The descent continues, and a spectacle bewitches me. From the golden foliage, veins and suspended branches descend like lightning. They get lost up to the valley, where they are buried under oil and light.

The slope is steeper and rockier, but an old paved stone road makes our descent easy.

Thanks to the lights of those branches that become thinner and rarer as the ground approaches buildings become visible.

Hilly promontories of bone and charcoal emerge from the darkness. Structures of the same materials, with spires and towers, rest stably on them.

They are slender structures, with long windows made of what seems to me to be obsidian. The reflection of the golden light makes that sight suggestive.

From the mounds of bones and coal, from and towards each of these structures, stone steps lead to streets like the one we are descending.

Near the branches descending from the foliage, in the gaps between one slab and another, lush the golden down, and the entire area is softly lit.

Gron continues to advance further ahead, although I can see now too.

“Prr.” It stops and sits down. It slowly turns towards me.

“Did you see anything?”

It moves its head in a negative sign. “I'm hanging.”

“Can't wait to see him again? How many years have I passed?”

“I don't know. It's been a long time, but I can't measure it. I'm just a cat in the end. But it's not just this.”

“No?” I sit next to it. The plates are smooth and dusty. At this height of the mountainside, no veins are coming out.

There is no lack of light. The foliage above, the branches that descend in the middle, and the road below.

“I think this is the Necropolis of the Mausoleums.” I sigh and let my legs dangle over the edge of the road.

“Marvelous. It's the first time I've seen a space like this in this place. Apart from the desert, it is a dead place, and darkness and silence reign supreme. This little oasis reminds me of the joy I felt when I came across a tavern after days of travel.”

“I guess it's a good feeling. I continue to be amazed at how much beauty is unknown to me. This place,” I scratch my neck, “that you call dead… is something amazing. I'm sure that in an ancient time, perhaps older than the Yellow Queen.”

I do not finish the sentence. I feel a lump in my throat. A force pressing down on my chest.

Sadness.

Melancholy.

Nostalgia for a time I never experienced.

That time exists only in my fantasies. A time in which Underwasteland does not coincide with the underworld, hell, and afterlife.

Sigh.

After all, I am just ignorant. I do not want to burden Gron with these things. It is here, and it is not to blame.

It is a tiny being compared to the System, like me anyway.

“N?”

I turn to Gron. It is looking at the valley. Slowly moving its tail from side to side.

“I know it's a selfish request. But when we wake up Dal…well—I'd like a few moments to talk to him. Alone.”

Ci-cin.

I get up. I straighten my skirt and look at the hills with the structures on them. What will Dal-Dazzer's mausoleum be? How many structures are there?

Pointing my finger, using my fingernail as a viewfinder, I count the visible structures. One, two, three, ten… one hundred… I will forget about it.

There are many. There will be a way to orient them.

The Underwasteland is a desolate place, but not an irrational one. This has been clear to me for a long time now.

It follows its logic. Even if the System that created it has no intellect or will.

The point is to understand where the mechanism is.

I scratch behind my ear. I look back at Gron. It waits for a response. I smile and relax.

“Certainly. I will give you the time you need.”

♦

The descent continues for some time. Compared to other dungeon routes, Valley and Necropolis are small spaces.

Of course, I have not explored it all. Maybe it is an immense space. But from here to the beach… hmm, yes, it did not take long.

As seen from the slope, the road unfolds between mounds of bone and coal and structures.

At the bottom of the valley, there are only small obelisks. They are similar to those in the Arena. They emerge from the ground with objects embedded in them.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

I hope they are not some sort of converter.

If this were the case, it would mean that the essays are being [obliterated] here.

No, that someone is being [obliterated]. Not necessarily the wise ones.

After all, Y says that he rests here.

As we pass, the golden needles continue to sigh, but there are no alien noises. Only my footsteps make a dry and faint sound.

Since we do not know what to do, Gron and I climb the first visible hill. We go up the steps that twist all around the formation, and we arrive at the entrance door of the first—I suppose—mausoleum.

While I do not know exactly, as the Golden Doors lack light, I imagine these doors are similar.

They are metal and thick. Covered with a thin layer of gold. However, the gold is peeling, and ash impregnates every crevice.

There are bas-reliefs of scenes unknown to me. They portray humanoids worshiping some clouds and scenes of battles and festivals.

I take two steps back to look better at the construction.

There are gargoyles on the steeple towers. Their size is small. At first glance, they are half of what I am used to. They have some gold scales around their necks and are not winged.

I look at the obsidian windows, the base of the construction, which is made of large blocks, while the rest of the structure is a set of bones interlocked together and cemented with black lime. Perhaps it comes from the processing of the same coal.

I look at Gron. It is wandering among the bones sticking out of the mound. It seems to be looking for something. Perhaps it did not even find any clues in the facade of the building.

“Gron?”

It stops and looks at me. “I do not understand. Honestly, it's beyond my understanding.”

“What?”

“The presence of these bones. Prr. Doesn't that seem absurd to you?”

In fact, yes, I am so used to finding myself in bizarre rooms that I immediately did not give it any thought. But bones are something that should unseen. Neither in this quantity nor grouped in this precise space.

Hmm…

If the dead pulverize, liquefy, and or mix with substances present where [Judgment] is used—how is it possible that these bones are there?

Where is the meat, the entrails, and other parts such as hair and nails?

The Underwasteland does not produce decomposition. There are no bacteria that replicate what happens in many worlds inhabited by mortals.

So where are the bodies?

“Gives you something to think about too, huh? prrr.”

“The dead do not decompose… it means bones were brought here from outside. I don't know, maybe using the core tree or some liminal movement spell.”

“Like the one with the elves?”

I nod. With my foot, I move what looks like a stick that emerges from the side of the steps. It is hard to move. I hear the other bones crunching in the pile.

Sigh.

“Gron, shall we try to enter?” I turn my attention back to the door.

I look up at the gargoyles. Nothing should happen. In the event of unauthorized actions, the System intervenes with its screens.

“Do you know how to get in?” Gron walks over and stops at my side.

“I can try.”

I approach the door and place my hand in search of some sting. To unlock the doors of the extraction structure, my blood was enough to let me in.

Unfortunately, feeling those shapes and following those lines, I find no sting.

Tok!

Ci-cin!

My snake-headed tail tries to push, to no avail.

Even to the eye, there do not appear to be any areas suitable for taking samples of my blood.

I put my hand on my chin. I shake my ears. I push at the base of the door with my foot.

Nothing.

I put a hand in my skirt pocket. I feel the surface of the block of [Dry Flare-Oil] given to me by Y. It is cold, porous, and unpleasant to touch.

Even though I do not look inside, I know that there is a dark blue flame swirling randomly across the entire area of the object.

«This is for when you find him. It is a precious material for us. Don't waste it.»

Her words leave no doubt. If she entrusted it to me despite its importance, it must be because she is convinced that the deceased, we are looking for is here.

So, if this door does not open—could be a secret mechanism?

Hmm…

“Scan!”

[Wall]

[type: Object]

[status: 100/100] [endurance: 100/100]

“Oh!”

“Discovered anything?”

I am not convinced. Maybe I hit the wrong target? I rest my hand on a bas-relief. So, it is impossible to go wrong.

[Scan]

[Wall]

I retract my hand in disbelief. A wall disguised as a door? A bricked-up door? [Scan] does not specify this.

“Hm-yes, I guess. It's a wall, not a door.”

The cat blinks and sneezes. A cloud of dust flutters from the slope.

“Well. This simplifies the search. At least Dal isn't in here.”

“Do you think they are all walls?”

“I think there's no point in worrying about walls. We look for a structure where the door is true. Then we evaluate what to do.”

“Hm, what if there aren't any?”

Gron shines the fur of a paw. It passes to the other. “If we don't find any… let's forget about it. Thinking about it now is useless. Maybe there is some secret entrance. In many dungeons I have visited there are secret passages and entrances. Here too, remember?”

I nod and smile. “Yes, here too. You have found a path close to larger creatures to reach the opposite side of area A-nine.”

“So shall we go down?” Gron starts walking down the stairs.

Ci-cin!

“Wait!”

♦

Anonymous Necropolis.

Hills of bones, bushes of bones, piles of bones, and skulls.

I cannot recognize almost any creature, although there is no shortage of more recognizable clusters. The fact is that when looking at its skeleton, even a harmless animal, like a horse, appears to be a hellish predator.

We go up and up flights of stairs. We get to the doors, I try to open them, use [Scan], and we go back. The streets of the Necropolis intersect and have no indications or references useful for orientation.

No way.

Time passes.

Hours, days, and weeks. Damn me for thinking the Floodplain was a small place.

There is something we are missing. To me and Gron.

They're all walls. No door is what it represents.

I am sitting at the base of a staircase. I have my arms around my knees and rest my chin on them.

Disheartened.

Confused.

Worried.

I keep my ears down and watch Gron fiddle with a small bush of ribs and jaws. The golden fuzz of a vein that intersects those bones gives them a curious—lamp-like look.

What should I do?

These mausoleums are simulacra. They are not actual graves.

Thinking about it, it would not make sense for it to be any other way. The dead do not rest buried in the Underwasteland. By merging into the dungeon, they do not require a tomb in the literal sense.

Using [Dungeon path], I will also confront Y. Again, I take the path from the beach. But she does not know much. She told us everything she could.

And so, she stays in my house, watches the Corestar, and stands ready in case she can locate Irferno.

Ci-cin…

The snake-headed tail wags feebly.

I would use [Necromancy].

Not having judged any of these deaths would be useless. It is an ability tied to those I judge, to the availability of my current spells.

Sigh.

“Are you offended if I tell you that maybe we should give up?”

“Hm.”

“The Yellow Queen has found this place, but she has no idea how to find the right grave. A grave in general I might add. Prr.”

I lift my head from my knees. “Gron, don't be cynical. We're doing something wrong.”

“Oh, I don't doubt that… shall we continue?”

I nod. I stretch my legs and arms and look around. Valleys and hills that disappear beyond my visual horizon.

I evaluated the stairs, the gargoyles, the stained glass, the textures of the bones. Nothing seems to indicate any difference.

There is nothing to do.

There do not even seem to be any dead people in this place.