Benny had been stuck in this cave far longer than he'd wished.
But the extended imprisonment had given him something valuable: time to rebuild his strength. Time to understand his situation. Time to prepare for whatever came next.
He thought it was finally time to get out of this hellish place.
During his weeks trapped here, he'd discovered more functions of the power dwelling inside him. Just beside the mini-map interface in his vision, there were numbers. They ticked forward constantly, advancing with mechanical precision. At first, he'd ignored them, dismissing them as meaningless numbers. But eventually, he realized what they represented.
Time. The system was recording time.
Which was useful in more ways than he could count. The Year, Month, and Day were listed along with the hour, minute, and second. A perfect chronometer that never stopped, never faltered, never needed winding or maintenance.
It had been a full month since he'd discovered this function. A month trapped in the disposal pit, surviving on fungus and corpse meat, slowly rebuilding his broken body.
Year 6854, 3rd Month, Day 1*
(6854.03.01)
[System Time: 07:34:18]
He'd regained some of the muscle he'd lost during his coma or whatever had left him so weak. He could tell he wasn't fully recovered yet, probably at seventy percent of his previous strength at most. His nutrition had been shit, relying primarily on the mushrooms he'd begun cultivating in the deeper caves. Pale, translucent fungi that tasted like decay but provided enough sustenance to keep him functional.
From time to time, fresh carcasses fell from the hole far above. Bodies discarded by whoever operated the disposal system. He'd tried eating some of the fresher ones, the ones that hadn't rotted too badly. It was disgusting. It made him want to vomit. But meat was meat, and his body desperately needed that protein.
He'd also tried scaling the wall to that hole above, thinking maybe he could climb out that way. Escape through the disposal chute and back into whatever was above him (rat kingdom proper).
He'd fallen within seconds, barely catching himself before breaking something important. The walls were too smooth, too high a couple of kilometers roughly from his estimation, and his strength was still too depleted. That route was impossible, at least for now.
---
But during his time down here, he'd regained something more valuable than physical strength. He'd recovered some of his lost combat experience.
It was easier than he'd expected once he got started. The mind might forget, memories might be stripped away by death and resurrection, but the body remembered. The body held its own knowledge, stored in muscle memory and reflex patterns that existed below conscious thought.
He'd started with basic movements. Footwork. Balance. Weight distribution. Things that felt instinctive even though he couldn't remember learning them.
Then he'd progressed to weapon forms. Sword strikes. Defensive stances. Combinations that flowed together in sequences he couldn't consciously recall but his body executed perfectly.
It was like watching someone else control his limbs. He would think about attacking, and his body would respond with techniques he didn't know he possessed. Slashes, thrusts, parries, ripostes. All performed with competence that surprised him.
He realized he'd been much stronger than his current self. Much more skilled. Whoever he'd been before losing his memories, before dying and being resurrected, that person had been a capable fighter. Maybe not elite, but definitely experienced.
He wondered how strong he would become once he had proper nutrition. Once his body fully recovered. Once he integrated conscious knowledge with the unconscious skills his body retained.
The thought was both exciting and terrifying. What kind of person had he been? What had he done to develop these combat skills? And why couldn't he remember any of it?
---
He had no enemies down here. Only the bugs that came once a week to clean the disposal pit.
He'd grown accustomed to their arrival. No longer panicked when he heard the clicking of millions of legs. No longer hid in the crevice trembling with fear. He'd learned to simply stay still, stay quiet, and let them do their work.
His hellish existence became more bearable after they cleaned. The air would be fresh for a few days before the rot built up again as new bodies were discarded. Those few days of clean air were precious, almost pleasant compared to the constant stench of decay.
He'd even started timing his activities around the bugs' schedule. Exercising during the clean days when breathing was easier. Resting and cultivating mushrooms during the foul days when the air was thick with decay.
Now he'd also collected a considerable amount of valuables that had been discarded along with the dead. Weapons. Armor. Trinkets. Coins. Anything metal or valuable that the rat men considered trash but he recognized as useful.
He'd used that opportunity to re-arm himself with better equipment. His initial gear had been rusty and barely functional metal. Now he had a proper sword with minimal corrosion. Leather armor that actually fit his frame. A dagger with a keen edge. Even a small shield he could strap to his arm.
He'd realized through this process that complacency would kill him. That he needed to be ready to fight to the death at any moment. The labyrinth wouldn't give him warning. Danger wouldn't announce itself. He had to assume every day could be his last and prepare accordingly.
---
His days had fallen into a routine. A schedule that kept him sane and productive.
Mornings were for physical exercise. Push-ups, squats, stretches. Anything to rebuild his strength and flexibility. His legs were mostly functional now, strong enough to support his weight and even allow limited running. Not perfect, but vastly improved from the jelly-like uselessness they'd been when he first woke up.
Afternoons were for combat practice. He would run through forms and techniques his body remembered. Shadow fighting against vague imaginary opponents. Practicing strikes against the cave walls. Working through defensive sequences until they became second nature.
The combat katas felt meditative. Centering. They quieted the chaos in his mind and gave him something concrete to focus on besides fear and confusion.
Evenings were for cultivation. He'd become surprisingly proficient at growing the mushrooms. Understanding which cracks in the stone held the right moisture. Which areas provided the nutrients the fungi needed. He'd expanded his mushroom farm considerably, ensuring a steady food supply that didn't depend on corpses falling from above.
He enjoyed this work more than he'd expected. There was something satisfying about nurturing life in a place dedicated to death. About creating sustenance in a pit meant for disposal. It was a small rebellion against the purpose of this place.
Nights were for exploration. He would crawl and walk through the entire space, using the mini-map to ensure he'd covered every inch. He searched for anything he might have missed. Hidden passages. Forgotten equipment. Anything that might help him escape or survive.
He'd mapped the entire disposal pit thoroughly now. Every chamber. Every crevice. Every passage. He knew this place better than anyone, probably better than the rat men who'd created it.
But that knowledge also confirmed what he'd feared. There was only one way out of this pit that he could find. One passage that led away from the disposal area and deeper into whatever cave system connected to it.
He hadn't explored that passage yet. Some instinct told him it was dangerous. That once he ventured that way, there would be no easy retreat back to his safe cave. It was a one-way commitment to the unknown.
---
But he could feel it now. The time was coming. Soon he would have to take that risk.
He couldn't stay here forever. His strength had plateaued. He was as recovered as he would get without better food and a less toxic environment. The disposal pit had served its purpose as a recovery area, but now it was a cage he needed to escape.
He'd been preparing for this. Stockpiling the best weapons and armor he'd found. Filling a makeshift pack with dried mushrooms that would last several days. Planning routes based on his mini-map.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow he would venture into that unknown passage and see where it led. Whether it took him back to the rat kingdom, deeper into the labyrinth, or somewhere else entirely didn't matter. Anywhere was better than this pit.
He could only hope and dream that this hell would end someday. That he'd find a way back to... to what? He didn't know. Couldn't remember what he'd had before this. But somewhere in his broken memory, there had to be something worth returning to.
Someone must be waiting for him right? A purpose he'd been pursuing. A life he'd been living before death and resurrection stripped it all away.
He would find out. Eventually. After he escaped this pit. After he discovered where he was and how he'd gotten here. After he pieced together the fragments of his lost identity.
But first, he had to leave. Had to take that first step into the unknown passage and trust that his body's instincts would carry him through whatever came next.
The month in hell was ending. A new chapter was beginning.
And Benny, armed with weapons he didn't remember learning to use, guided by a system he didn't understand, driven by a stubborn refusal to die in a corpse pit, prepared to face whatever waited in the darkness ahead.
He was ready. As ready as he'd ever be.
Tomorrow, he will escape. Or die trying.
Either way, his time in the disposal pit was over.