Dungeon Diary

After what felt like hours of twisting through the tight, suffocating passageways, avoiding every skittering shadow and distant growl of those hulking Hundsteins, Robin and Minona finally came across a worn, half-rotting box. It was barely held together by an old rope that hung loose, like it had given up trying to hold its shape. Minona darted forward, her voice sharp with sudden excitement. “There!” she cried, hovering over it like a curious moth drawn to a forgotten flame.

Robin, with a smirk tugging at his lips, watched as she summoned a gust of wind to blow away the thick layer of dust that had settled across the top. The box groaned as he pulled it open, its rope-hinges protesting after what seemed like decades of neglect. Inside, his eyes gleamed at the sight of a lone dagger, lying there as though it had been waiting for him all this time. He pulled it from its scabbard, inspecting the edge with exaggerated care.

“This one’s good!” he announced, his voice full of mock seriousness. He turned the blade this way and that, the dim light catching on its sharp edge. “Sharp enough for, hmm… cutting vegetables!” He grinned, waiting for Minona’s inevitable jab.

“Vegetables? I’ll show you vegetables when we see tree monster Slitherbark outside of this dungeon!” Minona’s voice was thick with sarcasm, and she flared brighter, like she couldn’t decide whether to scold him or laugh at him. “We’re not fighting vegetables! They have flesh, they want flesh, your flesh!” She hovered closer, practically buzzing with exasperation, but Robin could sense the smirk hidden somewhere in her tone.

“Alright, alright!” Robin held up his hands, still grinning. “But these blades will do just fine, even if they can’t julienne.” He turned his attention back to the box, his expression shifting into mock concern. “But what’s this? Someone left it here? Is it okay to take everything inside? I wouldn’t want to steal from some poor, forgotten soul.” His voice dripped with exaggerated innocence.

Minona rolled her metaphorical eyes, her glow dimming slightly as she replied with a weary sigh. “An assassin just said that, huh? New to me. Anyway, this is just a regular looting box. Believe it or not, the hundsteins made it.”

“A dog with hands can craft this?”

“Unbelievable, right? They love to hoard weapons from fallen adventurers, cobbling together boxes from discarded wooden shields. It’s their idea of keeping trophies… only to forget about them later. Monster-brains at their finest.”

Robin held the dagger up again, inspecting it with renewed interest. “So, no one owns this dagger anymore?”

“It used to have an owner so, yes.” Minona’s voice grew pointed, her sarcasm cutting through the air. “I’m sure they’d be thrilled to see you putting it back to good use. Go on then, Robin—start slaying with it, as a token of gratitude for the poor, forgotten soul.”

“Well then, I’ll make sure to kill them in the most heartfelt way possible,” Robin muttered, twirling the dagger between his fingers like it was a toy. His grin hadn't quite faded when Minona suddenly jerked forward, her light flaring with excitement.

“Hey, look!” Minona’s voice cut through his musing, sharp and sudden. She darted forward, her glow dimming as she hovered over a corner cloaked in shadow. Something was moving there, slow and deliberate, inching closer, drawn by the noise they had stirred in their carelessness. “A test subject!” Her voice crackled with mischief, like a child stumbling upon a forgotten toy.

Robin’s smile faded, replaced by the sharpness of focus. Night Beholder allowed him to caught sight of the thing—a hunched, hulking form barely visible in the dungeon’s dim light, but there all the same, lurking, waiting. He flexed his grip on the dagger, the weight of it familiar now, almost comforting. “So,” he said, his voice low, “you want to see how I cut meat?”

Minona zigzagged in the air above him, her excitement palpable, flitting through the damp, stale air. “Yeah! Shing-shing-shing!” she chirped, mimicking the sound of blades with a gleeful spark.

“I told you—”

It happened in an instant. The creature—a Hundstein, one of the lumbering dungeon beasts with flesh like iron and eyes gleaming with primal hunger—lunged forward, its heavy footsteps a dull thud against the stone floor. But before it could fully emerge from the shadow, Robin was already close. His body twisted, one fluid motion, dagger raised high, the blade catching what little light there was as it sliced through the air, silent, deadly.

“—stop saying shing-shing!”

The shriek that followed was more animal than anything human, a piercing cry of pain and surprise as the Hundstein faltered, staggered, then collapsed, its massive form crumpling to the ground in a heap of muscle and fur. The dagger had found its mark, a precise, critical strike deep in the beast’s neck, right where the pulse beat strongest. A faint thud echoed in the silence that followed, the sound of lifeless weight surrendering to gravity, of flesh surrendering to death.

Crimson blood, dark and viscous, spread across the stone floor, creeping outward from the Hundstein’s still form, pooling around its body like a shadow stretching too far. Robin stood over it, breathing steady, his hand still gripping the dagger. “Well,” he said softly, almost to himself, “that was… heartfelt enough.”

Minona floated closer, her glow returning to its usual brightness as she cast her light over the fallen creature. “That was fast,” she quipped, her voice still crackling with that mischievous edge. “You make it look too easy.”

“Don’t care, the faster the better. Especially since there are possibilities, it’s a scout and its friends are nearby.” Robin muttered, pinching his chin in that way he did when he was working something over in his head, grinding his thoughts into place like gears in an old machine that hadn’t quite rusted yet but was close enough. He let the silence hang there for a second before he glanced over at Minona. “Hey, Minona?”

“What?” She snapped to attention, light flickering a bit brighter as if annoyed she was even being called on. “You want to drink?” Without waiting for an answer, she started manifesting, clay spinning into being, water shimmering in midair, fire dancing just close enough to be felt. A glass of water, perfect and pristine, was beginning to take shape.

“No, no.” Robin waved a hand, cutting off her conjuring with a half-amused sigh. “I mean, can you—well..." He paused, watching as she froze mid-craft, the water trembling like it was as uncertain as he was. “Can you make it round? Like, a thin clay ball with water inside it? Make it as thin as possible, could you do it?”

“Huh?” She floated back a bit, light flickering with disbelief. “Why? That's super easy at my level!” Her voice swelled with pride, the kind that usually made Robin groan, but this time, he let it pass—tolerable, even amusing. Exploitable.

“I have an idea," he said, his hands gesturing in the air, mimicking something small, round. “A bullet, you know? A clay bullet that bursts into water. Can you shoot it?”

Minona’s light pulsed as if laughing at him. “A bullet? You think that’s all it takes? Oh, please.” She sighed, more for dramatic effect than anything, before raising a hand. “Look! Like this, right?” A cloud of dust swirled into being, dirt wrapping around the water, creating something nearly spherical—a dirt-encased water ball, its jagged edges betraying its instability, like an unfinished planet. It was a thing of raw creation, powerful in its imperfection. The dirt sphere hung there for a moment, suspended in the air, a proud display of Minona’s magical prowess.

Robin couldn’t help but admire it for a split second toward the mud sphere formed an exact copy of one in his thought. But then, as if in some cruel twist of irony, the sphere wobbled, the dust trembled, and the entire creation—grandiose and delicate all at once—plummeted to the unforgiving dungeon floor with an undignified thud. The dirt disintegrated into a dusty mess, the water splashing out, leaving a pathetic little puddle.

Robin raised an eyebrow, lips twitching at the corner. “It… it fell, Minona…”

"Don’t complain!” Minona snapped, her voice crackling with frustration, her light flaring brighter for a moment. “That’s the extent of my magic now, alright? I feel like—like there’s something missing, something I should be doing, but my memory... it’s all too vague. The memory of what comes next, what I’m supposed to do to make it work, to shoot it." She let out a deep groan of exasperation, her pride buckling under the weight of her forgotten abilities. “How could I forget something so magnificent? One of my best spells, reduced to rubble because of this wretched curse! Ugh, when I get my body back, I will… will…”

Robin’s gaze softened, understanding the frustration beneath her sharp words. “Okay, okay! Calm down, I get it! But it’s still useful, at least to me,” he said, his voice carrying that rare sincerity which softened the sharp lines of his face. “Please, make it again.”

Minona hovered for a moment, her light flickering as if caught off guard. “Huh? Okay... since you actually know how to ask this time.” She huffed, though there was an edge of begrudging pride beneath the frustration. The air shimmered, dust swirling, and the water formed into a familiar sphere encased in dirt. “There,” she said, floating back, her gaze sharpening as she inspected her handiwork, “Now what do you plan to do with it?”

“Nice!” Robin took the fragile mud ball in his hand, cradling it carefully as if it might fall apart at any moment. He studied it with a thoughtful stillness, weighing its worth, not as a weapon, but as something far more useful. “Let’s find our new test subject!”

Minona hovered closer, confused, her light pulsing with suspicion. “You’d better show me something impressive, human. It’s not easy to pull one out.”

Robin’s eyes narrowed as his Night Beholder caught a flicker of movement. “Ah, there! A group of five Hundsteins? We’re right!” He chuckled, low and dangerous. “Must be the pack of the one I just killed, wondering one of their members returning late.”

“What are you going to do with the bullet?” Minona asked, her curiosity rising alongside a sense of anticipation. Surely, surely, he had something dramatic in mind. “Must be a great action!”

In one smooth motion, Robin adjusted his stance, his grip on the mud ball firm yet light. His free hand lifted, forming an L-shape between his thumb and forefinger as if lining up a perfect shot. Minona’s light pulsed with excitement now, watching closely, hoping for something grand.

But in one swift, almost dismissive motion, Robin hurled the ball—not at the Hundsteins, but at the wall. It sailed through the dungeon air, smashing into the stone with a wet thud, exploding in a cloud of dust and water. The Hundsteins, startled by the noise, rushed toward the distraction as Robin slipped back into the shadows.

“What the—what was that?” Minona’s voice spiked with disbelief, her light flaring wildly. “What in the name of all things magical was that? You threw it at a wall? My masterpiece, wasted on masonry! I hope you’ve got a better plan than redecorating this dungeon!” She darted around him in a frenzy, her disappointment palpable. “How could you miss that shot!” She moved erratically, spasming as if her emotions were a tangible force.

Robin’s lips twitched, and a grin finally broke through his calm exterior. “That’s exactly how I wanted it to work,” he said, glancing over at her with that smug look that always managed to unnerve her. “Turns out it’s useful for more than just looking pretty. Now, run!”

Minona seethed, her pride dissolving like the dirt bullet had. “Useful? Useful for what? A dungeon paint job? That was a spell, a proper weapon, Robin! I don’t create magic just so you can pretend to play ball with Hundsteins!! Hey, wait for me!”

Robin ignored the slow darting light and replied, “Don’t get so worked up. The Hundsteins are curious now, and they’ll leave us alone for a bit.”

Minona darted in silence, her light dimming, still simmering with disappointment as she picked up speed. “I admit that sounds like strategy,” she muttered, no sign of exhaustion mixed in her tone, though the bitterness in her voice was impossible to hide. “But I was expecting you could disarray them and start shing-shing—”

Robin cut her off, already far almost leaving her behind. “Stop saying ridiculous things. Let’s get out of here before they figure it out!”

They hurried, the sounds of the Hundsteins fading behind them, their loot in hand—a humble dagger, its edge gleaming faintly in the darkness, as if it remembered the taste of blood and longed for more. Robin’s grip tightened on it, his mind drifting toward whatever dangers awaited them. But first, he had to rest his wary body. This interjection part of dungeon where less grumbles and roars filled the air and lots of escape route became the best spot for Robin to laid resting.

“We lost them, Robin, great. It was my chance to absorb their mana, and yours to gain power.”

“I’m still sane, Minona! Me, with a dagger, against five rabid dogs that can clap me to death? No, nope, never, no way!” Robin’s breath came in ragged bursts, and he collapsed against the mossy wall, its dampness seeping into his clothes. He didn’t care. “I’ve never run this hard, sorry to show something like this,” The squish of the moss under his weight, the cold trickle of water running down his back, it didn’t matter. All that mattered was that his legs were about to give out, and the wall was solid enough to hold him upright.

For Robin, assassinations were supposed to be clean, quick, a dance with death but one he’d mastered in his former life. He was no stranger to the cold efficiency of a blade in the dark. But endurance, the slow, grinding toll of prolonged combat, had always been his undoing.

“I—” he gasped, pulling air into his burning lungs through both nose and mouth, trying to fill what felt like a bottomless void inside his chest, “I don’t like frontal fights... you know...”

Minona hovered above him, her light flickering like a dim, curious star. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been... born with this terrible body, always getting tired,” he forced out between breaths, his voice rasping like dry leaves caught in a breeze. “No matter how much I trained... it was never enough.” He coughed, expelling the excess air he’d tried to pull in. “That’s why... when I assassinate... I do it the most efficient and quiet way possible.”

Minona hummed, the sound low, more thoughtful now, as if she were weighing his words, balancing them against her disappointment. She wasn’t one to easily let go of her expectations, but something in Robin’s labored breaths and pale face softened her usual sharpness. “You look pale again, Robin. Here, drink.” She conjured the familiar spell, forming a simple clay cup in the air, filled with water that shimmered coolly in the dungeon’s dim light.

Robin grasped the cup and downed the water in two swift gulps. The cold liquid slid down his throat, refreshing, ordinary despite its magical origin. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thanks. I feel better, but... I need more rest. Really.” He ended with a faint chuckle.

Minona hovered silently for a moment, her light dimming slightly as if in thought. Robin couldn’t see it, but there was a flicker of guilt, something deeper than her usual boastful nature. A part of her wanted him to be the hero she imagined, slicing through enemies with ease. But seeing him now, slumped against the wall, pale and worn, she realized her expectation might kill him. The thought of him having Dungeon Walker, gaining power from slaying enemies, while she could leeched some, made her forgot almost forever—Robin wasn’t invincible.

For Robin, prolonged battles were a nightmare, contests of endurance that he was doomed to lose. He’d learned long ago that no trick was too dirty, no escape too cowardly if it meant avoiding those drawn-out fights. One lone Hundstein? Easy—a swift strike to a critical spot, like a tree struck by lightning. But facing two, three, five at once? That was a different story. They’d drain him dry, like a sponge squeezed out of its water, leaving nothing but exhaustion in their wake.

Minona, despite her mischievous nature, could hide the small trace of concern since she had no face to betray the façade, but that flickered in the air between them. “You’ll be fine,” she said, her voice quieter than usual. “But maybe next time, you’ll show me something a little more... shing-shing-shing?”

Robin chuckled weakly, leaning his head back against the mossy wall. “You’ll never give up on that, will you?”

“Never,” she whispered, but even she couldn’t deny the trace of sympathy in her voice.