I didn’t feel much better after waking up.

My health bar had returned, though it had only managed to rise by sixty percent in the time I’d been asleep. The nasty cut on my forehead had also been sealed.

The potion timers in the upper right corner of my vision persisted, but my current HP would have to do. I’d spent about three hours asleep. Any more, and I ran the risk of losing out on precious loot, which was a flying shame, considering what it had cost me.

I sallied out into the corridor. The area around the Traveler’s Room lay deserted, though the sounds of distant fighting had doubled in the interim. I ignored the clamor in favor of retracing my steps and frowned as I failed to find the scene of carnage from earlier.

Surely, nothing in the layout had changed.

The corpse of the last Assassin I’d killed lay splayed on the ground. His brother waited a short distance away. I approached the second corpse quietly for fear of chimeras, but I found him with no trouble amid a trio of slain Cynocephali.

Had none of the monsters walked past this hallway? It seemed against their nature to ignore free human meat.

I looted the Assassin—corpse robber that I was—and continued to the Trickster whose brains still decorated the floor.

Or at least, that was what I expected, considering the manner he had died.

Strangely enough, despite my memory supplying vivid images of the gruesome splatter of grey matter, the area around the Trickster stood pristine. As if someone had used a vacuum cleaner to mop up all the gore.

I nudged the headless corpse over with my foot and realized to no small horror that putrefaction had seized the entirety of its back.

Except, it wasn’t quite putrefaction. Not in the way I knew it.

The entire part of the Trickster that had been in contact with the ground had liquefied: clothes, skin, armor, and all. They had been in the process of dissolving into the ground . . . dissolving into the Labyrinth.

I shuddered at the thought.

I’d suspected that the dungeon employed some method to rid itself of corpses, but this was the surest proof I’d found. If the dungeon feasted on the bodies, did it mean that the floors were packed with a millennia’s worth of bones?

Ugh. Best to kill that line of thought if I ever intended to sleep.

The rogue trio provided fair loot, mostly potions and daggers, none of which came close in quality to Nana’s. I got a replacement belt out of my jaunt though and returned to the Traveler’s Room in a much better mood.

Some issues remained to be resolved, regarding my status and the allocation of stat points. I raised Perception to 17 and kept the spare points in handy to pump into DEX the first chance I got.

An unread [System] notification blinked in the corner, minimized during the fight:

You have unlocked a technique choice for reaching level 20!

Use [Meditation] to pick your reward.

Oh. My. God.

I’d forgotten what my recent level-ups implied: a chance to expand my abilities. I liked my current moveset well enough, but it also lacked the oomph I’d seen in a lot of builds. [Dark Stalker] and [Decoy] had succeeded in keeping me alive by the skin of my teeth, and [Fear Aura] had proven to be an incredible debuff.

However, I desperately needed an offensive attack to melt my enemies. Something like [Skyfall Hammer] or [Shadow Arm Darkness Mind Laser Pulse Cannon]. A good beam attack would help counter casters and offer a reliable way to shred tanks like Byron.

Sadly, if I wanted that, I probably shouldn’t have picked the Assassin class.

“No going back now,” I said and settled into a meditative pose.

My surroundings faded, subsumed by a void of utter darkness.

Please, choose a skill.

The giant [System] screen split into two options, both of which unraveled with a tap.

The first read:

[Sneak Attack] [Common]

The rogue is a specialist in striking from out of hiding. This technique grants double damage for each attack made from an enemy’s blind spot with a [DEX]-based weapon.

Your [DEX]-based weapon attacks also gain a moderate boost to armor penetration. No more would you suffer bullying at the hands of Fighters and nasty Guardians. Caution should be exercised when attempting a sneak attack, however, lest you spill your innards!

Note: This technique scales with other sources that improve penetration.

. . .

It doesn’t improve that kind of penetration.

Cost: Passive.

Oh? This was far from the [Shadow Arm Darkness Mind Laser Pulse Cannon] I wanted, but a general increase in DPS wasn’t terrible either . . . as long as I could land those [Sneak Attack]s. Between [Stealth] and [Dark Stalker], it shouldn’t be a problem.

[Assassinate] [Common]

Ever been so certain about a gamble that you choose to go all in? That’s what Assassinate does!

Your next strike after activating this skill with a [DEX]-based weapon inflicts five times more damage! It suffers from a long cooldown, sadly, but the tradeoff is worth it.

Your [DEX]-based weapon attacks also gain a moderate boost to armor penetration.

PS: This technique affects your next strike, so you better land that money shot! Suffer a parry, and well . . . let’s just say no one appreciates an attempted assassination.

Cost: 15 VP.

Damn.

It seemed I had reached a critical point in Assassin builds: the point where damage came online. Both skills offered shred against squishies and tanks, with the difference boiling down to consistent damage versus dishing it out all at once.

An Assassin who was confident enough in their ability to land [Sneak Attack]s in the heat of battle would benefit from the former. Otherwise, [Assassinate] was the way to go. In a group fight, it could also help with speedily removing the most dangerous threat.

Ugh. Choices. Choices.

Ultimately, it came down to my affinity, and being imbued with Fear, I probably made for a better sneak than most Assassins. The only ones better than me in that regard were Illusion-based rogues: Those attuned to Confusion, if I wasn’t mistaken.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

That reasoning helped me make my decision. I selected [Sneak Attack] and watched the darkness recede into the Traveler’s Room. There went my ability to melt my enemies, but I also enjoyed the challenge.

I checked my status sheet to ensure all remained in order . . .

Damien Njoku

Race: Dark Elf

Level: 21

Class: Assassin

Affinity: Fear

VP: 14/50

MP: 31/52

Attributes:

STR 10, PER 17, END 10, DEX 20

INT 5, WIL 10, V.F 2, MGK 3

Free Stat Points: 2

Traits:

[Born of Fear], [Against the Odds], [Migrant Soul]*

Skills:

[Map], [Identify], [Meditation], [Stealth], [Knife Fighting], [Decoy], [Sneak Attack]

Abilities:

[Scaredy-cat], [Fear Aura], [Dark Stalker]

. . . And then, I took stock of the items in my inventory.

The rogue brothers had been adventurers way longer than I had, and it showed in the way their purses brimmed with coin. I moved the good stuff to the top of my inventory and shoved the useless stuff to the bottom.

Each of the rogues had owned a set of throwing knives, all regular-grade, which made for great additions to my arsenal. [Knife-fighting] handled my expertise with [DEX] weapons, so I didn’t bother with practice.

One item, a golden shield, hid among the loot. It was the same one I’d seen in the item room: the one which the rogues had stolen.

The Mirror of Remembrance [Greater]

A unique ornament that once decorated the halls of a Herald. For old memories cherished, never forget.

I extricated the golden mirror with careful fingers and grunted in surprise at its near weightlessness. Red tassels dangled from loops affixed to both ends of its diameter.

The Assassin who had found this had suffered a brief bout of shock. But, I was more curious about the fact that it had once belonged to a Herald.

Light glimmered across the surface of the mirror, pulling my gaze. Blurry images danced atop the glass. I resisted the pull for all I was worth, but the force doubled until I fell through the mirror and into a sea of white.

I woke up on an old couch that had no reason to be as comfortable as it felt.

Twilight streamed through open windows, veiled by floral drapes. The rich scents of wet earth and fabric softener assaulted my nostrils. A familiar scent . . . almost, like . . .

My eyes brimmed with tears before I could finish the thought.

. . . almost like home.

“Damien?” a soft voice said from a spot behind me.

A lump rose in my throat.

“Done with your nap?”

No. No. No.

Scraping sounds filled the room as someone rose from the dining table to lean over the couch.

It was all a trap. I couldn’t afford to look.

And yet, against my better judgment, I found myself turning to greet her.

Mom didn’t look a day older than thirty. The signs of exertion were there, in the bags beneath her eyes and in the strands of white hair that poked out beneath her scarf. Yet, she looked exactly as I remembered before that fateful day that saw her lose her life. Her narrow cheekbones—which I had inherited . . . not in this body though—framed a strong jaw and flat nose. Her brown eyes sat deep in her face.

Mom’s features lit up with a smile, and the fading daylight brightened in tandem. She lowered a skinny hand to my face and poked my cheek.

“That’s enough sleep for one evening, little man,” she said. “Keep it up and you’ll have nothing left for bedtime.”

Tears poured down my cheek. “Mom . . .”

“Why are you crying?!” she asked in alarm and moved to the front of the couch. “Did you have a bad dream?”

What part of my life didn’t qualify as one?

Between her death and my being forced into Dad’s custody, I’d suffered lots of bad dreams. And, that was without including my shitty life as an adult, the Pyramid of Rebirth, and everything related to Vizhima.

Mom wrapped her arms around my shoulders. She managed to envelop me, and I understood now why she had called me little. I was back again in the body of a child, maybe seven or eight, with the plump cheeks and stubby limbs I’d never quite outgrown.

Mom also bore noticeable differences that had initially flown past my radar. Traits that separated her from the ideal version that persisted in my memory.

Her frame felt lighter for one, skinny and deflated, as though laden with a burden two times her size. Her wrist bones jutted prominently in her arms. A small sheen of sweat burned on her forehead . . .

How had I not noticed any of these in the past? The signs of her declining health? The signs that she needed me for a support system as much as I needed her?

“It’s okay,” Mom said into my hair. “It was all just a dream.”

I didn’t know what to say. I simply cried into her shoulder and tightened my grip around her waist.

We stayed that way for a long time until Mom reluctantly pried herself out of my embrace and rose to her feet.

“How about some activity to take your mind off things?” she said. “We could go sightseeing? Or maybe, you’d like a snack?”

“Snacks sound good . . .”

“And, you’re going to help me bake them!” She ruffled my hair. “Tonight feels like a good night for cake.”

I’d forgotten about that. Mom loved to bake. Almost as much as she loved looking at flowers.

I matched her enthusiasm and offered a smile of my own. “Sure. Let's do that.”

Mom beamed. She tightened her headscarf and grabbed an apron from the sofa. “Let’s see. We have milk, flour, eggs . . .”

Eggs . . .

The Egg of Labyrinth.

That had been my most important goal a short while ago. Right now, it didn’t matter.

“Uh-oh,” Mom said, pausing her rumination. “I might need to visit the kiosk next door for some butter. Want to come along?”

A trek outside with Mom? “Yeah!”

Mom moved to the door and waited for me to follow. I trudged to my feet and stared down at the rug.

The dungeon heart no longer mattered. Byron, Skeelie, Migrant Souls, Vizhima . . . each of those problems could be solved by others. I’d take Isekai back to a past life with mom than to a fantasy world ten times over.

So, why did I hesitate?

“What are you waiting for, son?”

I was waiting for my friends. They, in turn, also waited for me. We’d made a promise at The Naked Bard to beat the Labyrinth together, so what right did I have to break it the first chance I got?

Mom released the door handle and regarded me with saddened eyes. “You’re not coming along?”

God . . .

I couldn’t abandon her. Not again. I couldn’t bear the thought of returning home from school to find her lifeless in the living room.

“I’m coming,” I said. But, I didn’t move.

Mom was long dead. Gone and buried. I’d watched her bleed out on the floor and held her cold hands in mine until she breathed her last. This dream, beautiful though it was, was nothing but a dream. And, it would be irresponsible of me to linger here when the real lives of others depended on my return.

“It doesn’t have to be a dream,” Mom said, “if you don’t want it to be. You accepted your reincarnation easily enough. Why is this any different?”

I stared at her with widened eyes. “You know about Vizhima?”

“I would think that a mother would notice when her son returns home looking like a different person.” She chuckled. “Nice ears, by the way.”

I stared down at my arms. I was back in the body of Cyran Irithiel. All six-foot-plus of him, with the red eyes and shaggy hair I never bothered to comb.

Mom smiled sadly. “It doesn’t need to be a dream. This is more you than that will ever be.”

And, she was right. But, my real mom had also taught me to keep my promises. For once in my life, I was proud of what I had become. And, I could look back at this house . . . at this lovely woman . . . and remember her as the one who shaped me.

“I can’t, mom,” I managed to say. “I need to go.”

Mom’s expression broke. “Damien, no . . .”

I turned away before she could convince me to change my mind, and then I grabbed my hair in an attempt to rip my psyche apart.

Mom’s last words splintered alongside the dream. I never got to hear it.

Fuck.

I wrenched myself away from the vision and crashed onto my back. The Mirror of Remembrance clanged against the floor.

I understood now why Kajal had abandoned this item. Not everyone would appreciate being confronted with intimate scenes from their past.

Calm down, Damien, I thought and ran my hand across my face. It’s not real. It’s not real.

I didn’t abandon my mother a second time. And yet, it felt like I had. Surviving the Pyramid had been nothing but a mistake. If I had numbered among the homunculi to die, wouldn’t we be reunited now in eternity?

I had faced down Flame Guardians and all kinds of monsters, but a single mirror was all it took to break my spirit.

The hours ticked by on my time in the dungeon. But, there in the Traveler’s Room, I curled up and cried.