"Many rests ago, I found someone from this haven. It was an older gentleman, someone who'd been in the tower for a long time and had given up hope of finding an exit. He'd been hunting for something edible, so I aided him in his hunt and escorted him back. Ever since, I occasionally return here."
As they descend the impressively long tunnel, War recounts the tale of how he found the entrance to the haven they were entering: The Devil's Den.
Robert, already scared for his safety, asks the knight: "We're going into the 'Devil's Den'... Are you certain this is safe?"
His concerns were fair. With a name like that, even Worthy became skeptical about the denizens of the underground sanctuary. Instead of blood-soaked walls, they were now walking down a stone interior. Someone, presumably a person with an extraordinary Reward, wanted to make sure that no overgrowth of flesh crept into their abode.
Almost as though he could taste the savory flavor of Robert's tangible fear, a delightful laugh fled from War's chest. "AH-HA-HA-HA-HA!"
The tunnel they were in, one that'd battled against the pressures of the flesh walls it was buried within for countless years, felt like it was trembling beneath the power of his laugh.
Robert looked dumbfounded, wondering if the question he asked had such an obvious answer. It wasn't the nature of the question, but something that War recalled from many years ago.
"Forgive me, I didn't mean to laugh at your inquiry. I was reminded of a conversation an acquaintance and I had, many years ago. To answer you: The den is named that to frighten any untrustworthy people who might set out in search of this place. For those of us with honest intentions, it is safe."
The nobleman nods, taking time to think about the answer, then comes to the consensus that it makes sense.
'Wow. I suppose a coward knows how to use their head, if anything.'
"By the way, shouldn't it be darker?" Worthy saw no torches anywhere as they descended the stairs, yet the luminosity hadn't changed compared to the canyon. It was still dimly lit, but not impossible for them to see what was in front of them.
This time, there is silence from the Holy Knight. He must've been thinking about an answer, but couldn't consider one. Fortunately, Esme humors the child's curiosity.
"Think of it this way, Worth: If there's practically no sun in the sky, nor a moon to indicate that it's night, it means light is everywhere here. It just changes a little depending on how many walls are around you."
"I'd say that doesn't make sense, but nothing in this situation does."
"Good, you're deciphering the tower already." Esme merely joked, but she hadn't the slightest clue that she was right.
Worthy was starting to formulate ideas about how the tower worked. About how the monsters on this floor came to be. About how the difficulty of the floor would soon spike to a degree that no human could inhabit the floor.
The various words they spoke planted the seeds for many ideas the child would not yet know were possible.
In a tower that can grant all wishes, there is no restriction in what reality deems capable.
>>><<<
After descending deeper into the earth, the group eventually stood in front of a plain wooden door at the end of the staircase.
"We're here. First, we must wait for someone to allow us entry."
His large knuckles gently knock on the door. Anyone inside is sure to hear it, despite his courtesy. Worthy didn't doubt that someone would come out with the biggest sword they could find, thinking he was a beast who stumbled onto their hideout.
A minute goes by… nobody comes to the door.
Two minutes go by… still, nobody opens.
'Don't tell me everybody in there starved to death or something…' Worthy expected to see old corpses when the door opens.
Fortunately, he's wrong. War, the old man that he is, simply forgot the most important part to gaining entry: "Open the door." His voice causes the walls to shake again, but finally, there is commotion on the other side.
"...War! …back… maybe he'll… open!"
Someone comes to the door and opens it wide open for them.
"Come on in, War! You big bastard, you should've shouted earlier! We didn't know who found that lever!" The excited voice of a man greets the group.
A short, stocky fellow greeted them at the door. A dirty, brown beanie with bloodstains tightly wrapped around his head. He wore clothes that'd been stitched up, light armor positioned here and there for protection. Worthy could recognize a mercenary when he saw one, except for Cross, whom he didn't get the opportunity to fully inspect upon their introductions.
Entering after Robert, the child was given the chance to take in the sight of the safe haven, nestled deep underground within a mountain of intestines.
The sheer scale of the place blew him away.
For the first time since he entered the tower, real life hit his eyes and nearly made him stagger. Chandeliers were hanging from the ceiling, wooden floors now under his feet as well.
The Devil's Den looked like a massive, old-fashioned tavern.
One thing Worthy thought he'd never see again, at least not until the Second Floor, was furniture. So it came as a surprise when he saw chairs, couches, and barstools positioned all throughout the den.
Compared to the Hell outside, Worthy thought he'd stepped into Heaven. "How the hell did they fit all this down here… where'd it come from?" Nobody was there to answer his question, though. He'd stopped in the middle of the floor, taking in the sight that he wouldn't shy away from calling luxurious.
'What the fuck does a Prime Settlement look like, then? A god damn city?!'
Whoever used their Reward to create this place obviously hadn't done it alone. Now Worthy understood why they decided to hide it in the middle of an endless canyon—a beautiful building like this getting destroyed would be a historic loss.
Unlike the newcomers, who were taking in the scene, War was being swarmed by a crowd that he towered over. He was very popular, for good reason.
"Hell, War! Welcome back, man! We didn't think you'd ever return!"
"Mr. Reaver! Come by the bar when you're free! We should have a drink or two and chat!"
"You big sonnuva bitch! C'mere! Give me a hug, the quill you gave me seriously doesn't run out of ink! I've been writing for an eternity!"
So many voices overlapped that Worthy forgot he was in Hell for a while. Beyond the safety of these walls, hundreds of people were fighting to the death and being devoured by horrors beyond human comprehension.
'Well, I have no reason to be glued to this man and the growing crowd around him.'
The child strayed away, much like the other three, to explore the sanctuary they'd been led to.
Things here were too plain compared to outside, to the point that Worthy was unsettled by it. His own home wasn't in this pristine condition, but somehow a person managed to build a stronghold underground that lasted for countless years without showing signs of deteriorating.
"This is just unfair." He mutters to himself. Accidentally, he drew the attention of an old woman that was sitting nearby.
Amused, the woman with silver hair spoke to Worthy from the couch she sat on. "Amazing, isn't it? This is the work of one of the Five Craftsmen."
A name of a group he'd never heard before left him intrigued. "The Five Craftsmen? Never heard of 'em. I'm assuming they were some lucky fellas."
Cackling, the elderly woman nods. "Luckier than the greatest gamblers in history. All five of them came into the tower at different times but each received a Reward related to construction. Story says that they built various safe zones across the tower, but disappeared eventually. My guess is they all died out. Only a guess, 'course."
There are only two fates for the people of this floor. They will die or they will ascend to the next floor. Somehow, there is no singular solace to be found here, unlike every other floor of the tower.
If it weren't for her healing ability, Esme might've been ranting about her misfortune earlier, assuming she'd already known about the existence of Five fortunate men and women.
"Some of them came together and created this secret hideout, only sharing the information with their trusted companions. When one of them decided to stay behind, for whatever reason, that's how more people found out about it. Needless to say, this safe haven has been here for a long time and doesn't show any signs of going away."
Worthy thought back to the unnatural way the wall ascended and the endless nature of the tunnel.
'Yeah, so there's undeniably supernatural shit involving this place. At least I can have an easy mind.'
His confidence in the foundation of the Devil's Den was solidified. Finally, he felt like he was truly safe…
'As safe as a guy can be, buried a mile underneath a mountain of dead people.'
Now, all he needs to concern himself for are the other humans around him. "Who're you anyways, old hag?"
Someone sitting near the woman laughs. Her face warps, scrunching with dissatisfaction.
"Who're you calling a 'hag', boy? You came with the Holy Knight? You'd better ask him to teach your pint-sized ass some respect. Your tone reminds me of my damn son's. I guess I'll take the courtesy to introduce myself, though."
Her name is… interesting.
"Name's Haul. I've been in this tower for… Well, certainly around a decade or two."
Shuddering, the child recounts the times he's heard that name in his memory. It's not a common one, so there's no way he was confusing her for someone else.
Throughout the years, the reigning forces of the underworld have all had a name related to cargo or transport. Currently, Freight stood as the ruler of the underworld, managing the black market and all the components that come with it.
However, before Freight stepped up and grabbed the reins, a relentless woman named Haul—his mother—took the stage.
"...You aren't Freight's old lady, are you?" A nervous smile appears on his face. Just now, he'd spoken quite a few impolite words to the woman, so he didn't want to be on the receiving end of any badly forged grudges.
An ominous energy sprouts from the woman, a shadow appearing over her abruptly, one that'd not been in the well-lit room before. "Well, as it just so happens, I do have a boy named Freight. I've heard he's working miracles for my business outside of this labyrinth, so I've been in no rush to leave."
The juvenile felt his soul escape through his breath, one that would've been his last if he were careless.
"I'd… I'd like to apologize for what I said earlier."
Haul cackles, "Nope. It's already too late for you, kid. Sorry to say this, but I'm a very spiteful 'old hag'."
Fortunately, the old woman was kidding, as far as Worthy could tell. Feeling the tension receding, he introduces himself. "S—Sorry. I'm Worthy. It's uh… It's nice to meet you, Freight's mom."
One of the men beside Haul bursts into laughter greater than before. "Y'hear that?! 'Freight's mom!' Ka-ka-ka!" Enamored by the child's choice of words, the fellow bangs his hand against the sturdy table.
"You're a funny kid, you know that?" Haul was relieved to see such a familiar child. The fact that he knew who she was, despite not being in charge by the time the child was born, meant he was from Malas Town. His ability to acknowledge his wrongdoings and speak to her with respect showed that he knew the pecking order and how to get back in line.
Besides his familiar mannerisms to a child from the slums, he also looked very similar to someone she met once, a while before she entered Aciago Tower.
"Your face is seriously punchable though, kid. Are you related to… Coward?" She took a moment to remember the name, yet was able to accurately recall the face that the boy had.
Worthy was hesitant to answer, judging the meaning behind her words. He wouldn't want to answer and end up being forced to repay a debt his father owed, albeit it was unlike the hardworking man to have any dangerous debts left unpaid. Haul was unpredictable, renowned for the many heads that rolled in her conquest of Malas Town and the many other cities that she expanded her group's reach to.
Killing children certainly isn't something beneath her either. If Worthy was lucky, age would've helped melt some of the impenetrable frost from the woman's heart.
Judging by how she hadn't shown any remorse for abandoning her son to run a criminal empire, he doubted this was the case.
'Still, lying to someone who's spent her whole life deceiving and killing wouldn't be the smartest choice on my end either.'
He chooses to be honest, admitting that Coward is his father. Haul has a solemn look on her face after, simply nodding.
"I understand now… So, that's how things ended up. The fact that you're in here tells me a story on its own. I can tell by your gear that my son equipped you well, though. Meaning… Your old man's dead, or he's come upon some dire times. Either one, for somebody in Malas Town, doesn't have much of a difference."
As a veteran of the underground world, Haul was all too familiar with these stories. The children she watched grow up ending up dead, miserable, or worse than that. "...I had hoped Coward wouldn't end up falling for the curse we slum-dwellers are born with. It looks like even somebody as dignified as him can't defy fate."
Naturally, the world was unfair. Worthy and Hopeful were born into a world unforgiving, aiming to drown them in despair. To try and escape this future, both their father and mother delved into this tower—the only one they could reach—which was unreasonably cruel, and failed to achieve what'd bring them a better life.
Worthy was just a child following in the footsteps of many others before him. To Haul, he was no different from his father and every other poor sap that had no choice but to risk their life in hopes of a greater future.
Without realizing it, her slender fingers found their way onto the child's head, slipping through his hair. "Honestly, I think I'd be better off killing you right now… Putting dumb kids like you out of their misery isn't something I've shied away from in the past."
The child realizes he cannot move.
When Haul announces her idea of killing him, he realizes that the hand on his head, despite her slender fingers once being gentle, keeps him utterly still. He'd sprain his neck if he tried to break into a sprint.
The child maintains a brave face, but his body can't stop sweating. "Y—Yeah… T—Th… That wouldn't be very productive though, would it?"
Tilting her head, the old woman grins. "No. No, it'd not be productive whatsoever. Which is why I'm going to let you live. Something's resonating off of you, somethin' these old eyes haven't seen in a while. You and that old, armored coot aren't too different, from what my Reward's showing me. I'm investing in you, do you understand?"
'Did… Did I just get indebted? Wait, that's Esme's thing. I'm twelve-years-old, I can't get indebted!'
Hold on a moment… Haul's words snap him out of his monologuing. "What do you mean we aren't 'too different', you're talking about Mr. Reaver?" Worthy could not begin to fathom what was similar between himself and the towering Holy Knight, who's been fighting a never-ending battle against the creatures of the First Floor.
He wasn't even a quarter of the man's size. He wasn't nearly as strong as him. His skills were dwarfed to a planetary proportion.
Nothing about them was similar, except the fact that their weapons could cut things very well.
"Well, it's difficult to explain it to a kid. Just know, you've got the aura of a [Climber]. Something's telling me that out of everybody here—you've got the best chances at getting to the highest floor."