I always believed that one day, the labyrinth would become profitable—if not immensely, then at least enough to justify all the effort we'd poured into it. After all, some people were bound to find it useful.
There were other ideas floating around too—like lending weapons and armor. That business hadn't taken off yet, but it was showing promise. The gear was crafted by Kurobee, and its quality was nothing short of excellent. Only those who had lost their weapons during previous challenges were renting them so far. Still, word was spreading quickly. Once rumors of the craftsmanship reached beyond Eterna, demand would grow.
Everything appeared to be running smoothly.
But I knew better than to relax when success was near. That's when carelessness breeds downfall.
The most advanced challenger team was progressing steadily. No one had deserted. Each member was determined, pushing deeper into the labyrinth's heart with every attempt. Their drive inspired others. Even those who failed returned, motivated to try again. And because of that spirit, our profits had been climbing steadily.
We had to maintain this momentum.
If everyone began thinking, "I want to challenge the labyrinth again," then gathering a thousand challengers a day wouldn't be a dream—it would be inevitable.
I sat at the head of the council table, my cloak draped neatly over the chair. "According to Myourmiles' report, Eterna's operations have been a success," I began, my tone calm yet commanding. "However, complacency is the enemy of growth. Let's hear your thoughts—any concerns or suggestions."
It wasn't a request—it was an order spoken with courtesy.
Ramiris was the first to shoot up her hand. "I got something!" she chirped.
I nodded slightly, gesturing for her to speak. "Then, Ramiris, take the floor."
She hovered forward eagerly. "It's about the spirit wielders' 'Spirit Communication.' It's a loophole! They can get intel from the spirits inside the labyrinth! But guess what—I can interfere with it! So, what do we do, Atem?"
Her excitement made the others lean in.
"Interfere, you say…" I folded my arms, the ancient gold ring on my finger catching the torchlight.
The thought of sabotage lingered briefly in my mind—but no. I couldn't allow deception to stain Eterna's honor. The challengers fought under fair conditions; to manipulate that balance would be a betrayal of principle.
"This is not war," I said firmly, my tone cutting through the room. "We built the labyrinth to test courage and strength, not to toy with those who challenge it."
Ramiris tilted her head. "So… no interference then?"
"Unless the spirits are being enslaved," I clarified. "Are they acting of their own will?"
She blinked, then nodded. "Yep! They like the challengers! It's all mutual!"
"Then let it be. I won't allow interference."
Ramiris sighed but smiled. "I kinda guessed you'd say that."
Before I could respond, another voice chimed in—deep and confident.
"Lying or interfering may be dishonorable," said Veldora, stroking his chin. "But what if she simply creates a zone without spirits? If 'Spirit Communication' relies on local spirits, then the ability becomes useless when none are present, yes?"
The suggestion was sound—and surprising.
I turned my gaze to him, eyes narrowing slightly. "Impressive, Veldora. You've grown sharper than I expected."
He grinned widely, his chest swelling with pride. "Hah! My wisdom has finally been acknowledged! GA-HAHAHA!"
I smirked faintly. So easy to please…
"Ramiris," I said, turning back to her, "can you manage that?"
She tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm… yeah! I can ask the spirits to shift their dwelling areas! If there are no sentient ones around, 'Spirit Communication' won't activate at all!"
"Good. Do it," I commanded, my tone decisive. "Eterna doesn't rely on underhanded tricks—but clever preparation is fair play."
"Roger that!"
I gave a firm nod. "Excellent work. That's how progress should be made—through strategy and cooperation."
Veldora crossed his arms proudly. "Indeed! My wisdom shines once more—"
"Next suggestion," I interrupted smoothly before his ego inflated too far.
That earned a few chuckles around the room.
The next to speak was Masayuki, who raised his hand somewhat hesitantly. "Um, I've been thinking… isn't it weird that monsters don't drop items when defeated?"
I arched an eyebrow. "Go on."
"Well," he continued, "in most games, monsters drop stuff, right? Here, when someone defeats a monster, all they get is material scraps or magic crystals. It's fine and all, but… maybe it'd help if monsters dropped something like low-tier healing potions. The current ones are pretty expensive, and most adventurers can't afford to use them freely. So they end up fleeing instead."
He paused, then added, "I think it'd help morale. If people knew they could recover a bit during their journey, more would dare to go deeper."
Veldora snorted. "Is that truly necessary?"
Masayuki shrugged. "Not necessary, just… practical."
I leaned back, considering his words. He wasn't wrong.
Healing potions were among Eterna's most valued exports—priceless to those who fought in the labyrinth. But their cost was steep. Four silver coins for a low-tier potion, thirty-five for high-grade ones. Full restoratives weren't even available to the public; if they were, their price would range from five hundred silver to five gold coins.
"Hmm," I murmured, my tone reflective but sharp. "The imbalance between risk and reward must be addressed. Courage thrives when the challenge feels fair, not hopeless."
Myourmiles adjusted his glasses. "If I may, Atem-sama—the average income of a rank D challenger is around fifteen silver coins per day. With a team, perhaps twenty. That's enough to live comfortably, but not to sustain long-term exploration."
I tapped my fingers against the table, each sound deliberate. "Then Masayuki's point stands. We'll introduce limited potion drops—nothing excessive, but enough to maintain hope. Let challengers earn small reprieves through victory. Struggle and reward must coexist."
Ramiris brightened. "So it's decided, huh?"
"Yes," I said, my voice steady with finality. "Let Eterna's Labyrinth reflect balance—not charity, not cruelty. True strength is forged when one stands between both."
The room fell silent for a moment. Everyone could feel it—the quiet authority in my words.
Even so, not everything was as simple as it seemed.
Eterna's growth had been steady, but I couldn't ignore the reality our adventurers faced. Emergencies were inevitable—illness, injuries, and the harsh toll of battle. Many of them lacked the means to handle such crises. They lived without the safety net of a complete social welfare system. And beyond their health, there were their weapons and armor to consider—tools that broke often, worn down by the constant grind of survival.
Every piece of equipment needed maintenance. Every crack in their blade was another coin spent. They had to save up—not only for repairs but to eventually buy better gear if they wanted a fighting chance deeper in the labyrinth.
Low-rank adventurers struggled the most. For them, even hunting minor monsters was a battle for survival. To climb higher, they needed to train, to bleed, and to persevere. But even then, four silver coins for a potion or basic supplies was no small expense. Add the labyrinth's entry fee, and I could understand their frustration when they stood outside the gates, watching others march in while they hesitated.
I had seen those looks—the longing, the silent calculation of whether the risk was worth what little they had.
If fortune smiled and they stumbled upon a treasure chest, they could become rich overnight. But how many would ever get that chance? Most could barely afford to keep trying.
Masayuki had a point earlier. "Monsters dropping healing items would help balance things out," he had said. It was a common concept in games, but this world wasn't built on fantasy rules—it was reality.
"The labyrinth's monsters are born naturally," I said aloud, thinking through the logic as the others listened. "It isn't simple to make them all carry items. Doing so would go against the natural laws that govern their creation."
Even so, I couldn't deny the truth behind his reasoning. Still, my instincts told me not to make it too easy.
"These adventurers are not my citizens," I reminded the council quietly, yet my words carried a weight that stilled the room. "Eterna offers them opportunity—but not charity. I will not hand out blessings freely. If they wish to grow stronger, they must earn it."
It wasn't cruelty—it was order. A world without struggle breeds complacency.
"There's always the Freedom Association for those who need assistance," I continued. "They can find support there. Eterna stands as a trial of strength, not a cradle for the weak."
The room fell silent for a moment. My gaze swept over everyone present. Even Ramiris, usually cheerful, looked thoughtful. Reality was cruel, but necessary. Those who couldn't keep up were left behind—that was the nature of this world.
Then, out of nowhere, Ramiris clapped her hands. "Wait, wait! I got it! We can do it!"
I raised an eyebrow. "Oh? Enlighten me."
She grinned, wings fluttering with excitement. "We can just feed the items to the newborn monsters! That way, they'll drop them naturally when defeated!"
Her idea froze me for a moment. Then, slowly, a smile tugged at the corner of my lips.
"Feed the items… to the monsters?" I repeated. "Hmph. Crude, but effective. If it works, then you've just changed the game, Ramiris."
She puffed her chest proudly. "Of course! It's me, after all!"
The possibilities began to unfold in my mind. Monsters could drop common supplies—low-grade potions, materials, trinkets. Treasure chests could still hold rare and valuable artifacts. It would maintain the thrill of exploration while giving low-rank challengers a steady means of income.
For the first time, true balance between effort and reward could exist.
"Then there's no issue," I said decisively, standing up from my chair. "From now on, monsters will yield rewards upon defeat. Not handouts, but compensation for courage."
A quiet murmur of agreement spread through the room.
"This will also increase the flow of monster materials in the markets," Myourmiles noted, already scribbling calculations on his tablet. "Trade will thrive, and the economy will strengthen accordingly."
"Exactly," I replied. "And when the profits rise high enough, we will invest a portion into something greater—a true healthcare system."
Everyone looked up.
"A healthcare system?" Veldora asked. "You mean—like a healer's guild?"
"Not just that," I said, meeting his gaze. "A system where every citizen of Eterna is cared for. No sickness left untreated, no wound left to fester. Those who fight for this nation's prosperity deserve protection in return. This—" I raised a hand, my tone resonant with conviction "—is how Eterna will stand apart from every other nation. Strength bound by compassion."
Ramiris gasped. "So, like… free treatment for everyone?"
"Not free," I corrected. "Earned. But accessible to all."
Solarys, Sovereign of Wisdom, stirred within my mind—a quiet presence that resonated with calm insight.
"A logical extension of balance," her voice echoed in my consciousness. "You seek equilibrium between challenge and mercy. It aligns with the natural order."
"Yes," I replied inwardly, my golden eyes narrowing with resolve. "Strength without compassion is tyranny. But compassion without discipline is chaos. Eterna will embody both."
I turned back to the council. "We will not delay. The foundation for this policy must be set immediately. Fairness cannot wait. A nation that fails to act swiftly loses the trust of its people."
The room erupted in focused determination. Myourmiles bowed. "Understood, Atem-sama. We'll begin drafting the framework at once."
"Good." I crossed my arms, my voice dropping into a deep, commanding tone. "Let it be known—Eterna will become the beacon of both power and justice. Those who stand with us shall rise, and those who oppose shall crumble."
The council members felt it—the pressure of my will. It wasn't the warmth of a ruler's comfort, but the gravity of a sovereign who would reshape the world by his hand alone.
And in that moment, even the labyrinth seemed to pulse faintly beneath us—acknowledging its master's resolve.