Chapter 175 – Floor 17: Part 2

A cold wind blew across the frigid wasteland that was the 17th Floor. The falling snow was swept up in its wake, swirling around the rocks and jagged pillars of ice that dotted the landscape.

Eventually, the wind made its way to a small cave opening partially blocked by a fabric sheet pinned to the entrance. The fabric billowed slightly as the wind slammed itself against it, moving it enough for some to make its way inside.

The slight gust of wind reached the center of a small chamber hand carved from the rock and frozen earth where it touched a burning, magical fire sourced from a large, red stone. The wind made the flames flare and dance, casting shadows on the walls.

Next to the fire was a small cot with a few threadbare and worn blankets, making up what they lacked in quality with quantity. Beside the cot were a few small tools: a sewing kit, a kettle and tripod to hang over the fire, a metal plate and a spoon.

Each item in the cave seemed well used and showed signs of being repaired often.

The gust of wind circled the cave chamber before it found its way deeper through an opening in the wall that led downwards. Here, the tunnel twisted and turned as if whoever was digging had frequently changed direction to search for something.

At this point, another noise joined the sound of rushing wind. A metal hammering on stone would send vibrations through the ground and ring out rhythmically, occasionally pausing for a few moments before continuing.

Deeper, the wind travelled until it reached the lowest part of the cavern.

A bearded man wearing layers of rags was using a pickaxe to dislodge sections of the wall. This was the source of the hammering, and the wind was a draft that ruffled the man's long, filthy hair. The chill air sent a shiver down the man’s back as it brushed against his neck.

“Damnable cold. I told you to close the flap!” The man grumbled as he drew a red scarf closer around his neck in case the draft returned. Hefting his pickaxe once more, he slammed the sharp point into a crack in the rock and pulled.

After straining for a few moments, the rock dislodged to reveal a glittering shard of crystal. Laughing loudly, the man threw down the pickaxe and carefully lifted his prize. Brushing off the dirt that stubbornly clung to the crystal's surface, he raised it triumphantly to show it to his companion.

“See! I told you it would be here! A rich vein indeed. The Aether likes to stick together in areas where strong mana once existed, like moths to a flame. This has to be at least a million units!” The man shouted as he turned the large chunk of Crystalized Aether to see it better against the light cast by a white, magical stone that he had jammed into a crevice.

The man cocked his head to the side as if he were listening to someone speak before scowling.

“You’re talking nonsense, like always. I don’t even know why I bother trying!” The man screamed as the Aether in his hand slowly disappeared. Watching it with satisfaction, he picked up his pickaxe and pulled the luminous stone from its resting place as he began to walk back toward his campsite.

Mathew had lost track of his time on the 17th Floor. He had tried to keep count of the passing of days, but it was difficult, especially when it seemed so pointless. Judging by his equipment and progress in digging for Aether, he knew that it must have been years, maybe decades.

He was close now, so very close to the end. He grinned as he walked, thinking about what he would do when he left this place. What food would he eat, how great a hot shower and a warm bed would feel? He couldn’t remember them, even with his enhanced memory.

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He occasionally dreamed of his lost comforts, but that was more tortuous than forgetting. Once he woke cold and hungry, he cursed the gods and his weakness, which had sent him to this hell.

Mathew felt old, tired and used. Despite the Tower keeping him young, the 17th Floor felt like it was aging him. He was hunched over from the low ceiling of his cave prison, constantly shivering from the cold, his belly always rumbling from never having enough food.

Not to mention his injuries. His leg dragged stiffly against the rock floor; every step would send a twinge of agony shooting from his ankle to his knee. He had fallen shortly after he had arrived when he had gone outside the cave to explore. Falling down a hole that had been covered by snow, he had shattered some of the bones of his right leg, and they had never healed properly.

Potions didn’t work here, and the Shop only carried the most basic of first aid items. Thankfully, he had been able to crawl back here and recover after a few months, but his injuries meant he was wary ever to leave the cave again.

Not that he needed to; the Aether was abundant in this place. He had hundreds of millions of units carefully hoarded over his time here.

Besides, it’s not like he was alone here.

‘‘Lageness Must Zatize Us’

The Spirits of the Celestials whispered to him from the darkness, and Mathew took comfort in their presence. He still couldn’t understand them and had been desperate to learn their language over the years.

He yearned to communicate with someone, anyone. Even the spirits of dead aliens were preferable to loneliness. Mathew let out a sigh and nodded.

“Lagness Must Zatize Us” Mathew agreed wearily, despite not knowing what it meant. Sometimes, he wished that he had used the Words of Power more when he had the chance. Then perhaps he could have a proper conversation with them.

Returning to his camp, Mathew leaned the pickaxe up against the wall. Dragging his leg awkwardly across the uneven stone ground, he picked up the pot from beside the fire and walked toward the entrance.

Raising the flap that kept the worst of the cold out, he braced himself for the cold. It hit him like a fist, knocking the air from his lungs. The wind howled outside, and the snow stung his exposed face as Mathew hurried to a nearby pile of snow.

Scooping up some of the white powder into the pot, he scrambled to return to the cave as quickly as his bad leg would allow him. When he was nearly there, he slipped on a patch of ice, and the pot flew out of his hands.

Falling onto the ground, pain erupted from his back and leg as the pot bounced and rolled across the ground.

Cursing his clumsiness and the 17th Floor, Mathew slowly picked himself up. Unable to walk, he crawled over to the pot on his hands and good knee. Grabbing the pot, he filled it with snow again and returned through the flap to the cave.

Collapsing into the relative warmth of the cave, he took a few minutes to recover before crawling his way to the fire created by the stone purchased from the shop. They only lasted a few hours, but they were the only way to make fire on this Floor.

Mathew quickly set up the tripod and placed the pot of ice and snow over the fire. Leaning back against his cot next to the fire, he let out a sigh of relief as the pain slowly faded from his leg and back. By the time the pot contained boiling water, he had recovered enough to add a few ingredients to make a simple stew.

Every day on the 17th Floor passed in the same way. Mathew would sleep on his cot until the fire next to him extinguished as the warming stones expired. Eventually, the cold would seep into the cave, waking him up.

Mathew would replace the stones and start his day. Boiling snow and ice for water and eating the same rations from the shop would continue the mundanity. Day by day, he would expand the cave in search of Aether, each piece hoarded like a miser to pay toward his debt.

Filthy, battered and nearly insane, Mathew survived the Punishment Floor until he eventually dug out the last piece of Aether from deep beneath the Earth.

‘Ding!’

Floor 17 – Punishment Floor – Mining Aether (Complete)

Summary: You have been absolved of your failure. You may leave the Punishment Floor.

Mathew looked at the burning words with tears in his eyes. He collapsed onto his knees in relief; even the pain from his leg wasn’t enough to take away from his sense of accomplishment. He could finally leave!

“We did it!” He whispered, his smile obscured by his thick, black beard. He turned to look at the Celestial Spirit next to him, who was watching him, with the same curious expression it always had.

‘Lagness Must Zatize Us.’

“I know. Someday, we’ll make them pay for what they did to us.” Mathew agreed, vowing in his heart to become powerful enough that he could make the gods suffer for the harm they caused.

He would never fail again.