Soulless Soul

Chapter 37: Next Floor

Unlike Crazy Hope intimidating, regal presence that seemed to actively push people away, Chloe looked entirely approachable, though her eyes behind the visor were darting rapidly, analyzing complex data strings only she could see. Her physical body in the real world was completely blind—a tragic detail Sky had learned from casual lobby gossip and later confirmed directly from her during a quiet moment between trials—but within the constraints of the Dungeon World, her sight was beautifully augmented by pure mechanical data. She didn’t see shapes and colors like an ordinary person; she saw vectors, structural integrity, and mathematical probabilities.

"Barely," Sky replied, sheathing his Blood Blade with a sharp click that resonated against the wooden floorboards. "The Priestess over there likes to use a brand of holy light that doubles as a high-temperature flamethrower. My skin and my core traits are still screaming from the residual feedback."

Chloe chuckled, a light, musical sound that felt entirely out of place in this subterranean nightmare.

"That’s Vesper for you. She doesn’t believe in half-measures, and she certainly doesn’t care about collateral damage," Chloe said, leaning back against her toolkit. "But look on the bright side, Skies—your vitals are completely stable, and your Armor integrity didn’t drop below the critical structural threshold before the room cleared. A win is a win in the system’s eyes."

"You were tracking our progress?" Sky asked, narrowing his eyes slightly as a hint of suspicion crept into his tone.

"That’s my passive attribute: [Network Link]," Chloe explained, tapping the metallic side of her Forge Visor with a gloved finger.

A small, floating holographic screen projected instantly from her device into the space between them. It displayed a real-time, three-dimensional layout of Floor 1-1, complete with detailed thermal heat maps indicating exactly where Sky and Vesper had engaged the Goblin Chieftain and dismantled the flanking squad.

"I can’t fight on the front lines like you two—my physical strength and health stats are absolutely abysmal—but I can map the terrain from safety, calculate boss attack patterns, and forge the high-tier gear our squad needs before the real Royal Rumble begins."

And people really think you are blind. What a load of absolute bullshit, Sky thought to himself, a wave of profound respect washing over his initial skepticism. She was practically a walking cheat code for tactical intelligence.

While they talked, Crazy Hope walked over to a massive, heavy iron anvil resting near the back wall of the lodge—the designated Forge Table. She placed her heavy wooden staff onto the scratched, glowing surface, her cool gray eyes reflecting the faint, pulsing magical embers that danced within the forge’s internal heating vents.

"Chloe," Vesper said, her tone businesslike and entirely devoid of pleasantries. "I need a direct upgrade to the Holy Scepter Blade’s primary matrix. The iron plating on the elite monsters is getting significantly thicker with every sector we clear. Standard white-tier damage values won’t cut it on the next floor."

Chloe sighed, standing up from her plush rug and dusting off the knees of her trousers. She walked over to the Forge Table, her visor clicking rapidly through several lens configurations as she scanned the internal blueprint of Vesper’s concealed weapon.

"I can increase its base scaling and damage output, Vesper, but the array is going to cost you a fortune," Chloe said, her fingers tracing the glowing lines of the anvil. "I need 200 soul gems and at least three pieces of high-grade Magic Ore. The dungeon array doesn’t let me engineer high-tier weapons for free, no matter how much I want to help."

"Take it directly from my repository," Vesper replied without a second thought. She waved her hand over the anvil’s receptacle, transferring a massive, clinking cluster of glowing blue gems and three shimmering chunks of purple ore into the machine.

Sky watched the effortless exchange from across the room, a bitter, metallic taste rising in his mouth. Vesper had deep resources, absolute confidence, and a clear, unyielding goal. She was playing this brutal game to win and dominate, while he was just scraping by, trying his absolute hardest not to die to a stray bullet.

"Hey, Skies," Chloe said softly, turning her flickering visor toward him while her hands automatically began tinkering with the complex locking mechanisms of Vesper’s wooden sword casing. "Don’t look so down. A good, agile warrior like you is worth ten standard vanguards in the deeper sectors of the dungeon realm. Vesper might have the raw, destructive power, but she completely lacks tactical subtlety."

She paused, a heavy wrench clicking into place as she adjusted the weapon’s alignment.

"When we finally hit the actual Royal Rumble arena at the end of this floor, she’s going to need you to strike the boss’s exposed core while she holds the massive aggro. You are the dagger; she is the shield."

"If I survive long enough to get to that arena," Sky muttered, his gaze drifting to his inventory where his meager 45 gems sat.

"You will survive," Chloe said. Her voice suddenly lost all of its usual cheerful, lighthearted demeanor, replaced by a quiet, fierce intensity that sent a chill down Sky’s spine. It was a tone that reminded him of the absolute, terrifying stakes they were all playing for in this purgatory.

"Because if you don’t make it through, Skies, none of us ever wake up in the real world again."

The weight of her words hung heavily in the warm air of the Living Room, completely suffocating the comforting scent of brewing coffee. Sky looked down at his gloved hands, feeling the phantom ache of the battle with the Chieftain. They weren’t just clearing rooms for loot; they were fighting a war of attrition against an unfeeling system that wanted to grind their souls into code.

Vesper stood perfectly still, watching the forge sparks fly as Chloe hammered a piece of magic ore into the silver steel of the Holy Scepter Blade. Neither of them spoke, the rhythmic clank, clank, clank of the hammer serving as a grim countdown to their inevitable descent into Floor 1-2. Sky tightened his grip on his belt, knowing that the brief moment of peace was rapidly ticking away once again.

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