Chapter 28 : I just prod things with my sword
We trudged deeper into the maze, and I felt like I’d been walking in circles already. Anabeth peered over my shoulder like a parrot made of silk and academic hubris. “Sir Henry,” she murmured, “I believe it is time for a more . . . refined strategy.”
“No more theatrics,” I warned. “If your legs suddenly grow a third illness, I’ll drag you by the cape.” I was getting tired enough that I forgot to add Ceralis flair into my speech, but she didn’t seem to mind.
She pointed at the beating membrane. “This dungeon is modeled after old marshfold patterns. Living labyrinths like this maintain circulation routes. Most explorers get lost because they drift toward chambers with more movement.” Her nails clicked again against the wall. “But if we keep one side—preferably the right—we will eventually navigate the entire structure and find a stable exit.”
“I thought you had never traversed these dungeons before. How, then, do you recognize such patterns?”
“Ah, well,” she began, “The Tomb of Kervalen has the same patterns!”
“The what?”
“You know . . . It’s an accessible location where one could collect preserved bone slivers for their rock summoning rituals. I was able to summon three Durands with just one sliver once!”
Don’t necromancers use that sort of thing to . . .
She hummed cheerfully. “It’s perfectly routine, of course.”
I resisted the urge to shiver. Fortunately, or unfortunately, I had no time to dwell on her unsettling necromantic anecdotes. Something about the slime walls made me pause. The pulsations weren’t uniform—here and there, the greenish gel throbbed more slowly, forming thin, branching patterns that definitely shouldn’t be where they were.
Instinct screamed at me: trap. My experience with slime dungeons was extensive enough to know when the substrate itself was lying in wait. Not every wall in Gallowmere’s sloughs was passive; some must’ve been designed to strike when provoked.
Anabeth peered over my shoulder again. “Sir Henry, what is it?”
“There could be a pressure-triggered slime pit, poisonous spores, or something worse. We need to find out what type before proceeding.”
She clutched at my pauldron. “Oh! Do you need me to observe?”
“Observe carefully,” I said, keeping my voice low. “Notice the rhythm of the pulsations and the places where the slime forms denser veins. The bulging and contracting segments are the areas most likely to react to pressure or touch.”
“Fascinating! And how do you usually test these hazardous zones, Sir?”
I couldn’t admit I just prod things with my sword. That would sound so undignified.
Then I would have to trick her again. The ritual was always the same: feign solemn caution while she did the actual poking and prodding, and I reaped the benefits without risking my armor or dignity. But I’d done it so many times now that it was starting to feel obvious. Surely she would notice the pattern eventually. I couldn’t just—
“Ah!” She chimed, “Your silence must mean you’re waiting to test me again! How clever of you, Sir Henry! I am on it at once! I shall show you precisely how I test for hazards, with the utmost scientific rigor!”
Before I could protest, she clambered down my back, conjured three small, glowing stones and held them between her fingers.
Stones? What’s scientific about throwing rocks at stones?
“These,” she announced, “are calibrated specifically to detect reactive acidity in organic substrates!”
With a triumphant chirp, she hurled the first quartz at a suspicious vein of slime. It hit the slime with a plop. The slime wobbled. Nothing else happened.
Her eyes sparkled. “These specific quartz I conjured contain a reactive matrix that responds only to acidic secretions. No reaction here means these slimes are not acidic! But they can still be poisonous, so please don’t eat them.”
I allowed a bitter smile. At least she was efficient.
She scooped up a second quartz, spinning it between her fingers like a wand. “Now for conductivity testing!” she chirped. “A reactive gel may alter its matrix when exposed to minimal energy. One must never underestimate the intelligence of slime.” She then tapped the quartz against the wall. The vein quivered, but still produced no visible reaction. She clapped. “Excellent! Predictably non-acidic, minimally reactive, but potentially adhesive. Useful data!”
Then she crouched lower, inspecting the junction where two veins intersected. “I think a small-scale pressure test is warranted,” she said, brandishing a tiny footstool she’d produced from her satchel. She set it on the floor and stood on it, peering down at the slime beneath like a botanist surveying a rare bloom.
I narrowed my eyes, studying the junction she crouched over. She was way too close now, and the blob was swelling.
I opened my mouth to warn her. “Lady Anabeth—”
Too late.
A thin branch shot out from the junction, attempting to ensnare her. “AHH!” she yelped, leaping back. Her hands scraped against my armor as the slime surged toward her like a living net.
“Trap!” I barked, dragging her just out of reach of the snapping tendril. The tendril lashed at me instead, and I got into my Knightly Guard Stance just in time to parry it.
[-1 HP]
I gritted my teeth, swinging my shield to shove the last writhing tendril aside. The junction shivered, then went still, probably waiting for the next careless foot.
Stamina: 48% → 46%
Breathing heavily, I allowed myself a brief glance at Anabeth. She was crouched a pace behind me, and didn’t seem the slightest shaken.
“I’ve got it!” she proclaimed, her eyes alight. “Observe how it quivered briefly before launching its strike, and note how it has not exhibited any further reaction since your last parry.”
I stayed silent.
“These slimes are proximity-triggered for a short delay and—crucially—they only trigger once. Once a vein lashes out, it won’t strike again. We just need to set off each trap before we walk past.”
“And to do that,” I prompted, “we need something to prod them safely?”
Her eyes sparkled. “Exactly! And we do have the perfect object.” She gestured to my sword.
My sword. Of course. Perfect prodding object. We’d gone full circle.