Chapter 97 The Moment We Flee
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Once I had emptied my stomach and steadied my breath, I told Flatty-chan everything. The promises of a safe haven had been lies. There was a hole in her skull—bad enough that any ordinary man would already be dead or near it. I told her how close we had both come to dying.
Flatty-chan sat on the tatami, staring down as if the woven pattern could answer her. My words slid past her ears. Yet seeing her conscious again brought a fragile warmth to my chest. I rubbed her back gently, the way I had before.
”I knew it… I remember nothing,” she whispered. Even as my hand touched her, she barely reacted.
”So I really hurt you, didn’t I, Young Master,” she said—not a question, but a verdict on herself.
Whatever memory she had lost, the guilt was clear. She fretted less over her wound than over what had happened between us. Perhaps shame was easier to face than death.
”It made me happy,” I told her, forcing a grin. “You don’t have to feel guilty. It felt right to me. Honestly, I’m still over the moon that it happened. Look, I’m not even sad.”
It wasn’t true—not all of it. My stomach and teeth throbbed whenever I spoke, but I hid it. I couldn’t let her sink further into pity. She was the one truly injured; even talking seemed to drain her.
”I was the one who started it,” I said. “You resisted. So you’re innocent.”
”That’s not the issue,” she replied, her voice quiet but firm. “Society would see it the same either way. Young Master, you don’t realize—you’re the one who’s been hurt most.”
Her calm words struck deep. In her eyes, what had happened wasn’t affection but a desperate act disguised as treatment. She wept, laughed, fell silent, then stared at me as if I were a mystery she couldn’t solve.
Finally she drew a long breath, reset herself, and said no more about chastity. Life, it seemed, mattered more than purity. She pressed her fingers to her temple.
”There’s a wound here, isn’t there?”
”Don’t touch it,” I warned. “Invisible maggots are eating through it. You can’t see them or feel them, but they leave holes you can’t notice. That’s the monster’s trick.”
Her head looked whole, but that meant nothing. The unseen danger was the worst kind—the kind your mind refused to register. The blue Maggot monster didn’t just hide; it erased awareness itself. Only Flatty-chan’s strange vitality had kept her from dying instantly.
She frowned, thinking. “So if I feel short of breath or too hot, or if I sweat for no reason… that means something’s attacking me, right? All right, let’s try this.”
Where she touched, light flared. Her hair and the bandage merged into her scalp like living cloth, sealing the wound. It looked awful, like burnt skin fused with fabric, yet the bleeding stopped.
”What are you doing?!” I cried.
”Medical treatment,” she said simply, then scanned the dim room. “This level was supposed to be a refuge, but it’s only a place for people to close their eyes to fear. And if you close your eyes long enough, even monsters disappear.”
She tore away the extra cloth, pale but smiling faintly. “My head feels lighter now. Good ventilation, don’t you think?”
”That’s not what I meant! Your face—your head—”
She didn’t hear me. She couldn’t see her own wounds, yet she trusted my warning enough to use her Psionic Power. She hadn’t doubted me for a second.
Something ached in my chest when I realized that.
”The damage isn’t that bad,” she said with forced brightness. “I’ve got plenty of brain left, so losing a bit won’t hurt. Now, let’s get out of here.”
She tried to stand but fell back, drenched in cold sweat. Her face was pale as wax.
”My legs won’t move.”
”You shouldn’t try. You’ll die if you push yourself. Rest a moment.”
”If I collapse halfway, leave me behind. I’ll act as bait.”
”No,” I said. “We’ll escape together. I’ll carry you if I have to.”
She looked at me then, her tone turning stern. “Young Master, no one wants to die. Not even me.”
Her voice was calm, but her face was ghost-white. She had fainted from agony, woken to find herself violated, her mentor’s corpse outside, and a hole in her skull—yet she was still sane enough to think of our survival.
”I’ll pay the price for underestimating this dungeon,” she said. “Don’t worry about me. Monsters don’t care if their prey is a man or a child. Either way, we can’t stay here.”
Her eyes were steady now. She had already made her decision.
”Do you remember what I told you?” she asked softly. “You must value yourself above all else. Promise me you’ll obey that.”
It sounded like an older sister scolding a stubborn brother. And she was right—my life was worth less than hers. If someone came to investigate, we’d both die. She was risking everything to move forward.
But she misunderstood something. To her, I was still a boy.
”I remember,” I said. “But I’m not a child. I’ve lived before—another world, another life. I was reborn here.”
There was no reason to hide it anymore.
”That makes me older than you, technically. By more than a decade.”
She stared at me, unmoved, lips pressed tight.
”…That’s a very creative excuse,” she said at last.
She studied my face as if searching for proof, then sighed. “Whatever the truth is, you’re still my Young Master. That won’t change. Though,” she added, a tiny smile flickering, “it’s an interesting story.”
”No—I’m not a child,” I said. “I wasn’t born here. I came from the same world as you, but I was reborn from another place. It sounds impossible, I know.”
Even in a world full of mysteries, the idea of being reborn from somewhere else would sound mad. Still, when I spoke, she listened. That small trust mattered.
”I don’t want you to take all the blame for this,” I continued. “If anyone should pay for what happened, I share that debt. I agreed to this ‘trip’ too.”
”Then stop being selfish,” she snapped. “You are an adult. Act like one.”
Her words shut me up. She had no patience for my explanations—everything I said felt like a waste of time. My confession changed nothing about how she planned to protect me.
I realized I had little credit in her eyes. She needed to know that, in an emergency, I could be left behind; otherwise she could not risk saving me. I had no argument—her logic was sound.
”Fine,” I said. “Then I’ll show you I can fight. Will that earn a little trust?”
She blinked in surprise. “You, Young Master?”
”Yes. I’ll beat a monster. I’ll show you I can protect you.”
She still did not look convinced. Her face showed only worry.
I had a plan. If the monsters here were as weak as I guessed, killing one would buy us time. That time might be enough for her to rest and for us to leave.
”Hey!” I called to the woman outside the hut. “Come here for a moment.”
When she opened the door with a tray of night food, I threw mint oil into the face of the thing that wore the older sister’s smile.
The smile bent, then broke. Pain tore across that false face.
”Ugh!” it screamed. The voice was wrong—thin, high, and full of something not human.
It writhed on the dirt floor, and I jumped on its face again and again. The sound it made was a wet, terrible tearing.
”Quiet!” I hissed, putting my heel down on the mouth that tried to scream. The head split like a thin mask of cloth. If it had been a real human skull, it would have been different, but this was like a paper mask soaked in water.
I could feel my own fear and disgust crowding my chest. Yet the creature crushed under my foot was fragile—no proper shell, no real bone. My foot was enough.
When the thing finally stopped moving, the floor was wet with dark fluid. I felt my chest tighten and let out a ragged breath.
”It’s done,” I said, trying for bright cheer. “See? These people—these things—lose strength when they’re taken over. Their bodies waste energy on the illusion. If we hit them right, they fall apart. Maybe we can escape together.”
Flatty-chan looked shaken, not happy. She moved backward, a little pale.
”Th—that’s…congratulations,” she managed, voice small.
She looked at the mess on my shoes with a face like someone who had just bitten into something foul.
”Don’t worry,” I said. “To the spirit’s eye, it looks like a person, but really it’s just the monster’s insides. Psionic Power makes their heads pop like wet toys. This is my first real kill—but I learned.”
I rubbed the sticky stuff on the tatami and then she took a cloth and, with careful hands, wiped my feet and cleaned the stains with more mint oil.
”If anyone finds out we plan to run, it will be bad,” I told her. “I’ll teach you to tell who is human and who is a monster. From now on, we kill any monster we meet.”
Her face tightened again.
”Why do you—” she started.
”You act so daring,” she said. “I thought you’d be the gentle kind who couldn’t even kill a Maggot.”
”Look, I’m not some soft noble who can’t step in mud,” I replied. “I just never learned how this world treats women. It takes time to match my thinking to your rules.”
She listened, a little surprised. Perhaps I had not been what she expected.
The truth was, I had no great love for monsters. In my old life, I could kill a cockroach through a plastic bag if I had to. People had taken me for a kind, delicate type because I showed them a softer side.
”Sorry for breaking the illusion of men for you,” I said lightly.
”It’s okay. I was just surprised,” she answered.
She was gentle, the kind of person who might have thought I only ate sweets and never made a mess. Killing the monster alone gave me a little more strength back. I could feel a small return of energy.
”I’m a Psionic too,” I told her. “Once you know a monster’s weakness, this layer is almost made for me. If it comes down to it, I’ll do anything to save us both.”
”…Young Master,” she said, voice thin.
Her body shook and then, suddenly, she doubled over and began to cry. She bit her lip so hard her face pulled tight, and great silent tears rolled down.
For a moment I feared she was afraid of what I had become. But she was not frightened of me.
”I hurt someone,” she sobbed. “I hurt such a kind person… I didn’t mean it. I don’t remember.”
”It’s fine,” I said, holding her hand steady.
”It wasn’t on purpose,” she whispered. “I don’t remember it.”
Her small, clenched fists were red. Her remorse was real and deep; it bit at me like a small animal.
”This isn’t why I joined the Imperial Guard,” she said through sobs. “I never wanted to serve someone like that.”
Her wails were full of regret. I thought of Kaede-san and how a single violent act could change a woman—how she could begin to hate herself and worship pain as atonement.
Flatty-chan had feelings for me, but they were not shallow or careless. She had not chosen to bind herself to me this way. I did not want our link to be born from this pain.
I tried to comfort her until she could breathe again. Bit by bit she calmed, and together we started to plan how to leave alive, both of us determined to survive.
First, I made sure Flatty-chan could rest. Even for a Psionic Power user, recovery wasn’t certain, and in her condition she could barely stand. I would handle the rest.
I called out one by one to the women standing watch outside the hut. Every one of them turned out to be a monster in disguise. They were fragile things, too dependent on their special powers—if you struck first, they fell apart. Their strength was spent keeping up their human illusion. So I killed them all, carefully and quietly, using the last of the mint oil taken from the dead attendant.
While I cleared the guards, Flatty-chan rested. After two hours she could stand again, though still pale. When we finally stepped out of the tatami room together, we found a tray of food waiting by the entrance.
”It looks delicious,” she said faintly.
”No, it doesn’t. That’s sewage. Eat it and you’ll die.”
She blinked. “What?”
When we checked with our spirit sight, the truth revealed itself—inside the golden broth floated black sludge, tangled hair, butterfly carcasses, and broken bits of flesh. A stew of bones and trash. It looked like industrial waste. The thought that she might have eaten it earlier turned my stomach.
Then, when we turned off the Psionic Power, the meal returned to its golden shine and pleasant smell. Even food here was wrapped in illusion.
Flatty-chan must have eaten this at midday. Like the blue Maggot’s bite, she couldn’t feel the sickness inside her. The trap was elegant: first the parasite, then poison through comfort food. Even if she noticed, her body wouldn’t reject it.
Her face twisted in rage. “That’s the worst. Playing with food is unforgivable.”
”I don’t think it’s play,” I said. “You took my place as bait.”
”I suspected something was wrong,” she replied, chin high. “So I tested it first with Psionic Power.”
She had already been experimenting from the first day—fusing stray herbs, stones, bits of food. When the results broke the rules of matter, she realized something was off. To her, Psionic Power had limits shaped by science itself. Her logic built its own boundaries into the supernatural.
She never meant to let me taste anything from this floor. But when the woman named Himawari served her, curiosity won out.
”You scared me half to death,” I said. “Don’t ever do that again.”
”I’ve learned my lesson,” she muttered. “But I’ve never left a meal unfinished in my life. I was unlucky, that’s all.”
Her excuse made me laugh—it was the kind of reasoning I understood too well. Greed first, pain later.
If only I’d used Psionic Power on Trash-san earlier, I might have seen through this floor’s trick before it was too late. But that moment came right after we’d already survived the second layer’s illusions. Timing had been cruel.
We began our exploration alone. No allies now, no weapons, no tools. If we died, that would be it. Under a fake sky, we picked our way through false landscapes and the silent forms of the wandering monsters. Every step was real dungeon exploration.
We left the hut behind—the cocoon people, the corpse of the attendant, everything. We didn’t have time to bury anyone. Hopefully it would take a while before someone noticed.
The world was hushed, silvered by starlight. We moved quickly but carefully, slipping between the monsters’ lines of sight.
”There—interference!” Flatty-chan shouted.
A cracking sound followed, and a human-shaped cocoon collapsed to the ground. We had already taken down more than ten like it.
”There’s another one,” I said. “I’ll use Psionic Power again. Take care of my body.”
”Y-yes! Please do.”
I entered her mind through the link, my spirit clinging to her back while she carried my limp body. We were pressed together like two halves of a sandwich—she the filling, I the bread—and she blushed despite the danger.
Through her eyes I guided her, whispering directions to avoid the monsters. When we couldn’t, she struck them down. No mint oil needed—one blow was enough.
”Two on the right are monsters,” I told her. “The one farther back is human.”
”Got it. Interference—move aside!”
”That one’s human!”
”Oops. Too late. We’re in a hurry.” She winced, glancing back at the poor soul she had kicked down, then ran on.
Each cocoon human she brushed against fell instantly. A flash of light, and they collapsed, easy prey for a crushing heel. I watched in grim awe.
”What are you doing to them?” I asked.
”I fuse their tendons and bones,” she said calmly. “They can’t move afterward.”
Her tone was so casual that it chilled me. She was fusing the insides of living bodies. It happened in an instant.
”So, touch equals victory, huh? You’re unbeatable in close combat, Flatty-chan.”
She shook her head. “Not really. Normally, living creatures—except me—can’t be fused.”
”But it’s working.”
She didn’t answer. Instead, she crushed another monster’s head beneath her heel. Bits of it splattered across our faces.
We both screamed.
The truth was, neither of us had the stomach for scenes like this. But we kept going anyway.
”Those things… only their heads are alive,” Flatty-chan whispered, her face drawn tight. “From the neck down, they’re just bodies being puppeted. I use that difference to tell what’s alive and what isn’t.”
Her words chilled me. If life and death could be told apart by fusion, then a human body, once empty, was nothing more than matter.
The open field around us shimmered under false starlight—but it was all illusion. The real world beneath was nothing like the dream we’d seen. The sun and moon were murals on the ceiling, painted light pretending to be sky. The ground was cheap plastic, scattered with the wrappers of instant food I remembered from my previous life. All around were traces of people who had lived here once: soil, scraps of cloth, the ruins of a small town called Isumi.
Far away, a field of beans looked normal at first, until I saw that the vines were braided ropes, and each pod held a lump of red flesh instead of seed. The shining river beside us flowed not with water but with thick, dark red liquid. Pale, swollen fish without scales drifted through it, like white plastic bags in dirty runoff—alive, feeding on each other alongside Maggots that had taken root in the sludge.
It was no river at all, just a massive drainage trench. The clear streams we had seen before were lies, reflections on the illusion’s surface. Normal and abnormal had switched places.
I remembered the woman from the second layer—the one who was killed for using a piece of her old furniture. Maybe her eyes had seen the same kind of nightmare before she died.
Flatty-chan listened and murmured, “I thought it was bad, but not that bad.”
The trap here began the moment we stepped through the dungeon door. Every sense deceived.
”Even after they die, the fragments of their heads still look human,” I said. “So it’s not the monsters casting illusions one by one. It’s this entire floor itself.”
”Likely,” she answered. “When a dungeon’s design turns this cruel, it usually means we skipped the proper route in the layer above. But—Young Master, get down. Someone’s coming.”
We crouched. The night wind brushed her dark hair across my face, warm and heavy. The false stars glowed on our skin like the eyes of something watching.
Three women approached along the ridge. The two on either side had their heads sealed inside red cocoons. The one in the middle, older, carried clusters of blue Maggots feeding on her temples.
”Flatty-chan—” I began.
”Quiet. Stay low,” she whispered.
The three sat down nearby. The Maggots squirmed and bit, tearing at the woman’s flesh, chewing and swallowing. It was like watching worms on a carcass.
Their movement quickened. The woman screamed in broken syllables until the Maggots burrowed inside her skull. Her body shook violently, then went still. Blood ran from her eyes and nose. Threads began to pour from the hollow in her head, weaving a cocoon that wrapped her face entirely.
In ten minutes, she was gone. A mummy of silk and blood.
”She’s dead,” I said softly. “The Maggots ate her brain.”
”To me,” Flatty-chan whispered, “it just looked like she got dizzy. Nothing strange.”
I frowned. “Those two beside her are monsters. The sick one’s head is changing—”
A muffled pop cut me off. Her head burst like a firework.
Flatty-chan stared upward. “Butterflies… where did they come from?”
A swarm of red-black butterflies spun into the air around the bodies. I saw what she couldn’t—the Maggot’s cocoon had cracked, releasing them. Born from human tissue, they fluttered gracefully through the false sky. A large cocoon husk remained where her head had been.
Then the woman’s body rose. The new cocoon pulsed wetly, throbbing with life like a newborn.
”The one in the middle—she’s fine now,” Flatty-chan said. “Looks better already.”
Her tone was calm. She couldn’t see what I saw. “Check her face,” I said. “Without the illusion, her head’s gone. It’s all monster now.”
Flatty-chan studied the figure carefully. “For a moment she looked blank, but now… no, I don’t see anything wrong.”
”You were almost like her,” I told her quietly.
When I explained what had happened, she turned pale. “That’s disgusting,” she said, wincing as if she’d stepped in filth.
These monsters fed on humans to multiply. Like mosquitoes, they numbed their prey before feeding—only this was the supernatural version. Flatty-chan hadn’t even noticed when they laid their eggs inside her.
”It’s too cruel,” I muttered. “Does that mean everyone here is doomed? Even the old women who fed us? Were Himawari and the rest all tricked too?”
Flatty-chan’s bruised face twisted into a pained smile. “Maybe… I’m not sure yet.” Then she forced her voice to sound bright. “But foolish women tricked by dungeons are nothing new. Without you, I’d be dead myself. It happens all the time. Women’s lives are cheap here.”
Her words hurt worse than the wound in my head. Maybe she meant to comfort me, but it did the opposite. She didn’t try to share my sorrow—only held me tighter, arms firm around my shoulders.
”Don’t waste your heart on them,” she said softly. “Forget the town, and the witch who lured you here. Let others deal with it.”
Then she rose, steadier than I’d ever seen her, and started walking toward the exit.
”Come on,” she said, voice gentle but final. “Let’s go home. There may still be trouble waiting, but we’ll forget all this soon enough.”
Notes:
• Psionic Power – Mental energy concept in Chapter 35’s lecture. Trash-san teaches it to strengthen the protagonist’s mind after dungeon ordeals.
• Kaede – A female psionic explorer known as Necksplitter, is a veteran assassin and messenger of Lord Ichimatsu. Her appearance is both young and old, with gray hair streaked through black and vibrant, unlined skin. She is graceful yet carries the fatigue of a long life in war, resembling an old hunting dog. Her psionic ability is mysterious and potentially dangerous.
• Himawari – A one-eyed black oni girl/aberration-type psionic; town leader/face; asks for promotion help; apologizes for killings; sets 2‑day deadline.
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
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