We observed the labyrinth with keen anticipation. As I had foreseen, the adjustments we implemented, guided by Masayuki's insight and Myourmiles's counsel, had successfully balanced the challenge. The difficulty had dropped noticeably, yet the labyrinth remained formidable—neither trivial nor unfair.
I turned my attention to the adventurers entering Eterna. Some were reckless, ignoring the tutorial missions entirely. They plunged headlong into the labyrinth's floors, expecting to conquer them by sheer will. Naturally, their progress was limited.
These were the stubborn ones, repeating floors over and over, unwilling to heed guidance. I wondered what drove them. Pride? Employment obligations? The reasons were always practical, never noble.
The day the labyrinth opened to the public, Basson's party found a rare-grade sword in a treasure chest. Their elation was understandable; to them, it was a weapon of unimaginable quality. Yet their understanding of the gear's value differed vastly from ours.
Rare-grade equipment was an evolved product of carefully crafted magisteel, exposed to the residual magicules left by Eterna's storms and Veldora's power. These ores, mined from the highlands by the orcs, gradually improved in quality when processed.
Our nation's magisteel, refined under these conditions, produced weapons of exceptional strength. Unlike ordinary gear circulating in the Western Nations, these items relied solely on high-quality magisteel and superior craftsmanship. Even the average swords of our garrison appeared as special-grade to outsiders. The superiority of this gear was indisputable.
Kurobee's disciples, a dozen or so under his meticulous guidance, worked tirelessly in our workshops. Each piece they forged, even a failed attempt, was superior to the average weapon of the Western Nations. Occasionally, their failed attempts were still placed in treasure chests for adventurers, a deliberate mix of risk and reward.
One such sword, barely reaching rare-grade, ended up in Basson's hands. The odds of obtaining such a weapon were roughly one in a hundred—perfectly calibrated to create excitement without frustrating the players. Even Kurobee's own creations had subtle differences in quality. While statistically equivalent, the difference in stats was obvious to those who knew what to look for. My Analyze and Assess ability allowed me to discern such differences, revealing the subtle genius in Kurobee's work.
For example, a replica of a sword forged by Kurobee might appear identical in grade, yet its quality would always be inferior. The difference lay not in appearance, but in the precision of the forging technique—a distinction only detectable by a master eye or careful analysis.
Weapons carried consequences beyond commerce. In a world where ambushes by monsters were inevitable, quality gear could determine life or death. During Kurobee's exhibition at the founding festival, the public clamored for his creations. The rare-grade swords placed in the tenth floor's treasure chests represented some of the finest craftsmanship from his disciples—still far below Kurobee's peak, yet far above the market average.
Basson, naturally, reveled in his find. "Look at this sword! Truly worthy of my skill!" he boasted at every opportunity, promoting both the labyrinth and our nation. The word spread quickly among adventurers, merchants, and members of the Freedom Association. Soon, the labyrinth attracted throngs seeking wealth and fame.
Yet, despite the allure of rare treasures, Eterna demanded preparation. Those who bypassed tutorials were often defeated by those who heeded the instructions and honed their skills on the first floor. The new knowledge gained there, combined with counters offering utility items, ensured that even the less experienced adventurers could survive longer than before.
I watched the flow of challengers, assessing each decision, each strategy employed. It was clear: the labyrinth had become more than a challenge—it was now a proving ground, a place where skill, preparation, and intellect determined success. And at the center of it all, I would oversee, direct, and guide, ensuring that every adjustment and every reward served the greater design.
A few days after we completed the revamp of the labyrinth, several teams had advanced to the fifth floor.
The second floor was merely expansive, and up to the fourth floor, most of the traps were superficial—more for intimidation than harm. Any competent adventurer who took the time to sketch maps could reach the fifth floor with ease. Naturally, this outcome was entirely expected.
From the fifth floor onward, the labyrinth's trials became a test of true ability. Trap lethality increased, monsters of rank D and above roamed the halls, and the chances of treasure chests containing valuable items grew significantly. I observed silently, anticipating their reactions.
The teams that reached the fifth floor soon found themselves in grueling combat. Exhaustion played a part; remaining vigilant against relentless monsters took a toll on both body and mind. Many retreated temporarily to the resting zones. Business at the inns on Floor 95 was booming—precisely as I had intended.
Within days, adventurers reached Floors 5 through 8. Branches of the Freedom Association from various nations had begun to arrive. Many of these newcomers were skilled adventurers contracted by nobles, and their arrival injected vitality into the town. Discussions of strategies and tactics filled the air. The first group's morale surged as they observed and emulated the newcomers' methods.
Yet, as expected, some sought shortcuts. Certain challengers began selling maps within the labyrinth, attempting to bypass the proper rules of engagement. Perhaps they were hopeless with navigation, but I would have preferred that they cooperate, assign roles, and strategize instead.
We broadcasted constant warnings—both inside and outside Eterna—that the labyrinth's internal layout would change periodically. This caused groans from many challengers, though I, as the sovereign of this domain, had no obligation to heed their complaints. The message was clear: maps made by others were useless against a labyrinth in constant flux. This was a lesson in both caution and self-reliance—a necessary rigor.
Layout adjustments occurred roughly every two to three days. Considering that each floor took hours to clear, it was impossible for any team to reach the tenth floor without encountering changes. These modifications served multiple purposes: they encouraged strategic thinking, discouraged map cheating, and allowed the truly capable to rise above the rest.
Still, we could not underestimate the challengers. Many skilled adventurers from the Freedom Association had entered. Elemental casters wielding the 'Auto Mapping' spell made exploration markedly easier. These individuals were not only combat-proficient, but also highly tactical. Their parties were carefully structured: raiders handled combat, explorers handled traps and navigation, and treasure hunters ensured optimal loot.
Their balance and discipline were exceptional. Unlike Basson's initial party, these teams approached the labyrinth with systematic efficiency. They navigated traps, studied treasure, and coordinated flawlessly. Even our newly enhanced labyrinth demanded their full attention, yet they adapted with skill and poise.
Within days, some had already surpassed the tenth floor. Their rapid progress invigorated the other challengers. News of their strategies spread quickly, prompting imitators and careful planners alike to refine their approaches.
Interestingly, a new phenomenon emerged: information trading. Once they realized maps were futile, adventurers began selling knowledge about strategies instead. While unconventional, this was resourceful and, in a sense, commendable. The labyrinth's activity became a subject of constant discussion throughout town, invigorating commerce in shops, inns, and restaurants alike.
Among the stories gaining popularity was that of a team advancing at remarkable speed. Comprising ten individuals, they employed a clever method: sending one member to a team already at Floor 10 to register at the checkpoint, then returning via a Return Whistle to rejoin their main team. From there, they could immediately resume progression from Floor 10 onward.
We had anticipated such ingenuity, yet their speed was still shocking. Within three days, they had defeated the twentieth floor's guardian. Each member's abilities were rank B, while their coordination elevated their collective strength to nearly rank A-minus.
A diagnostic check revealed the cause: «Answer. Spirit interference detected. 'Spirit Communication' conducted by a spirit wielder present.»
Ah. That explained their uncanny navigation. Spirit wielders—specialized magic users capable of commanding spirits—had employed 'Spirit Communication' to consult elemental entities. By conversing with wind and earth spirits, they could locate the correct paths with ease. Mazes and traps, though deadly to ordinary adventurers, were neutralized by their command over spirits.
Ingenious! And yet, entirely within the rules. The labyrinth did not prohibit spirit use, and their success was justified. In fact, I considered commending them for their ingenuity.
Their team's exploits were broadcast after each floor, rapidly elevating their fame. They became known as Green Rebellion, an elite task force led by a mysterious spirit wielder whose identity remained concealed. Their renown rivaled even that of Masayuki's team, 'Shining.'
As expected, power attracted power. New challengers—young, ambitious, and eager for fame and fortune—began flooding Eterna. The labyrinth's popularity surged, and the associated sales finally began to take off.
The crucible of Eterna had begun. Under my vigilant guidance, the labyrinth would continue to separate the capable from the inept. And I, Atem, would oversee it all with unyielding authority, ensuring that the trials served both as a proving ground and a spectacle of strategy, strength, and cunning.