Chapter 48: Maybe it is better if I don't - Part 1

Despite Miles’s mounting injuries and increasingly colorful vocabulary, the trio remained oblivious.

“I’m starting to feel bad for them,” Miles muttered as the leader accidentally set off a swinging blade trap. The blade narrowly missed Hyperion but knocked Miles into a wall.

Hyperion offered him a hand. “I’m starting to feel bad for you.”

Miles took the hand, grumbling. “If they’re so bad at this, why don’t we just leave them behind?”

“Because,” Hyperion said, “they’re not bad people. Just bad adventurers.”

Miles sighed. “Fine. But if they step on one more trap, I swear I’m walking out of here.”

“Rolling for likelihood of that happening,” the System intoned. “Result: 19. You’re not going anywhere.”

Miles facepalmed as another trap went off.

Miles dragged himself across the rough dungeon floor, his legs wobbling like a newborn deer. The day had been long, dangerous, and unnecessarily painful—he was sure his bones had become intimately acquainted with every rock and trap this dungeon had to offer. Hyperion, on the other hand, looked as immaculate as ever. Not a hair out of place, not a single scratch marring his dazzling exterior. It was infuriating.

“Hey, Hyperion,” Miles said, his voice laced with exhaustion, “how are you still alive? Are you even real? Or are you some kind of indestructible dungeon mannequin?”

Hyperion chuckled, though his eyes stayed on the dim passage ahead. “If I were a mannequin, would I still be handsome?”

“Yes.”

Hyperion flashed a smug grin. “Glad to hear you admit it.”

“Rolling for a comeback,” the System chimed. “Result: 7. ‘You’re a paperweight with a good hairdresser’ is all I’ve got for you.”

Miles groaned. “Not helping, System.”

“Talking to yourself again?” Hyperion asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s a coping mechanism,” Miles shot back. “Something about nearly dying ten times in one day really opens the floodgates for mental dialogue.”

Hyperion, seemingly unfazed, slowed his pace. “Alright, Miles. You’re running on fumes. Let’s take a break.”

Miles blinked, startled by the suggestion. “Really? You, Mr. Perfect Adventurer, want to stop?”

Hyperion shrugged. “You’re stumbling more than usual. It’s kind of painful to watch.”

“Gee, thanks,” Miles deadpanned.

Hyperion ignored him and gestured toward a shadowy nook off to the side—a hollowed-out space that looked mercifully free of traps, monsters, or anything sharp.

“Here. Rest.”

Miles didn’t need to be told twice. He collapsed onto the ground like a sack of potatoes, letting out an exaggerated groan.

“Rolling for comfort,” the System announced. “Result: 4. The ground is cold, hard, and full of regrets.”

“It’s fine,” Miles mumbled into the dirt. “This is luxury living compared to earlier.”

Hyperion sat nearby, his arms crossed as he scanned the surroundings. “I’ll keep watch. You sleep.”

Miles rolled over and blinked at him. “Wait. You’re standing guard?”

“Yes.”

“But… don’t you need rest, too?”

Hyperion smiled faintly. “You’re forgetting who I am.”

“Great. Mr. Indestructible strikes again,” Miles muttered.

Hyperion didn’t respond, and that made Miles feel even worse. Here was this overpowered golden boy watching out for him while he lay there like a useless lump. But exhaustion was stronger than guilt, and soon, Miles’s eyelids began to droop.

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“System,” he whispered as he drifted off, “if I wake up and Hyperion’s fighting off a monster army alone, let me know.”

“Noted,” the System replied dryly.

When Miles woke up hours later, he was greeted by Hyperion’s ever-smug face staring at him.

“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

Miles sat up, rubbing his eyes. “How are you this cheerful after pulling an all-nighter?”

“I’ve had worse days.” Hyperion’s tone was casual, but Miles couldn’t ignore the faint weariness in his posture.

A flicker of guilt stabbed at him. Hyperion had been running around all day and watching over him. That wasn’t fair.

“Alright,” Miles declared, hopping to his feet. “Your turn to rest.”

Hyperion raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need it.”

“Liar. Look at you. You’ve got that ‘I’m pretending to be fine, but I’m actually dead inside’ look. I know it well—it’s my default expression.”

“I’m not tired, Miles,” Hyperion said, though he yawned halfway through the sentence.

Miles pointed triumphantly. “Aha! Gotcha. You’re sleeping. No arguments.”

Hyperion sighed dramatically. “Fine. But if a monster shows up while I’m asleep, don’t die. It’s bad for morale.”

“No promises,” Miles replied with a mock salute.

Once Hyperion had actually drifted off—because apparently even golden boys needed sleep—Miles was left alone with his thoughts and an oppressive silence. He glanced at the snoring lump of golden perfection beside him and then at his growling stomach.

“Alright, System,” Miles muttered. “Rolling for food.”

“Result: 16. Congratulations. You’re now an overconfident forager.”

“I’ll take it.”

Miles carefully crept out of their resting spot, determined to find something to eat. He wandered deeper into the dungeon, sticking to quieter paths and rolling for safety every five minutes. It worked out surprisingly well. He found a patch of mushrooms that looked mostly edible, some moss that could be chewed if you were desperate (and he was), and a small trickle of water that looked drinkable.

“Rolling for poison,” the System chimed. “Result: 17. You live to see another day.”

“Yes!” Miles whispered, pumping his fist.

Unfortunately, his luck had a cruel sense of humor. Just as he turned to leave, three very familiar—and very unwelcome—faces appeared at the edge of the corridor.

The trio of adventurers stared at him like wolves spotting an injured deer.

“Well, well, well,” the leader said, his voice oozing smugness. “Look what we have here. All alone, are we?”

Miles groaned audibly. “Oh, come on! I’m literally holding moss! Do I look like a threat?”

The axe-wielding woman grinned, cracking her knuckles. “We don’t need you to be a threat. We just need you to hand over what you’ve got.”

“Rolling for negotiation,” the System chimed. “Result: 3. You’re about to have a very bad time.”

Well, what else was new in his life? It was not as if Miles was not having a bad time already.

Miles ignored it. “Listen, guys. I’m not in the mood. I just want to get back to my friend—”

“You mean that shiny guy from earlier?” the mage sneered. “He’s not here now, is he?”

Miles froze. That was… an unsettlingly good point.

The trio began advancing, and Miles’s brain went into overdrive.

“System, roll for escape!”

“Result: 8. You could try running, but your legs aren’t ready for a sprint. Maybe scream for help?”

“I hate you.”

Miles took a deep breath, ready to bolt—

THWACK!

The sound came out of nowhere. The mage suddenly tripped on nothing and faceplanted into the dirt.

The leader spun around. “What the—?”

The axe-wielder stepped forward, only for her foot to slam down onto a hidden pressure plate. A jet of freezing water shot out from the wall and hit her square in the face, knocking her over like a bowling pin.

Miles blinked. “Did… did that just happen?”

“Rolling for luck inversion,” the System said, as smug as ever. “Result: Natural 20. Congratulations, Miles. For once, your bad luck isn’t your problem.”

The leader turned to Miles, red-faced and furious. “You did this!”

“Me?!” Miles squawked. “I’m literally just standing here holding moss!”

He started backing away as the leader lunged forward—only to trigger yet another trap. This time, a boulder the size of a small cow dropped from the ceiling.

The leader dove aside at the last second, screaming as the boulder barely missed him. It rolled harmlessly past Miles and crashed into the far wall.

Miles stood there in shock.

“Are… are you guys okay?” he asked, trying not to laugh.

The mage groaned from the floor. “This dungeon hates us.”

The axe-wielding woman glared at Miles, sopping wet and shivering. “You’re cursed.”

“Maybe,” Miles said cheerfully. “But at least it’s not me this time!”

With that, he took the opportunity to turn and march triumphantly back toward Hyperion, leaving the hapless trio groaning in defeat behind him.

When Miles returned to their makeshift camp, Hyperion was awake, stretching and yawning. “Where did you go?”

Miles flopped down, smug as could be. “Oh, you know. Just gathering food and single-handedly outsmarting some troublemakers.”

Hyperion frowned. “You look way too proud of yourself. What did you really do?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Miles teased.

“Rolling for swagger,” the System announced. “Result: 15. You’re doing surprisingly well for someone who tripped on a rock earlier.”

Miles grinned. “It’s been a good day.”

Hyperion stared at him skeptically but let it drop. “Well, enjoy it while it lasts. The dungeon isn’t done with us yet.”

Miles sighed, leaning back. “Yeah, yeah. But for once, Hyperion… I think my luck might actually be turning around.”

The System hummed ominously. “Rolling for irony.”

Miles paled. “Wait, don’t—”

“Result: 20. You’ll find out soon enough.”

Miles buried his face in his hands. “I hate you, System.”

Hyperion smirked. “Talking to yourself again?”

“Coping mechanism!”

“You and your coping mechanism. One day, you will mistake it for a real person.”