My Creations Followed Me to Another World-Chapter 21: Undercity

The tunnel was clean.

This, more than anything, was what Dante’s mind latched onto.

The path Jek had revealed was dry stone, lit by a pulsing blue-green moss that grew in cultivated patches along the walls.

The air was still musty, but the eye-watering stench of the sewer was gone. It had been replaced by something new.

Dante sniffed.

’It smelled like spices. Like cardamom, and cumin, and... smoke.’

Jek, walking backward in front of them, his daggers sheathed, grinned at Dante’s confusion.

"The Undercity vents, Boss," Jek said, his voice echoing slightly.

"All the smoke from the Undercity, the forges, the spice-dens, the food... it all comes up. The Sun-Cops up top just think it’s the city’s poor drainage. But yeah, they’re half-right."

He was a tour guide.

"My husband..." Hana whispered, her voice tight. She was still clutching Shivvy’s hand, her Maternal Fury having subsided to a low Deep Concern.

"This... this is feels older than the sewer."

She was right. The stonework here was ancient. Smooth and massive blocks, slick with damp, but clearly built by master craftsmen.

[Handler,] 47’s sterile voice inserted itself into Dante’s mind.

[Structural analysis: This is pre-Imperial architecture. The sewer was built into this. This is the city’s original foundation.]

"Smart suit, Boss," Jek said, winking.

He’d seen 47 stop to tap the wall. Although he hadn’t heard her, but he knew.

"The Founders built Aethelburg on top of an older city. The Sun-Cops live in the new town. But we... live in the real one."

He stopped at a massive iron reinforced and sound proofed door.

"Now," he said, his voice dropping.

"Mind yourselves. It’s loud. And don’t stare. Because it’s rude. And rude gets you knifed."

He put his hands on a massive iron lever. He heaved.

There was a K-CHUNK of a massive counterweight, a scrape of stone on stone.

The door slid sideways.

And the world fell in.

It was a wall.

A wall of noise, of smell, of light.

Shouting. It’s like thousands of voices, all at once, echoing in a vast space. The clang of a dozen hammers on anvils. The shriek of some terrible lute, playing a tune that was physically painful.

The smell of spices, now mixed with unwashed bodies, cheap spilled ale, coal smoke, and a hundred kinds of cooking.

Jek stepped through the opening.

"Welcome, Boss. To the Market-Below."

Dante and his party followed. And stopped.

They were standing on a stone ledge.

Before them... was not a market. It was a city.

A massive cavernous city, existing in the hollowed-out foundations of Aethelburg. It was deep and wide.

The city was lit by thousands of torches, braziers, and glowing-moss-vines, casting a flickering red-and-green glow over the entire impossible scene.

Rickety, wooden walkways and bridges crisscrossed a massive, central chasm.

Buildings were not built; they were attached. They clung to the cavern walls, to the massive stone pillars, like fungal growths, climbing up and down in a vertical slum that defied all Sun-World logic of architecture.

And most importantly...it was packed.

There were people everywhere.

"Creator..." Shivvy whispered, her voice a gasp. She was awed.

"Oh... my... goodness..." Hana breathed, her voice a horrified scandal.

[Handler. Threat analysis: High-Threat. 4,200... 4,300... life-signs detected in this immediate sector. Multiple Assassin class signatures on the upper ledges. Watchers. Snipers. This is a nest.]

Dante’s buff-enhanced brain just drank it in.

;This... this was the most incredible set-design I had ever seen.’

"Come on," Jek said, already heading down a set of stairs (just rocks, carved into the cliff).

"Walkway’s this way. And try to look like you belong."

They descended into the chaos.

It was even worse up close.

The people. Disgraced nobles in stained silks. Deserters in mismatched City Watch armor. Gaunt pale Spire-Blinds in dark hooded robes, their hands glowing with magic. And thieves. So many thieves.

This was a city of Rogues.

And Dante’s party was reacting.

Hana was not okay.

She had her filtering cloth tied back over her face, and her other hand was white-knuckled on Shivvy’s shoulder.

Her Order and [Crafting] sensibilities were spiritually offended.

"My husband... Creator," she hissed, her voice a tight whisper. "Look at that food stall. He is not washing his hands. He’s... he’s handling raw rat-meat and then serving ale! That’s... that’s cross-contamination! He’s going to kill someone!"

[Handler. That food stall is a front. The ale is Distilled Poison (Weak). The rat-meat is a delivery system. He is an Alchemist.]

Hana went pale.

"He’s poisoning them?!"

[No. He is selling to other Assassins. It is B2B.]

Hana looked like she was going to be sick.

"And that!" she whispered, pointing at an old woman selling potions.

"That... that’s not a healing tonic! That’s moss-water and crushed-up glowing beetles! It’s a scam! The audacity!"

Her [First Aid (Basic)] skill was, apparently, furious.

But Shivvy...

Shivvy was electrified.

She was still terrified, yes. She was clinging to Hana’s apron. But her eyes... her eyes were darting.

She was not cowering. She was scanning.

Her [Rogue] nature was singing.

She saw a man palming a coin so fast it looked like a magic trick. She saw a woman with three daggers hidden in her boots. She saw a small boy, no older than her, lift a merchant’s coin-purse with a movement so fluid, so practiced, like it was art.

She saw it.

And for the first time... she wasn’t seeing monsters nor heroes.

She was seeing people... like her.

She belonged here.

She was so focused on the boy’s lift that she didn’t see the man behind her.

A big and burly one-eyed man, who accidentally bumped into her.

His hand snaked toward the pouch on her new belt.

Dante saw it. 47 saw it.

But before either of them could move...

Shivvy moved.

Like it was an instinct.

She spun, out of the bump, her [Inventory] hand clamping down on her pouch, her other hand... on the hilt of her [Iron Dagger].

It was a Rogue’s defensive move.

[Parry-Stance].

The one-eyed man froze.

He looked at this... tiny, pale girl... who had just perfectly countered his "rookie-check" bump-and-lift.

He grinned. An ugly grin.

And then he just nodded—a sign of professional respect, maybe—and melted back into the crowd.

Shivvy was shaking. She just drew on a Thief.

Then she looked at Dante.

Dante just smiled. And nodded.

’Good job.’

Shivvy blushed.

"Right, Boss, " Jek said, pulling them out of the main-stream.

"Your education is over. We’re here."

He’d led them to a quiet corner of the Undercity.

"That there?" he gested with his chin. "That’s The Gutter-Spring. Tavern. Rumors are cheap. Ale is... not. Don’t drink the ale. Ever. You go there if you need a job that involves wet-work."

[Handler. That Tavern is the Assassin’s Guild local.] 47 confirmed.

"And that... in the smoky corner..." Jek pointed. "That’s the Spire-Blind’s corner. Mages who don’t like registration."

Dante’s head snapped to look.

He saw them. A half-dozen hooded figures, all huddled around a single glowing-purple brazier.

’A Rogue Mage faction, huh.’

He filed this away. This was critical intel.

"They’ll trade spells for protection. Or... food," Jek said, his voice dropping. "Or mana. It’s pretty obvious that the Spire hunt them. Even down here."

Jek stopped them. They were in a small and silent plaza.

In front of them was a building.

It was the only building in the entire Undercity that wasn’t a ramshackle mess.

The wall was black stone. Polished. And clean. It had no windows and no sign.

It just had a single but massive iron-reinforced door.

"And that, Boss," Jek said, his tour guide persona gone.

"That... is The Ledger."

"The Thieves Guild’?" Dante asked.

Jek laughed. "Gods, no. The Thieves Guild is for thieves. The Ledger is for business. The Ledger is Corva. The Ledger is us."

This was the real Guild Hall.

Jek’s amused mask was gone. He was serious now.

He turned to Dante. "Okay, Boss. My part’s done. I got you in. That gold coin..." he tapped his pouch, "...it bought you this meeting. Now you’re on your own."

He took a deep breath. "Right. The Mistress. Her name is Mistress Corva. She’s... not nice. You must take a note. She hates liars. She hates Spire-Cops. And she hates people who waste her time."

Dante felt the pressure settle on him.

"Does she know we’re here?" Dante asked, his voice low.

Jek just laughed. A cold laugh.

"Boss... Mistress Corva has been watching us since we stepped off the clean path. She knew you were in the sewer before I did."

Dante’s blood went cold.

He looked at the black door.

And then he took a deep breath. He scrubbed his palms on his new trousers before he stepped forward.

He raised his hand to knock.

K-CHUNK.

The sound was deafening.

Dante froze, his hand still in the air.

The massive black door scraped open, just a crack.

And then... a voice...

It was a woman’s voice.

It was deep, smoky, and feels like bored.

And it was dripping with absolute total authority.

"Jek."

"Y-yes, Mistress?" Jek squeaked, his tough-guy persona shattering.

"You’re late. And you babbled a lot."

The voice paused.

"Get your new business in here."

The door scraped open wider, revealing... nothing.

Except darkness.

Dante looked at his party.

’Ugh I’m not ready.’

But he was out of time.

So he stepped into the darkness.