

Certainly not natural events. There is no water, there is no magic. There are not even living or undead beings.

Only plants.

Lots of plants, as in the rest of this floor separate from the Underwasteland dungeon.

How long did it take me to get to this crossroads?

Maybe two or three hours… counting that I have to go back without [Dungeon path]… okay, that's enough for now.

I turn around and go back.

♦

Having reached the ‘safe’ point and used my [skill], here I am again at the house.

A cat is waiting for me.

It is curled up on a cushion and licks itself all over. It has deep wounds and its skin is scraped here and there. It keeps its eyes closed but opens them to look at me and stops licking itself.

Its plump belly sports a fan of orange fur, while its back is black. A black cat above and orange below. The tips of the legs and the rings on the tail are also orange.

It's handsome. Too bad for the serious injuries.

“Welcome.”

As usual, I make a little bow and lower my ears.

Cats don't have [Language] but I accepted it out of habit. Maybe I would have done better to offer it a bowl of water or…

“Thank you, I don't really understand where I am. It's all so dusty. Don't misunderstand, the pillow is very comfortable and I thank you for your hospitality. But, you see, I've been waiting for an hour now, and by now I was convinced that this was an abandoned place and…”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

I'm stunned.

The cat continues to pour out a torrent of words. It has a vaguely nasal pronunciation but the worst part is that it doesn't stop talking.

Maybe it's not a cat?

“…and so, I was in the street, no, and at a certain point, I see a beautiful fish bone that is there. It says to me: «Gron come and nibble on me» and I, you understand, certainly couldn't…”

“Scan.”

“Hey! Interrupting me is very rude! I was just trying to say that here, there is…”

[lv: 17] [xp: 3537]

[name: Gron Magrov]

[type: Cat]

[job: Explorer, Chef]

[hp: 2425]

[c: 2][d: 4]—[s: 2][i: 5]

[ap: 25]

[c: 2][i: 5]

[ip: 42]

[d: 4][c: 2]

[malus: Deceased]

I ignore Gron's complaints and want to look at its stats. First of all, it is like me furnished with [hp], [ap] and [ip]. Even if the last two categories of it have a way of expressing themselves that is half that of the [hp].

So, this cat can cast magic?

Also, it has some very unusual jobs for an animal: [Explorer] and [Chef]!?

Even keeping quiet, this cat is impressive.

“Your face knows a lot.”

I roll my eyes at the cat and close the stats.

Ci-cin.

“What do you mean?” I try to get an answer from its little face but, although we certainly have something in common, we are fundamentally different creatures.

“You scanned me, right?”

“Do you know how Scan works?”

“Who do you think I am? Look: Scan!”

Ci-cin.

«Fsss!»

My tail hisses.

The cat paws in the void, as if it were pressing on a screen invisible to me.

I remain astounded.

Is this cat using [Scan] on me?

“So, you would be the Empress of this place? Would you be kind enough to tell me what it means?”

A hint of malice pushes me to ask an inappropriate question: “Can't you see for yourself with Scan?”

[Scan] allows you to delve deeper into each entry. If it is using it, which I think since it knows about my [job], it should be able to see it.

“I would like to but, you see, I have never trained the skill. I'm a curious and superficial cat and now I'm paying the price. I can use Scan it's true, but every page I view consumes fifteen ap. Therefore, until I have rested, I will not be able to use it again. Of course, if I had your ap or your skills I could use it without hesitation, but like this…”

Gron talks a lot.

On the one hand, it fascinates me, on the other I'm not used to it. I always try to establish a dialogue and with certain people, like Lajal the [Gambler], I can get some wonderful hours out of it.

But, this one…

Hmm, you don't think I'm right Gron, the talking cat. What are you hiding behind so much ostentation?

Ci-cin.

My tails wag and I shiver.

Gron points at me with a paw. “Those.”

I point to my face: “Are you telling me or my tails?”

“That's plural. Obviously, I mean those monsters you carry by your tail.” As it says this, Gron lets its fluffy tail flutter.

Oh, how sweet! Yes, it's a cute tail and… but what am I thinking!? What's wrong with my tails? They are them and I'm not a cat despite what many people say!

“These,” and I stroke the snake's head with pride, “are my trusty tails.”

“Yes, yes, of course. But they don't eat me, right?”

“Look, you're already dead, what are you afraid of?”

“Prrr… this is beautiful!” Gron rolls on the cushion and then stands on all fours. The long and soft fur of its collar shines in the reflection of the orange of the horizon.

I sit on the cushion in front of it.

Strangely enough, it doesn't speak. From the way it started, I assumed it was a verbose deceased.

“Beautiful?”

“Your joke. I know I had an accident, the fishbone hound… were you listening to me?”

“Yes, so you know you are deceased?”

“There, there. I like your spirit. But you are a dream. I don't want to believe that at the end of my adventurous life, I died like this, at the hands of a dog that was lurking from a fish bone. I don't know if I can explain myself, it's just that…”

Ci-cin.

I shake my head and put my hands forward. “You explain yourself very well, indeed. If you want, I can listen to your whole story, you seem talkative.”

“But who did you take me for? I'm a busy cat. Or maybe you think that there are many cats capable of playing tricks with magic? Those unwinders of balls of yarn are incompetent, that's the truth. I am the only one, the true, cat-golem forged from fire and coal and…”

It's shocking. It's the first time in my life I've watched a cat rant. Apart from its boundless egocentrism, many heroes and important deceased have it but…

“For a magical cat, you are very beautiful.”

It's stupid to say, but I'm sure compliments can tame it and make it less unbearable. I hope at least.

Gron up and is speechless.

“Prrr, of course… did you doubt it?”

“Gron, there is something you would like to do before you rest.”

“Uh-oh. But you don't listen to me, oh well you're a dream… I'm already dreaming! I can't dream of dreaming!”

Since I cannot interpret its expression and its round eyes of embers, I can only limit myself to hypothesizing.

Does it show off confidence because it's afraid? Or is it just polemical? Or maybe [Bakenekro] and [Cats] can't understand each other at all, like octopuses and mosquitoes?

But what examples do I try to contemplate, ah!

Ci-cin.

“Good tail, good it might be a dream but I don't want to be eaten.” Gron goes back to licking its paw.

“Where you come from, don't we talk about the afterlife?” I'm trying to test the waters.

“Of course, we talk about it. Chat and chatter, everyone is good at inventing reassuring stories.”

“Are these stories so different from the ones you see here?”

Gron stops washing and takes a look around. “Enough. Other than a land of the blessed and abundance! Here it looks like a morgue. It's all desolate.”

“The dead rest, they need quiet.”

“You're talking as if they were sick people in hospital! What a dream! I'll probably wake up in the hospital soon. I hope that dog hasn't chewed me too much, I'll show it. I'll show it! Tomorrow I'll go back there and fire a Fire dart at it.”

[Fire dart] is a fire magic. My father used it to create fireworks displays when he had to celebrate my birthday.

“So, you're a magician!?” I am truly admired, even if the idea that the cat is a scoundrel has not abandoned me.

“Sure.”

“But with Scan I read that you are a chef.”

Puffing out its chest and moving its feathery tail: “Prr-prrr. SURE! I am also an adventurer, and orator, and merchant. Gron is this and much more.”

Why did it start talking about itself in the third person?

Forget it…

“Gron, listen…”

“You're the first one not to listen, why should I?”

“I would like some company…” I lower my ears and the pointed tail, while the one with the snake head looks at me and hisses, sticking out its tongue.

Gron is with one paw in the air, staring at me motionless. Then it starts to crawl up to my legs and leans on them.

It's hot, unnaturally hot. Only infernal creatures are this hot even when dead.

“This is a really strange dream… first you say I'm dead and then you ask me about the company? Of course, everyone would like my wonderful company, if only for my fur. It's deadly cold here!”

I smile and caress it. Gron lets my long nails run through its fur but remains wary.

“I told you,” I continue, “you are in the Underwasteland, the land of the dead. But you don't want to sleep.”

“Hmm… let's assume that this is truly the land of the dead.”

“It is.”

“Okay, as you want. But where is everyone?”

Lifting my hand from its fur, I point to the charred floorboards.

It leans over my thigh to look.

“Here. They are all resting in the dungeon.”