The Legend of the Meta-Defying Smith Who Saved the Kingdom

James miserably trudged through the floor.

He'd had to choose between being hungry or nauseous, and he had chosen to eat.

Once he'd eaten, he'd changed into his Water Armor and put on his Water Amulet—the one that boosted water enchantments.

In his right, numb, damaged hand he carried his Green Iron Round Shield, enchanted with [Reflect].

In his left hand, he carried his Blue Iron Round Shield, also enchanted with [Reflect].

The water spears never stopped raining down on him, but at this point he mostly ignored them.

Ping! Ping! Ping! Ping!

His shields dutifully reflected the attacks without problem, but only about half.

The other half were weakened by his armor such that he was merely splashed with the water, all the force and lethality removed.

But spending hours having water thrown on oneself is a tiring experience. Especially when nauseous.

The floor was darkly overcast. Low lying clouds like a daytime thunderstorm covered the ceiling, though no rain fell. The floor itself was a maze of paths of raised sand several inches above the waterline, with water covering the majority of the floor-space. He couldn't estimate how wide the area was, nor how far it went. A haze covered the floor, making it hard to see further than several dozen yards.

The nature of the challenge was apparent to James even then: navigate the maze while being sniped by monsters. Anyone trying to create a map with paper and ink would be thwarted by the water, if the water spears didn't kill them outright.

The worst part was that the fish monsters that were shooting the water spears never approached the paths. James gazed at them with dead eyes; fresh meat, swimming just out of reach, tormenting him…

He was soaked to the bone, though the water wasn't particularly cold nor warm. Nor was the strain on his mana that significant, since he only reflected about half of the spears, and allowed his armor's passive [Water Resistance] to handle the rest.

He was too tired and hungry and ill to do more than idly worry about bird monsters, but none had shown up in the last several hours of exploration. Just endless fish monsters shooting water spears endlessly.

He was hungry.

He was tired.

He was soaking wet.

He was trying to map out a maze.

He was trying to keep a lookout for sneak attacks.

He was trying not to fall into the water, keeping to the center of the paths four yards wide at most.

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The Smith was miserable.

But he wasn't afraid.

When later asked if he would have gone back to slavery in that moment, his answer had been immediate: no. Better to be miserable in freedom than secure but afraid in slavery. But he had also immediately followed with a statement on how awful the experience had been.

For instance: there were no safe places to rest in the maze. The fish monsters had incredible range and powers of detection. Spears flew at him from far beyond where he could see in the haze.

There was nothing to do but continue on, occasionally stopping to scratch more of the maze into his red iron map plate.

Several times hunger overtook his nausea, and he forced himself to eat.

After the third time, his stomach had cramped fiercely, nearly halting his advance. But it was either eat the tentacle meat or starve.

James even regretted not collecting at least some rat monster meat from the lowest floor.

After an unknown period of time, James found the maze's exit. There was a small room carved out of a stone cliff, out of range of the fish monsters and their water spears, and he barely managed to set up his ward before he passed out still soaking wet and wearing his armor.

The stomach cramps remained when he woke. He retched, but he kept the smoked tentacle meat down , and once his stomach had settled enough that he was sure he wouldn't vomit from standing up, he stood and collected his warding stakes and turned to the small room's exit.

The next area was only about a hundred yards wide, though how deep it went wasn't clear. The ground was sand, but there were pools of water here and there. It reminded James of the second floor of the dungeon where he had spent so much time, and he inspected the walls, curious about what ores were present.

None were present.

The walls were just grey stone.

James shook his head in his helmet.

Focus, he told himself.

He readied his two shields and pressed on. He gave the pools of water a wide berth, and the stillness of the area nearly unnerved him, but between managing his footing and fighting his queasiness, he had no time to feel put off by the odd stillness.

He simply walked through it.

And so, after another half day of walking, he reached the end of the floor. The staircase was visible at the end of a short tunnel in the side of the stone cliff, near a large patch of sand free of the pools of water.

First, James set up his wards and rested. He forced himself to eat some more smoked tentacle-flesh, gagged, choked it down, and leaned against the wall for a few minutes fighting his nausea while his eyes watered.

Once his stomach had settled into the now familiar cramp, he readied his Light Tower Shield and Dark War Hammer and moved to investigate one of the pools. He approached cautiously, and once he was about five yards from the edge of the pool, the water's surface rippled and stretched upwards, forming an elongated oval shape a yard tall that floated up to eye level. Smaller balls of water also floated up from the pool and then shot out at James, striking his shield and reflecting off in various directions with soft pings.

James' disappointment was immeasurable and his day was ruined.

Some kind of water spirit monster, with no edible meat.

He swung his Dark War Hammer, pouring mana into the [Blind] enchantment, and his hammer splashed through the ovoid of water, tainting it with nox essence. Dark streaks contaminated the ovoid, and it quivered before retreating back into the pool with a surprising speed and nary a splash as it rejoined the larger body of water.

No more attacks followed.

The Smith returned to his camp, rested for an hour, and then moved into the tunnel and changed into his Dark Armor set and put on his [Silence] enchantment. He less crept up the stairs and more forced his fatigued body up step by slow step until he got to the top.

The room was a cavern, rock walls and boulders littering the hard-packed dirt floor. The lighting was dim, as dim as the first floor of the Dungeon had been, with only glowshrooms sporadically growing on the walls and low ceiling providing any light.

A ten foot tall, stone, humanoid-shaped figure faced away from the Smith. Reminiscent of the small golems James had fought several floors back, and the snow golems in the snowy passage, but looking much more sturdy and obviously much larger.

To his credit, James didn't swear, nor did he even sigh loudly.

This was it: he was stuck eating tentacle meat until he killed this thing, and even after.

James retreated back down to the bottom of the stairs.

It was time to forge one last set of armor.