Chapter 29: So, I… … . Part 2

‘Where does the uncertainty of this labyrinthine dungeon come from?’

You could cite the countless monsters that inhabit it.

‘Where do they keep coming from? How do they adapt to the dungeon so quickly? Everything about them is uncertain.’

Or perhaps you could point to the endless variety of rooms.

One might trigger a trap, stumble upon treasure, or—unluckily—encounter an elite monster.

These random elements all come together to make the dungeon unpredictable.

Still, with enough study and record-keeping, some degree of control is possible.

However, Soren could say with confidence that there is one element of such profound uncertainty that it defies all countermeasures.

‘Anomalies.’

Anomalies. Impossible to define.

Unlikely to yield answers.

[Anomaly: So, I…]

Its irregularity is beyond prediction.

It might well be the most powerful anomaly of them all.

And now, Soren was facing the most difficult and troublesome of these anomalies.

[Anomaly: So, I…]

It can be entered from any dungeon.

That’s what makes it so dangerously complex.

No matter where you go, this anomaly is unavoidable.

Just moments ago, Soren had been in a fight with the Anomaly Witch.

She could manipulate the anomaly of the Gloomy Swamp Tunnels.

That final, shrill scream she let out—her last desperate outcry before death.

A final, unavoidable burst of rage.

So even if Soren had known the dungeon’s strategies beforehand, the outcome would have been the same.

‘Dammit. Nothing ever goes right.’

Soren clicked his tongue as he glared at the creature in front of him.

Its face was smooth, pale, and slippery—devoid of anything that could be called facial features.

[So, you are?]

Then through what organ was this creature even speaking?

There was no way to know.

Even if it didn’t have a mouth, Soren had no method of verifying it.

Not that he needed to.

Soren’s eyes flicked to the side.

Bork, who had stuck his hand in the campfire, was writhing in agony.

[Upon entering this anomaly, a mass of chaos appears and begins to fabricate a story. The goal is to endlessly craft tales that will satisfy the Goddess of Chaos.]

[That grotesque form is likely what became of a former priest who once worshipped the Goddess of Betrayal and Chaos.]

[Fighting is impossible. The entity is immune to both physical and magical damage. Therefore— One must confront it as a story.]

Soren’s closed eyes opened.

“So, I…”

The storyteller’s narrative had begun.

It was possible to confront the mass of chaos.

However, the process required time and structure.

As with any story.

Every story must proceed through its phases—beginning, development, conflict, climax, and resolution.

To face the mass of chaos, one first had to build a narrative frame.

And the introduction had already been established by the mass of chaos.

Because of that alone, explorers caught in this anomaly found themselves at a severe disadvantage.

Just like how fastening the first button correctly is critical—if the beginning of a story goes wrong, it’s difficult to steer the rest toward a desirable conclusion.

A story gone awry from the start.

Soren decided to fix it step by step, starting from the smallest details.

“The traveler who lit the fire was named Bork. While tending the fire, Bork ‘accidentally’ stuck his hand into it. So, I pulled his hand out and poured healing potion over the burn.”

First, he saved Bork, who was in so much pain he was close to passing out.

There might have been more urgent steps to take, but watching a teammate’s hand roast in front of him was simply unacceptable.

[Hmm…]

The mass of chaos tilted its pale face.

As if puzzled by Soren’s lack of confusion, it stared him down with its eyeless face, as if it did have eyes.

[The traveler who lit the fire, Bork, had his hand healed.]

Soren’s body began to move on its own.

A healing potion appeared in his hand from nowhere.

Then, he approached Bork, pulled out his hand, and poured the potion over it.

“Ugh…!”

“Just hold on a little longer.”

Soren shot an icy glare at the mass of chaos as he offered a word of encouragement.

Basic conversation was possible—for now.

But dialogue unrelated to the story was impossible.

That was why, even though Soren knew how to break through the [Anomaly: So, I…], he couldn’t explain it to his teammates.

‘Has the mass of chaos taken control of this world? Or was it Tlatskani?’

The Goddess of Betrayal and Chaos—Tlatskani—cared little for her followers.

But sometimes, when bored, she would randomly select someone and appoint them a priest.

Those chosen by chance transformed into such grotesque monstrosities.

Yet the power granted to them was undeniable.

Within the confines of the story, they became absolute.

[The traveler who caught the meat healed the hand of the traveler who lit the fire, Bork. So, the traveler who gathered the firewood is now…]

The mass of chaos shifted its focus.

Turning counter-clockwise, it was now Moss’s turn.

Still frozen in the pose of pouring potion, Soren glanced toward Moss.

[So, you are?]

The mass of chaos leaned into Moss’s face just as it had with Soren.

Countless tendrils squirmed from its red body.

Moss’s eyes trembled like leaves in a storm.

“So, I…”

Among the three others besides Soren, Moss was the most composed and thoughtful.

Perhaps it was because Soren had set a good example earlier—Moss faltered for a moment but then tried to continue the story.

“So, I suggested that all of my companions take up their weapons. We don’t know what might happen.”

Moss’s intent was clear.

Not knowing what kind of entity they were facing, he wanted to be ready to fight.

The mass of chaos stared silently at him for a while, then spoke.

[That is not a proper story.]

Moss’s turn wasn’t over yet.

The mass of chaos did not move on to the next participant.

It remained in front of Moss, demanding a proper answer.

[Casually drawing weapons during a peaceful journey with no threat present—that’s forced and unnatural.
Every story must build up in proper sequence.]

If one could survive simply by making up stories, then no one but a fool would say,

“The embodiment of chaos coughed up blood and dropped dead.”

But this is not a place where such absurdities fly.

The embodiment of chaos is strict.

[One chance remains.]

Every storyteller is given two chances.

Since Moss just used up one, he now has only one left.

‘What happens when all the chances are used up?’

Soren hoped Moss wouldn’t take it that far.

[So, what about you?]

Moss swallowed hard, his throat bobbing with effort.

Soren held his breath and looked at Moss.

Moss’s trembling eyes met Soren’s.

With his gaze, Moss seemed to be asking, ‘What do I do?’

Soren had no answer to give.

He could make up a story for Moss, but there was no way to pass it to him through mere eye contact.

“So, I… went to check if Mr. Bork’s hand was okay. I wanted to ask the traveler who caught the meat, Mr. Soren, how his injury was healing.”

The embodiment of chaos was silent.

A suffocating silence lingered for a moment, then it stepped aside, permitting Moss’s story.

Moss came running toward Soren and Bork, panting in urgency, as if he were truly a concerned traveler in the story, worried about Bork’s condition.

“What happened?”

Moss asked as he approached Bork.

Though it seemed directed at Bork, it was actually a question for Soren.

“It’s a troubling situation, but it’s not critical at the moment.”

“So we’ve caught a moment to breathe?”

“For now, yes.”

“You’ve taken action, then.”

“Yes, but it’s only a temporary measure. We need to figure out a proper treatment.”

It was a vague conversation.

Though it looked like they were checking Bork’s hand, their dialogue subtly paralleled their current situation.

Moss glanced at the embodiment of chaos.

It was silently observing the realization of the story, showing no sign of interruption.

Or perhaps it didn’t even have eyes to begin with.

Moss glared at it and asked, “What should we do to make it more convincing?”

“Well… maybe we should look for some herbs? But for that, we’d have to leave this place.”

Soren left some room in the story.

They were currently trapped around the campfire, but thanks to Soren’s words, the possibility of moving through the story had been opened.

It was what you’d call ‘planting plausibility.’

Moss frowned slightly, as if he didn’t quite understand.

“Then, what should we do now—”

[That line of dialogue doesn’t match the narrative: ‘to ask how Mr. Soren’s injury was healing.’]

The question was blocked cleanly.

Moss cast an irritated glance toward the embodiment of chaos.

[The traveler gathering firewood talked with the traveler who caught the meat—Soren—about Bork’s injury. And then, the traveler who was singing…]

The embodiment of chaos writhed, its tentacles twitching as it moved.

Eventually, it reached Loreia and, as before, thrust its face close to hers.

[So, what about you?]

“……”

…Then suddenly, a ninja appeared.

[That doesn’t fit the story. One chance remaining.]

Loreia had made a bold attempt.

Trying to derail the story with absurdity was not allowed.

Apparently, Bork had considered the same; sweat beaded on his forehead, and his expression twisted.

Soren watched Loreia nervously.

‘It’d be a lie to say I’m not worried.’

Given Loreia’s unpredictable nature, there was a real risk she might provoke the embodiment of chaos.

“The traveler gathering firewood, Moss, checked Bork’s condition and talked with Soren about the injury. So, I stopped singing and walked over to them.”

The embodiment of chaos fell silent.

It didn’t reject the story, but it didn’t seem particularly pleased either.

[…]

[Story accepted.]

In the end, Loreia also joined the others around Bork.

Now they were at a decent distance to hold a proper conversation.

They were all just staring at Bork, sure, but it was still far better than being scattered.

[The traveler who had been singing came closer to Bork. And so, the one who used the healing potion, Bork, then…]

Since the embodiment of chaos had begun the next part of the tale, it was Bork’s turn to continue.

It stood behind Bork.

Its writhing tentacles reached toward him, close enough to graze his body.

[So, what about you?]

“………I took Soren’s hand and stood up. Then, I suggested we end our journey and go back.”

Surprisingly, the embodiment of chaos did not reject this.

Though it had introduced the journey itself, it was now clear that the storyline could be altered as long as the flow remained natural.

Considering Bork had burned his hand completely—

Even if he had used a healing potion, it was unreasonable for him to continue the journey as if nothing had happened.

Bork’s story was reasonable.

‘Now what are you going to do?’

Soren’s mind swirled as he looked at the embodiment of chaos.

The story wasn’t over yet.

And perhaps, unless the embodiment of chaos collapsed, it would never truly end.

[Bork suggested ending the journey, for his hand was still not free from injury. Traveling in such a state—what nonsense!]

The embodiment of chaos recited the story in a sing-song voice.

Its oddly lilting tone only heightened the discomfort.

Soren and the others all frowned.

[They all agreed, but you can’t just climb down a mountain in the dead of night! So, the travelers decided to spend the night at the campsite.]

A creeping sense of unease crawled up Soren’s neck.

He clenched his fists tightly.

[But misfortune never comes alone.]

Awoooo—!

A wolf’s howl rang out.

[As the travelers tried to sleep, a pack of wolves appeared.]

The embodiment of chaos once again took the lead in escalating the crisis.

[Should they fight? Or run?]

Its pale face loomed close to Soren.

Soren stared directly at the featureless face.

[So, what about you?]

The story still wasn’t over.