I spent the evening making practical preparations. First, basic supplies: rations, water, rope, light sources. The usual dungeon necessities. Then, more specific concerns.
I visited the Temple of Five Faces, not to prepay for death rites as the barkeep had suggested, but to purchase a small vial of antidote. If the Crimson Labyrinth used poison gas, having some general-purpose neutralizer might keep me alive long enough to hide while my companions died.
That thought came with disturbing ease now. Was I really planning around my party members' deaths?
Yes. Yes, I was.
Maybe I'd feel guilty later, if I survived. Right now, survival is the only priority.
Next, I visited one of the shady equipment shops in the lower district, where the proprietor didn't ask questions about Guild registrations or expedition permits. I bought a set of caltrops — small metal spikes designed to slow pursuing monsters — and a smoke bomb, items that would create escape opportunities rather than winning fights.
My final stop was my rented room above a baker's shop in the east district. The space was barely large enough for a bed, a trunk, and a washstand, but it was cheap and the smell of fresh bread each morning almost made up for the constant flour dust.
I packed my supplies methodically, then laid out my equipment for a final check. The standard-issue adventurer gear I had for years. The new Kobold Fang Dagger. The health potion, carefully wrapped in cloth to prevent breakage.
Nowhere near enough to survive the Crimson Labyrinth if the stories were true.
I sat on the edge of my bed, fingering the receipt in my pocket. I still had three hundred points. Enough for a skill book, either Basic Swordsmanship or Trap Detection. Both would be useful in a dungeon known for its deadly traps, but neither guaranteed survival.
"Open Shop," I whispered.
The familiar blue menu appeared, floating in the air before me.
DUNGEON SHOP
Available Points: 300
ITEMS:
- Health Potion (Minor) - 50 points
- Reinforced Leather Armor - 200 points
- Skill Book: Basic Swordsmanship - 300 points
- Skill Book: Trap Detection (Novice) - 300 points
The same options as before. I'd half-hoped the menu might update with new choices, but apparently that wasn't how it worked. And I didn't have enough points for either skill book without spending all I had.
I stared at the options, weighing them carefully. Swordsmanship might help me fight if cornered, but my strategy had never been to outfight monsters. It had been to avoid fighting altogether. Trap Detection made more sense for the Crimson Labyrinth, but it also meant I might be expected to take point in dangerous situations.
In the end, survival trumped other concerns. I tapped the Trap Detection option.
The menu pulsed once, and text appeared:
Purchase confirmed:
- Skill Book: Trap Detection (Novice) (300 points)
Remaining points: 0
The menu disappeared, and a book materialized on my bed. It was thin, bound in dark green leather with silver symbols embossed on the cover. The title, in worn silver lettering, read simply: "Perceptions of the Unseen: A Primer on Trap Recognition."
I picked it up carefully. It felt like a real book, with weight and texture. The pages inside contained diagrams, text, and illustrations of various trap mechanisms. But as I flipped through them, the book began to glow with a soft silver light.
The pages dissolved into motes of light that swirled around my hands, then flowed toward my head like a stream of glowing insects. I instinctively recoiled, but the light followed, touching my temples, my eyes, the base of my skull.
Information flooded my mind. Not like reading, like remembering. Suddenly I knew things I'd never learned. Pressure plate configurations. Tripwire variations. Gas release mechanisms. Indicators of pit traps. The subtle signs of magic-triggered snares. Knowledge that would have taken months or years to acquire through conventional training was simply... there. Available. Mine.
When the light faded, the book was gone. But the knowledge remained.
I blinked, adjusting to this strange new awareness. To test it, I examined my own room with fresh eyes. Immediately, I noticed potential hazards I'd never consciously registered before: the slightly loose floorboard that could trip someone in the dark, the way certain shadows could conceal a footfall, the structural weakness in one corner of the ceiling.
It worked. I now had a skill I hadn't earned through training or experience. Purchased with points acquired from deaths I hadn't caused but had benefited from.
I lay back on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Dawn would come soon enough, and with it, the expedition to the Crimson Labyrinth. An expedition I was joining specifically because I expected people to die.
The old Jin would have been horrified by this calculation. The new Jin simply closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep.
After all, I'd need to be rested to survive tomorrow.
Others wouldn't be so lucky.