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Chapter 62: Soul and Body

“This place looks like a tomb,” Viktor said.

“For it is a tomb, Sovereign of the Dungeon,” replied Khenemhotep.

Viktor chuckled. “What for? It’s not like someone has died and needs to be buried here.”

“You have appointed me to be the Custodian of this floor, tasked with shaping it to stand strong against those who would intrude. This is the purpose I have taken to heart. The tombs of old were furnished with devices of defense, to protect them from the hands that would profane the dead. Thus, I say to you, it is only fitting I do the same here.”

Viktor could see his point. The interior of this building was a labyrinth of long, narrow corridors, much like the maze on the first floor, but worse in every way. After all, the first floor was designed to be “friendly” to the adventurers, in appearance at least, with the ceiling lit by mana that only faded gradually as they ventured deeper. But here? There was only darkness. He wouldn’t be able to see a thing were it not for the torch Khenemhotep was holding. And to make matters worse, the passages here were sloped, turning any sort of combat into an absolute nightmare.

“Moreover, living in this place brings me comfort,” the Guardian continued. “For I am a priest of the Bearded God, and I have spent more time in tombs than in my own home.”

With Khenemhotep by his side, Viktor walked down the dark corridor. True to his words, the undead priest moved with the ease of someone returning home, as though every block of stone in the wall, every speck of dust in the air, were the old friends he hadn’t seen in years. Eventually, the passage opened into a small room. There, the path split into two. One leading up, the other going down.

“Which one takes us to the staircase to the third floor?”

“The path that ascends, Sovereign of the Dungeon.”

Viktor chuckled again. “Very counter-intuitive. I love it.”

“If we take that path, we shall reach the Great Hallway, a lofty corridor, its walls angling inward. Beyond that lies the Chamber of the Dead, though here it serves as the arena of the second floor. And farther still, past that, is the ladder to the third.”

“And the passage that leads down?”

“There is a chamber beneath, where I have placed the skeletons I gathered from the pit of disposal. They will be prepared there, and once that is done, they will be raised to serve as sentinels of this tomb.”

“Interesting,” Viktor said. “Let’s have a look then.”

“As you command, Sovereign of the Dungeon.”

Khenemhotep raised the torch and began the descent. The corridor ahead was dark, long, and narrow, no different from the one they had just walked through. The deeper they went, the colder it grew. Anyone who had made it to this place might easily forget that there was a burning desert right outside these stone walls.

As they emerged into the chamber below, the flickering torchlight revealed rows of stone slabs, upon each of which lay a skeleton. Most of them were complete. Of course, Viktor couldn’t say for certain whether any of the smaller bones were missing, but the major components seemed to be all there. The skulls were intact, the ribcages aligned, the spines straight, the pelvises centered, and the arms and legs placed at the sides.

When his minions dumped the bodies of the dead adventurers into the disposal pit, they certainly didn’t do it with care. The corpses, once tossed in, lay one on top of another, left to rot and collapse into tangled piles of bone. For Khenemhotep to reassemble them into orderly arrangements like this, it must have taken a great deal of effort. Furthermore, each set of bones not only appeared complete, but also looked... correct. The components matched each other perfectly, as if all the bones indeed belonged to a single individual, and not a patchwork pieced together from a dozen different bodies.

Viktor walked up to a nearby skeleton. “These bones,” he asked. “Do they come from one person? And if so, how exactly did you put it back together?”

“The soul and the body are not separate, but they are one and the same. Each shapes the other. The soul leaves its mark on the flesh, and that mark remains even after the soul has departed, like a reflection in the mirror, like an echo in the void. The bones of a man still sing the song they sang in life. Subtle, but not beyond hearing. And I listen for it. I lay the bones side by side, and if they sing in harmony, then shall I know they were joined in life.”

“I see,” Viktor said, tapping lightly on the crown of the skeleton’s skull. “So, what’s the song of this one? What does it tell you about who he used to be?”

Khenemhotep stood motionless for a moment, his glowing eyes closing as he listened to something only he could hear. Then he spoke.

“These are the bones of a woman, Sovereign of the Dungeon. A soul gentle and kind at heart. She was a young maiden, who chose the path of a healer, seeking only to ease the suffering of other people. She had a younger sister, whom she loved deeply. Their life was humble, but not without joy. But sorrow found her through her work, as healing brought little coin, and debt began to weigh heavily on her. The burden grew, and desperation drove her to dangerous choices. In the end, she met death in despair and great fear, her heart trembling as she pleaded for her life. Yet, even with her final breath, her thoughts were not for herself, but for the sister she left behind. Her sorrow was complete in that parting.”

I think I know who this is, Viktor thought. He had forgotten her name, but she must be Rhea’s older sister, one of the first adventurers he lured to his dungeon.

“A great sorrow,” Khenemhotep said. “She had a great affinity for the arcane. Had she been given the chance to grow, she might have become a mage of great renown. But alas, her days were cut short, and her potential went unrealized.”

Viktor wasn’t so sure about that. Even if she had stayed out of the dungeon and survived, her life likely wouldn’t have taken any grand turn. Her debts were a heavy chain around her neck, and no matter how hard she struggled, they would only drag her deeper and deeper. Barring a miracle, like being taken under the wing of a wealthy patron or influential organization, she was never going to be a great mage. Most likely, she would have spent the rest of her days as just another low-ranked adventurer.

“If this skeleton has great affinity for magic,” he asked, “then can you raise it to become a powerful undead mage?”

“It is not so simple, Sovereign of the Dungeon. These bones are not sentient. A shadow of memory lingers, but the soul has long since departed. When I raise them, they are but vessels, puppets without their own will. I can shape this one into a bearer of sorcery, and indeed, she is better suited for that than the others. Yet, in the end, she remains but a conduit, through which my power flows.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Viktor said, looking around. “Is there anyone else here that stands out to you?”

Khenemhotep turned and walked a few paces down the line, stopping beside a slab, upon which lay one of the few incomplete skeletons.

“These bones once belonged to a powerful sorceress. A prideful woman, who beguiled many by her charms and gained advantage by deceit. Yet, within her burned the heart of a mother, gentle and watchful over her child. The way she died remains a mystery to me, for her skull is still missing. I have spent a long time searching the pit for it, but it is nowhere to be found.”

A sorceress, who was powerful, seductive, and headless? It wasn’t hard to guess who this was.

“Forget about it,” Viktor said. “It’s ended up in Sebekton’s belly.”

Khenemhotep shook his head. “A great sorrow.”

I think I’ve seen enough, Viktor thought. He should leave the undead priest to his task, as there was no reason for him to bother more with the details. He had a dungeon to run, after all. He would wait until the dead rose, then put them to the test in combat.

Just as he was about to say farewell to Khenemhotep and ask Celeste to teleport him out, however, a thought suddenly occurred to him.

“High Priest,” he asked, “you said that the soul and the body are intertwined, and one affects the other, right? So what will happen if a soul inhabits a body that wasn’t originally its own?”

“What you are asking about is called possession, Sovereign of the Dungeon. And it is a matter most complex. No two cases are the same, so there is no one answer. Most of the time, the body rejects the invading soul, trying to cast it out. Yet, if the soul is strong enough, and backed by powerful sorcery, it can take control, manipulating the body like a puppet. The same as I shall do with these bones.”

Was it really the case? Was he controlling Quinn’s body like a puppeteer pulling the strings? No, he didn’t feel it that way. The body didn’t resist. It didn’t reject him. No, it felt as if it was his own, as if he had always existed in it.

He glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers, touching his skin. Those were Quinn’s hands, Quinn’s fingers, Quinn’s skin. But there was no alienness to it. No foreignness. It felt like he belonged here. He wasn’t manipulating this body by some magic. He was living in it. Breathing, moving, being.

What if... what if he was actually a Quinn with the memories of a Viktor?

No! That’s ridiculous!

“High Priest,” he asked, “you said the body usually resists the soul. So what happens in the cases where it doesn’t?”

“It is rare, but it does happen. Sometimes, the body and the soul are found to be in harmony, and they bond as if they always belonged to the same person.”

“And the soul will be affected by the body?”

“Verily.”

“In other words,” Viktor asked, “you’re telling me that the soul will slowly forget itself and become someone else?”

“It is possible, yet not in every case. As I have said, each needs to be judged according to its own nature. And more importantly, Sovereign of the Dungeon, it is not memory alone that makes a man who he is. For a man does not cease to be himself just because he forgets. Even you don’t remember the days of your infancy, yet you are still the same soul that once lived in that child.”

Maybe you’re right, but I refuse to lose my memories as Viktor.

“Tell me, High Priest,” he said with a low voice. “If there ever comes a day when the soul forgets who it really was, would it even realize it had changed?”

“It would not. It would believe it had always been that way.”

And in the dark, Viktor said nothing.

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Chapter 61: A Mug of Juice

“I can’t believe he’s dead...” the woman whispered as she buried her face in her hands, trembling with each sob. “He had been so gentle to me... He had treated me so kindly... He said we’d always be together... He told me we’d get married after we got back from the dungeon... He promised...”

Her voice cracked at the last word, dissolving into a broken cry. Her two friends, sitting beside her, were trying their best to console her. Their hands hovered awkwardly on her shoulders, unsure of how to offer comfort.

Viktor watched it all from a distance while waiting for his mug to fill with apple juice from the barrel. Once it was done, he lazily plugged the tap and gave the mug a swirl. He sniffed it. Sweet. Refreshing. Perfect.

He didn’t spare a single glance behind as he turned and walked back to his table. He sat down, set his mug in front of him, and leaned back in the chair. He took a sip. Nice. It had a subtle tang that hit just right. Then he drank again, savoring the juice that slowly rolled over his tongue.

The other people at the table, however, were all watching the grieving woman with sympathy.

“I can’t believe something like that could happen,” Claire said weakly. “I heard he was killed instantly the moment he set foot in the dungeon.”

“What a tragedy,” Rhea said, her voice quivering.

Viktor couldn’t agree more. The bolt had knocked the man out of the boundary of his dungeon. Which meant he died outside, and no essence could be collected from his soul. A tragedy, indeed.

“I heard that most of his torso was gone,” Lucian said. “And the entrance was splattered with blood and—Ouch!”

“Do not say such things in front of a kid!” Fiora yelled at him.

“He looks pretty fine though,” Lucian replied with a frown, glancing at Viktor.

At the surrounding tables, the other adventurers were also murmuring among themselves about the gruesome death. Clearly, the incident had become the talk of the Guild today. After all, this wasn’t merely some hearsay. There were eyewitnesses, and the corpse, with the bolt still lodged in its chest, was lying out in the open for everyone to see.

It looked like his experiment had gotten a little out of hand. He just hoped it wouldn’t scare Dagnar and Brynhildr away from entering the dungeon. Well, it was not like he planned on using the ballista again anytime soon. The test had been a success, so there was no need to repeat it. He would only bring out the siege weapon when there was a specific target he wanted to snipe.

Viktor took another swig from his mug, glancing around the table, and he realized not everyone here was interested in the current talk. Cedric was slumped in his seat, eyes fixed on the table, clearly unhappy. Was it about his mother again, or...?

He rose from his chair, walked to the side of the black-haired boy, and said in a low voice, “What’s the problem?”

Cedric didn’t look up. “Well,” he muttered, “I’ve asked Azran to join my party, like you suggested.”

“And?” Viktor asked, already knowing the answer.

“He turned me down.” A pause. Then, a sigh. “I knew it would happen, but still... I can’t help but feel disappointed.”

“Maybe that’s exactly why he refused your offer.”

“What?”

“You said you knew he would say no.” Viktor leaned forward, his eyes fixed on the boy’s. “How? How did you know that when you hadn’t even tried yet?”

Cedric opened his mouth, then closed it.

“In short,” Viktor continued, “you lacked confidence. And it showed. Someone like Azran could easily pick up on that. And who wants to join a party led by someone who doesn’t believe in himself?”

“So you’re saying... I messed it up just by expecting to fail?”

“Yes.”

“What... what should I do now?”

“Try again,” Viktor replied. “But this time, believe in yourself before you expect anyone else to.”

“Is it alright to bother him again?” Cedric asked. “He already said no.”

“What do you think you’re going to accomplish if you just give up after one rejection?” Viktor said with a grin. “Be persistent. But also be clever about it, of course. Don’t keep bashing your head against the same wall over and over.”

[You are really enjoying this, right, Master?]

Yup.

“Got it,” Cedric said. “I think I’ll go back to the dungeon. I want to have a new achievement to show him before I ask again.”

“Great idea,” Viktor said. “Good luck with it!”

When he went back to his seat, he reached for the mug on the table, about to take another sip. But then, Rhea leaned in close.

“Can we talk for a moment?”

“Yes?”

“Not here,” she said. “Let’s get outside.”

“Sure.” He stood up again, mug in hand, and walked toward the door of the mess hall, Rhea close behind. What does she want? he wondered.

They stepped into the main hall just as two women passed before them.

“Please reconsider this, Guildmaster,” the one with glasses called out from behind, struggling to keep up with the pace. “You can’t be serious about this.”

“It’s done,” said the other woman, who didn’t even glance back. “I won’t discuss it any further.”

Viktor waited until they were out of sight before turning to Rhea. “Looks like Calyssa’s having a rough time.”

“Well, yes,” she said with a wry smile. “Guildmaster Isadora is very demanding. She has final say in everything, and she doesn’t take no for an answer.”

“What about you?” Viktor asked, casting a glance at the girl. She looked different now, from how she had been on her first day, when she had had to wear her own clothes on the job. Now Rhea had been issued a proper uniform, tailored to her small, thin frame. A pristine white shirt, a blue ribbon knotted just right, and a long black skirt that brushed lightly against her ankles, pretty much the same outfit Claire had always worn. She also looked healthier. A bit more flesh instead of just skin and bones. Maybe it was thanks to Alycia. That woman might make Rhea cook for her, but at least she forked out money for better ingredients. So in the end, it was not really a bad deal for the girl.

“I’m alright,” she replied. “Doing my job, as usual. I’m just a receptionist, so I don’t have to deal directly with the Guildmaster all that often. Claire has a tougher time, and Calyssa probably has it the worst.”

As they reached a corner of the main hall, Viktor casually leaned back against the wall, taking a drink from his mug. “So, what do you want to talk about?”

“It’s about Jeanne,” Rhea said. “Did you hear she got kicked out by her landlord?”

“Nope,” he replied, the lie coming out naturally before he even needed to think.

“Turns out Alycia already knew. In fact, she’s known for a week. But she didn’t say a word to me.”

“How did you figure it out?”

“I had a feeling that she was hiding something. After all, she’s never been that good at keeping secrets. So I kept pressing until she finally caved and told me everything.”

Note to self: never tell Alycia anything I don’t want the whole town to know.

“So, where is Jeanne living now?” he asked. Come to think of it, the blonde hadn’t mentioned that detail during their last conversation.

“You wouldn’t believe it even if I told you.”

“What?” Viktor chuckled. “Is she setting up camp in the forest or something?”

Rhea frowned. “Worse. She’s now at the ruins of the haunted castle.”

“That doesn’t sound too bad—”

Wait a fucking minute.

There was only one castle in all of Daelin’s vicinity. His castle.

“You mean the Dark Emperor’s old castle?” he asked.

“Is there any other haunted castle around here?” Rhea replied. “I don’t know what she’s thinking. That place is cursed, Quinn. You know the stories. Ghosts, demons, things that don’t belong in this world. And the ones who went there? They never came back. No one has ever made it out alive—”

“Rhea,” he interrupted her.

“Yes?”

“No one who’s gone to that place ever returned to tell the tale, but somehow, you know what’s there?”

Rhea stared at him, mouth slightly open. “Well...”

Viktor was well aware of those exaggerated stories about the ruins. The locals were clearly scared out of their wits. Sure, a crumbling castle deep in the forest didn’t exactly sound like the safest place to be, but it also wasn’t any more dangerous than anywhere else outside the town. But superstition doesn’t care about reason. And because of that, he was forced to find another spot for his dungeon, instead of simply using his former stronghold.

“The point is, it’s dangerous,” Rhea said after a brief pause. “It’s no place to live.”

“So, what are you going to do?”

“I’m going to tell Jeanne to stay at my house until she gets things together. Yes, it’s small, and a bit cramped for three people, but we’ll manage.”

“I see,” Viktor said with a nod. But judging by the way the girl shifted restlessly, it was obvious this wasn’t the end of the matter. “Is there a problem?”

“Well, Jeanne’s still in the ruins, and I don’t know when she’s coming back to town. So I’m planning to go there myself this weekend to see her.”

Viktor blinked, then let out a short laugh, lifting his mug for another sip. “You just said that place was crawling with demons, ghosts, and unimaginable monsters... and now you’re going there?” He chuckled at her over the rim of the mug. “Alone? Do you even know the way?”

Rhea sighed. “That’s why I’m thinking of asking Cedric and his party to escort me. But...”

“But what?”

“As I said, it’s a dangerous place, so I don’t really want to drag other people into it,” Rhea replied. “And apparently, Alycia kept it from me because Jeanne asked her not to tell anyone. So I don’t want to spread it any further.”

Viktor raised a brow. “But you’re telling me.”

“Because I need your counsel. I know that you’re younger than me, but you’re very smart and reliable. When I talked with Alycia about what I should do, she said I should come to you for your opinion.”

Thank you very much, “Master.” Why did people keep coming to a thirteen-year-old for advice?

This wasn’t really his problem, so he could have just given Rhea some random answer and called it a day. But... My old castle, huh? It had been nearly three months since the last time he had been there, the day he met Celeste. While he doubted there was anything useful left in that place, it wouldn’t hurt to have another look. Besides, he himself was a bit curious about how Jeanne was doing in his former home.

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

“Huh?”

“I’ve been there, by the way. A couple of times, actually. So I know the way.”

Rhea stared at him. “You what?”

“Don’t tell Claire.” Viktor grinned. “You ask for my counsel, and that’s my answer. Take it or leave it.”

“But... but... it’s dangerous there... People have disappeared...”

“I didn’t disappear. And you won’t either, if you’re with me.”

Rhea looked at him in silence, before finally letting out a resigned sigh. “Alright, we’ll go together.”

Viktor smiled, tapping her shoulder lightly. “Relax. Once you’re in the castle, you’ll realize there’s nothing scary about it.”

She nodded. “I believe you.”

You probably shouldn’t, but I suppose this time it’s fine, Viktor thought, finishing off the remaining juice in one single gulp.

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Chapter 60: Ballista

“They still haven’t entered the dungeon yet?” Viktor asked.

[No, Master. I have been watching carefully ever since that day. But they have yet to appear.]

Why? What was the point of going through all that trouble, traveling to Daelin, joining the Guild, becoming adventurers, if they had no intention of stepping into the dungeon? Wasn’t their goal to develop Dagnar’s Thaumaturgy? Was his assumption wrong?

No. Maybe they were just being cautious. Dungeons were unforgiving, after all, so it made sense they wanted to take their time. Ask questions, gather intel, talk to the other adventurers who had already been there to know what to expect before stepping in themselves. Given Brynhildr’s nature, of course she wouldn’t want to walk into a dungeon blind.

Yet, that meant his options were limited. There was only so much he could do outside the dungeon. He had considered breaking into their rooms to investigate, but unlike Azran and Lahmia, these two didn’t have a consistent schedule. There was no pattern, no routine to exploit. He had no way of knowing when they would return, and the last thing he wanted was to be caught red-handed while going through their stuff. Thus, he had to wait until they entered the dungeon before making his move, so that Celeste could warn him when they came back. That was the only safe time window for him to act.

“Well,” Viktor said, “it can’t be helped. Let’s move on to other matters for the time being.” He turned to the glowing crystal at the center of the Core Room. “Celeste, give me an update on the construction of our little kingdom of sand.”

[Yes, Master. I am reshaping the second floor as we speak. The desert is mostly done. It is just sand, after all. The real work is in the structures, since I have to build them according to Khenemhotep’s specifications.]

“It’s fine,” Viktor said. “Just take your time. No need to rush.”

The second floor used to be just a small area with the narrow maze and a couple of rooms. For quite a long time, he hadn’t figured out what he should do with it, so he simply kept it as it was. It served its purpose well enough. But after bringing the undead priest into his service, as well as unlocking Domain of Earth, it was time to give this floor a complete overhaul.

It wasn’t an actual rebuild, though. The original parts were still there; he merely added more to the floor. Adventurers would continue to traverse the maze, oblivious to the transformation that was happening just beyond its walls. Unbeknownst to them, a much larger, entirely new section was being constructed, an area they had no access to yet. A domain scorched beneath an artificial sun, soon to be ruled by a certain High Priest.

A new staircase to the third floor would be built there, at the heart of the desert. Once everything was finished, he would connect the old maze to the new area and dismantle the original descent path, which meant, from that point on, anyone who wanted to reach the water realm would first have to pass through Khenemhotep’s kingdom.

[Master, the Guardians have arrived.]

Viktor nodded, turning to the door just as it groaned open, revealing the towering Crocodilian whose massive frame nearly filled the entire doorway. “Master,” he said with his usual booming voice. Right behind him came Khenemhotep, who bowed deeply, reverently. “Sovereign of the Dungeon,” the undead priest intoned, his voice dry and hoarse, like sand scraping against ancient tombstones.

“Sebekton, High Priest,” Viktor said, glancing over his new Guardian from head to toe. “You look quite different from the last time I saw you.”

He indeed was. Around Khenemhotep’s withered body now draped layers of lavish ornamental pieces. His once-bare skull was crowned with a tall headdress, forged of gleaming gold and engraved with various archaic-looking glyphs. A broad collar of golden beads encircled his neck, with golden amulets dangling below, and golden chains weaving a tapestry across his chest. His fingers were adorned with golden rings, his arms with golden bracelets, and his feet encased in golden sandals. The once fragile-looking undead priest now exuded the commanding aura of an ancient servant of a death god.

“Blessed be the Dungeon’s Heart, for she has bestowed upon me the material I need to craft gear and trinkets of every kind,” Khenemhotep replied. “But behold, the gold is too much, with nothing else to be found.”

[My apologies. Gold is the only material I am able to transmute.]

“The Dungeon’s Heart need not apologize, for she has done more than enough. I am truly grateful for her kindness in granting even my selfish desires.”

Viktor’s eyes traveled over the various items of many different shapes and sizes on Khenemhotep’s body. “So, sand isn’t the only thing you can manipulate, but metal as well?”

“Verily. But it is just a trick of the hand. All I can make are trifling trinkets to adorn myself. It is not the kind of gift that could help in true combat.”

A pity, Viktor thought. He had seen someone use gold manipulation to fight, and it was deadly.

“Anyway,” he said. “How are you finding the floor I’ve assigned to you?”

Khenemhotep’s posture straightened, and he gave a respectful bow. “It serves me well, Sovereign of the Dungeon. I am deeply grateful, for the Dungeon’s Heart has provided everything I need. The troglodytes have done their part, and the ladies you sent are of great assistance.”

“That’s good to hear,” Viktor said. He had been unsure whether those strange spider-women would fit into what the undead priest had envisioned for his kingdom of sand, but it seemed he had found some use for them after all.

“Master,” Sebekton said. “We’ve met Kazyk outside. He and his men were assembling what appeared to be a giant crossbow...”

“A ballista,” Viktor corrected him. “I tasked him with building it some time ago, and it’s finally completed. I’m going to test it today, and I want you both there to see it.”

Their presence wasn’t strictly necessary, of course, as he didn’t really need their input on the matter. He doubted that they had much to offer in terms of technical advice on the operation of a siege weapon. But there was a reason why he had called them here. He wanted to give his top lieutenants an opportunity to interact and get to know each other.

“This is the first time you’ve seen Kazyk, right, High Priest?” Viktor asked, turning to Khenemhotep. “How do you find him?”

“Behold, the master builder of the Sovereign,” the undead priest said, spreading out his arms dramatically. “I found him to be a man of curious mind and diligent spirit. I have always admired those who create with wisdom and skill. I am truly glad at the thought of working alongside him in the days ahead.”

“Good,” Viktor said with a nod. “Let’s head outside then, gentlemen. I believe he’s finished his final adjustments.”

He strode forward, opened the door, and the familiar sights of the water realm unfolded before him. As his gaze fell upon the beach, however, his steps faltered. The last time he had stood here was also the last time he had seen Fianna. Now, she was gone. No sign of the mermaid could be found anywhere on this empty shore.

“Master.” A cackling voice interrupted his thoughts, snapping him back to the present.

He turned and found a small, wiry creature flashing a toothy grin at him. “Kazyk, it’s good to see you again. Has everything been finished?”

“Yes, Master. The final touches are done. We can start whenever—” The gremlin paused, eyes widening as he stared at something behind Viktor. “Oh! I didn’t expect Lady Celeste to go out here as well.”

Viktor turned slightly, glancing over his shoulder. Celeste’s crystalline form had just emerged through the doorway. She hovered forward slowly, without a sound, blue light pulsing from within her, rippling in rhythmic waves across her many surfaces.

“I didn’t know she could move,” Sebekton said.

“Of course she can,” Viktor said with a chuckle. “How else do you think she got from the old Core Room to this one?”

No, not by teleportation. Celeste could teleport him and his minions around, but not herself.

Normally, the Dungeon Core never left her room, for obvious reasons. After all, she had to remain in the safest part of the dungeon. Since she could communicate telepathically with everyone anyway, there was no need for her to go anywhere. But today, he had a specific task that required her presence on this beach.

He walked toward the colossal siege weapon, its frame large enough to dwarf even Sebekton’s imposing body. The ballista’s thick wooden beams were reinforced with bands of iron, and large gears and pulleys could be seen nestled within the framework. Surrounding the massive contraption stood Kazyk’s crew. Other than his own underlings, there were also a dozen gnolls and goblins to help out.

“To draw the wooden arms back, you need to rotate these,” the gremlin said, pointing at the large wheels on the side of the ballista. “Four gnolls can pull together at once, but even with their combined strength, it’ll still take quite a while to fully retract it.”

“Or we can just ask Sebekton,” Viktor said, turning to the Crocodilian.

“Gladly,” the towering Guardian said with a grin, cracking his knuckles with a loud pop.

The minions quickly stepped aside to make way for Sebekton, who marched forward and seized one of the wheels. As he turned it, the gears on the siege weapon began to spin, and the wooden limbs slowly drew back, ready to take aim at the distant horizon. Despite the sheer size and weight of the mechanism, the Crocodilian’s immense strength made the task look almost effortless.

With a loud creak, the ballista’s arms locked into place, fully drawn. “Done,” Sebekton said with a satisfied grunt. “Now, what’s next?”

“Bolt?” Viktor asked.

At Kazyk’s prompt, two gnolls hustled forward, hauling a giant bolt between them, their arms straining under its weight. The projectile was nearly as long as a tree trunk, its shaft thick, its tip gleaming with an iron sheen. With one arm, Sebekton lifted it like it weighed nothing. The gnolls stared with wide eyes as the Guardian casually carried the bolt to the ballista and lowered it into place. “All set,” he announced.

“The ballista’s ready to fire,” Kazyk said. “The release mechanism is very simple. Just pull that lever, Master.”

Viktor gave him a nod. “Good.”

There’s only one task left.

Without waiting for his order, Celeste glided to the side of the ballista, her crystalline body floating just above the sand. Next to her lay a single object.

Clint’s bow.

It was a Reliquary that allowed its wielder to control the trajectory of the arrow it shot toward anything they could see. No need to aim, no need to adjust. As long as their eyes could find the target, the arrow would follow. A perfect weapon for someone like Viktor, who saw everything within his dungeon. There was one problem, though. With this scrawny body, he couldn’t pull a bowstring worth a damn. So he immediately thought of using a crossbow instead. If he couldn’t pull it, he just needed to build something that could. But then another idea dawned on him. Why stop at a normal crossbow? Why not a crossbow the size of a house?

[It is done, Master. I have transferred the power from the bow to the ballista.]

“Thank you,” Viktor said as he reached for the lever. Theoretically, this should work. But theory meant nothing until it was tested. He would never know for sure until he actually gave it a try.

His hand closed around the lever. And he pulled.

The release was thunderous. The ballista shuddered as its arms snapped forward, and the massive bolt tore into the sky in a blinding blur of motion. The gremlins, gnolls, and goblins all cheered at the successful launch, but for Viktor, this was not a moment for celebration.

He closed his eyes and sent his vision forward. It felt as if he were flying with the bolt, closely trailing it as it streaked ahead at unbelievable speed. He guided it toward the other entrance of the water realm. Once it passed the threshold, he curved its flight upward into a spiraling ascent. When the projectile reached the arena with the Cyclopes, he steered it through the hidden passage Bjorn’s party had once taken, as there was no way it could pass through the narrow maze without slamming itself into the walls. Then he redirected it again, sending it up the staircase to the first floor. The labyrinth here was a bit tricky, but manageable. He just needed to make sure he didn’t accidentally hit the walls, ceilings, floors, or anyone, be they adventurers or his own minions.

Let’s see whether it can reach the dungeon’s entrance.

Finally, as the bolt soared through the last hallway, the entry came into view, the very same archway everyone had to cross in order to reach his domain.

He could see it now. So close. Just a little more.

But then—movement.

From the outside, a group of adventurers stepped through the threshold. And the bolt rammed squarely into the chest of the man in the front.

“Kai, noooooooooo—!”

An ear-splitting scream rang through his head, before he cut it off by opening his eyes. He found himself back at the third floor, surrounded by his minions, who were all staring at him in anticipation.

“How was it, Master?” Kazyk asked.

Viktor shrugged. “I’ve just killed an adventurer on the first floor.”

There was a brief stunned silence, then the crowd erupted into cheers. Kazyk jumped into the air with a wild laugh. The goblins and gremlins bounced around like a bunch of overexcited children, while the gnolls threw back their heads and howled at the sky. Even Sebekton let out a low chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief.

Calling the test a success would be an understatement. The bolt had traveled from the third floor to the first, evading all obstacles, and hit a target at the furthest point he could possibly reach. It was a result that exceeded all expectations.

To that unlucky man, though. Oops! My bad.

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Chapter 59: The Hunted

There they are, Celeste. Those are Dagnar and Brynhildr, Viktor told his Dungeon Core, his eyes locked on them, not straying for even a second.

[I see them perfectly, Master. From now on, I will pay special attention to them whenever they show up in our dungeon.]

The woman looked the same as she had the last time he saw her. Her long hair was bound in a heavy braid that hung down her back. A brown, sleeveless tabard sat over her plate, while mail covered her arms. Her left hand rested on the pommel of the broadsword at her hip. Was she planning to head out after eating, or was she simply always this alert, even when she was inside an inn?

The gaunt young man was probably wearing different clothes today, but Viktor didn’t care enough to notice such trivial details. It made no difference anyway. He always looked like he had just been dug out of a grave, no matter what he wore. His skin was still as pale as bone, his eyes sunken deep, and his movements sluggish. Viktor hadn’t heard him speak yet, since his so-called “aunt” always handled the talking whenever they had to deal with others, but he imagined this sickly-looking man had the same raspy voice as a certain mummy he knew.

They made their way to a table in the far corner, half-swallowed by shadow, and far away from the hearth and the music. Brynhildr raised her mailed hand to wave down a passing waitress, while Dagnar stared into the table as if it were whispering to him.

Once the waitress walked off with their order, the warrior woman leaned back in her chair, but there was no ease in her posture. Her gaze moved restlessly around the hall, scanning the dark corners, then darting to the exit. Was she expecting enemies to be lurking in the shadows? And she was mapping an escape route just in case? Viktor wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.

In a way, she’s the same as Dagnar, just more calm and collected. They’re being hunted by someone, or something.

[What would that be, I wonder?]

I doubt we can just walk over and ask them. We’ll need to find out another way.

“You’re paying a lot of attention to those two people.”

Viktor turned and found Azran glancing his way. “I am. They look... unusual, don’t you agree? Very different from the other adventurers,” he said with a shrug.

The bald man studied them for a moment, then he nodded. “Indeed.”

“Which rank do you think they are?” Viktor asked. “Bronze, Iron, Silver, or Gold?”

Azran shook his head. “You can’t tell people’s rank just by looking at them.”

“Just take a guess.” Viktor grinned. “Come on! What’s the harm? You’re a Gold. I want to hear your input.”

The bald man snorted. He raised his mug and took a long slurp, eyes narrowing as they locked onto the pair. Then, he slowly set the mug down and said, “The woman is at least Silver. Maybe Gold, or even higher. She has the eyes of someone who has killed. Many, actually. I wouldn’t want to fight her if I could avoid it.”

Viktor nodded. He found this kind of insight useful. While he could tell Brynhildr was far stronger than most adventurers in Daelin, gauging how much stronger was difficult for him, at least until she actually crossed blades with his minions in the dungeon. After all, despite his current body, he still viewed the world through the eyes of the man who had once conquered it. The number of people he had ever looked at and thought, “I wouldn’t want to fight them if I could avoid it,” could be counted on one hand.

“And the man?”

“He’s even harder to read,” Azran said, furrowing his brow. “Honestly, he doesn’t look like an adventurer at all. So Bronze, maybe. But there’s something about him that feels... off. Makes me uneasy. If I ever had to fight him, I would go for the kill immediately. No hesitation. Before he had the chance to pull any tricks.”

Well, yes. After all, that was someone who was holding a fragment of his power, his Thaumaturgy. Though he was not sure what “a fragment” actually meant in practice, since Thaumaturgy was not a fixed set of abilities. It was a path, a way for him to get stronger over time, gaining more and more power. The Six Heroes had stolen it from him and divided it among themselves, but what did that mean exactly? Did they progress more slowly, or was there an upper limit to their progression? And most importantly, did they have access to the Supreme Thauma? It would have been a serious issue if they had, as those were the pinnacle techniques he had created himself to make the whole world bend their knees.

So, could Dagnar use them? One of them? All of them? How many times per day? Those were critical questions that, right now, Viktor had no answers to. Not until Dagnar was tested in real combat.

“Both of them are Bronze, actually,” he told Azran.

“What?”

“In fact, they weren’t even adventurers before their arrival in Daelin. They came here and registered at the Guild to obtain their rank last week.”

Azran shook his head. “That’s strange.”

“What’s strange? Not every adventurer starts out when they’re young. Some may have had different jobs before giving adventuring a try later on.”

“If you have a job in a city and decide to quit it to become an adventurer, would you register at the Guild there, or would you travel somewhere else to do so? Especially here, in a small town in the middle of nowhere?”

“Maybe,” Viktor replied with a shrug. “They’ve been wandering around, entertaining the idea but haven’t committed yet. It was only after they got here that they made up their minds. Perhaps the newly discovered dungeon gave them the final nudge.”

Or maybe they were just trying to keep a low profile. That would make sense if they were indeed being hunted.

“Perhaps,” Azran said. “But if that’s the case, it still lines up with what I said. The woman must have lived a life full of fighting before she came here. A soldier, or a mercenary, in service to a lord, or even a king. The man, though, I still can’t figure out where to place him.”

The waitress returned, placing two plates of food before Dagnar and Brynhildr. The woman smiled and thanked her, while the man said nothing at all. When she turned to leave, however, he shot a sneaky glance at her bottom.

Brynhildr picked up her knife and fork. She cut her food cleanly, then brought each piece to her mouth one by one, chewing slowly. Her back stayed straight. Her shoulders never slouch. She ate with the composure and grace of a noblewoman at a royal banquet.

Dagnar, in stark contrast, hunched over his plate as if he were about to dive into it. At first, he made an effort to mimic Brynhildr, awkwardly using the knife to cut his food. But that didn’t last. He quickly gave up, tossed the utensil aside, and grabbed the meat with his bare hands. He shoved it into his mouth, chewing noisily with his cheeks full, sauce leaking from the corners of his lips. Once finished, he ran his tongue along his fingers, licking off the grease.

Azran frowned. “That’s just sad.”

“Yeah,” Viktor agreed. “But the woman, on the other hand... I didn’t expect her to have such good table manners.”

The bald man nodded. “That’s someone who is accustomed to feasting in a palace, not a barracks. She’s no ordinary soldier. Whatever organization she belonged to, she’s got to be high-ranking. An officer, maybe even a general.”

“Do you think she has a Reliquary?”

“Doubt it. While it’s possible that she was issued one by her lord, at the end of the day, it’s his, not hers. She would have to return it once her service was over,” Azran replied. “Unless she stole it, of course.”

Well, if she did steal from her former employer, that would explain why they were being hunted.

“If she kept the artifact, it would definitely give her a strong head start in her new adventuring career,” Viktor said.

Azran let out a chuckle. “Kid, if I quit my cushy job by stealing some valuable item from my boss, I would have sold the damn thing and enjoyed my retirement. Why the hell would I be out here playing adventurer?”

That’s true, Viktor admitted. There were two types of people who became adventurers: those who sought riches and those who sought fame. And someone who had just stolen a Reliquary from her lord was neither. Right, Celeste?

[Master, there is another reason as well. You yourself began delving into dungeons without seeking either of those, did you not?]

*Well, that was because I wanted to train my Thaumatur—*then the realization struck. Oh, that’s why.

If the man was being hunted by someone, while being too weak to fight back, yet possessing the perfect tool to increase his power, of course he would hide in a secluded corner and train in secret. That made perfect sense.

But that also meant Viktor had to act quickly. He knew better than anyone else how dangerous his power could be, and he couldn’t afford to give Dagnar the time to grow stronger. He needed to eliminate him, fast.

“Those two,” Azran said. “They couldn’t be more different. There’s a huge gap between them. Age, strength, personality. How they ended up traveling together as a pair is beyond me.”

“I heard that they’re aunt and nephew.”

“Really?” The bald man blinked in surprise. “They look nothing alike. And if that’s the case, why didn’t she teach him some manners?”

Well, because they’re not actually related. The woman is just a bodyguard—

Wait.

Viktor had assumed that Dagnar was of royal blood, while Brynhildr was merely a mercenary hired to protect him. However, their behavior told a totally different story, with the woman carrying herself with grace, while the man acted like a peasant.

He let out a sigh. As one question found its answer, another promptly emerged.

[What are you going to do now, Master?]

Well, I think we’ve reached the limit of what we can learn by just observing them. It’s time to move on to the next step.

[Which is?]

Breaking into their rooms, of course.

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Chapter 58: Purpose

[They are lodging at this place, Master?]

“Yes, here. The Emberwood Inn.” Viktor snorted. “Apparently, all of our major enemies wind up here.”

That much was true. Lamia and Azran had stayed here, as had Bjorn and his party. And now, Dagnar and Brynhildr were following suit. Even though it might look like a pattern, the truth was actually very simple. This was the best inn Daelin had to offer, so naturally, anyone with coin to spare would choose it over the other bug-infested holes in the town.

He stood before the settlement, studying its exterior, and so did Celeste, who was seeing through his eyes. This building had always stood out from the surrounding blocks, but now the owner had decided to take it to even another level. The old wooden sign had been taken down, replaced with silver-coated iron. Lanterns filled with high-grade oil from the South burned continuously, regardless of the hour of the day. He had also caught word of the plan to rework the stone steps and install a new door made of fresh-cut oak. It was clear the inn was trying to capitalize on the opportunity his dungeon had created, taking full advantage of the endless stream of newcomers flooding into the town.

“Let’s go in,” Viktor said. Winter wasn’t quite here yet, but its breath was already seeping into the streets of Daelin. There was no reason to stay outside too long.

As he opened the door, a wave of warmth immediately rushed out to greet him. Inside, everything was the same as it had been before. A young bard, dressed in colorful garb, stood in the center of the hall, singing and playing his lute, while the crowd feasted, drank, and sang along.

Cedric and Fiora might be here as well. After all, the boy had told him that they frequently had lunch at this inn, as the girl loved listening to the bard’s music. So he scanned the room, looking for the couple. And when he spotted them, he found them sitting at the same table with—

Azran!?

[This is... unexpected.]

It seemed even Celeste was caught off guard by the development. That was strange, indeed. Two fledgling adventurers, only a few years older than him, sat with a man well into his forties, who was a Gold and a Dungeon Reaver. What could they possibly be talking about?

[What will you do, Master?]

Viktor shrugged. “Just walk up and say hi. Why not? They’re all my acquaintances, after all.”

When Cedric saw him making his way across the hall, the black-haired boy’s face lit up with a grin. He waved his hand enthusiastically. “Hey, Quinn! Over here!”

Viktor stopped at their table, flashing a smile. “I didn’t expect to see you all together.”

“Well,” Cedric said, eyes sparkling, “once I learned from you that he was a Gold-ranked adventurer, I knew I had to talk to him. I mean, how often do you get to see a Gold? So, when I saw him today, I immediately came over with Fiora. We’re hoping he’ll share some stories of his exploits.”

I see, Viktor thought. It made sense, in a way. However, considering Azran’s actual profession, he highly doubted the bald man would be interested in talking about it. Not to mention, Azran never struck him as the most talkative person.

He glanced at the Dungeon Reaver, who looked... indifferent. Not upset, not happy, just uninterested. The man leaned back in his chair, hands resting on the edge of his mug, his gaze drifting aimlessly across the room. Viktor couldn’t help but wonder if he even listened to what Cedric said.

Then he turned to Fiora. The auburn-haired girl had her cheek resting on her hand, elbow on the table, fingers tapping absently as Cedric spoke. Every now and then, she gave a stiff smile whenever the boy looked her way.

[It seems Cedric is the only one having a good time here.]

Yeah, Viktor replied. Even though he couldn’t exactly read minds, the situation was pretty clear. For Azran, he was being bothered by two random kids during his drinking time, who asked pointless questions he didn’t care to answer. For Fiora, she was stuck at a table with a stranger triple her age, while her boyfriend barely paid her any attention.

“Cedric,” Viktor said. “I think your mother is looking for you.”

The boy’s smile instantly vanished. “She is?”

“Actually, I’m not sure,” Viktor replied with a shrug. “But I think you should go to the Guild and check, just in case.”

For a moment, Cedric looked torn between staying and leaving. He glanced toward Fiora, who immediately gave him a firm nod. Viktor didn’t miss the subtle relief in her eyes.

The black-haired boy stood from his chair and turned to Azran, offering a slight bow. “Thanks for your time,” he said. “I have to go now, but I hope we get to talk again soon.”

Azran barely tilted his head in response. Then, Cedric left without delay, with Fiora following close behind. Once the inn’s doors closed behind them, the bald man let out a long, audible sigh. He must have been waiting for them to leave on their own for ages.

“If you don’t want them around,” Viktor said as he dropped into the seat Cedric had just vacated, “just tell them so.”

Azran didn’t answer right away. He lifted his mug and took a slow swig of wine. “That would seem... rude.”

“I thought you had no problem telling people to ‘fuck off.’”

“That was different.” The bald man snorted. “Besides, a kid like you shouldn’t be using that word.”

“Then an adult like you shouldn’t say that word in front of a kid.”

Azran chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. He took another swig. “I thought if I told him one story, he’d be satisfied and leave. But no, he was hungry for more.”

So you did actually tell him a story? Viktor couldn’t help but suppress a grin. This man was much softer than his appearance suggested. However, that was the wrong approach. If you fed a stray dog once, it would keep coming back. If you didn’t want it to, you had to make it clear from the start.

“Anyway, what are you doing in Daelin?” he asked. “Are you going to enter the dungeon?”

Once again, Azran didn’t reply immediately. His gaze wandered across the hall before he finally said, “I... don’t know.”

Viktor raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know?”

What does that even mean, Celeste?

Each time he met Azran, the man felt less and less like a threat. Still, he remained puzzled by his motive. What was he after, exactly? Bjorn’s group believed he was tailing them, waiting for the moment they emerged from the dungeon with the Core, so that he could ambush them and steal it. Was that really his plan? Though Viktor couldn’t confirm if Azran had actually been lurking outside that day, he had to realize by now that Bjorn and the others were not coming back. So why was he still here? Sitting in an inn and drinking all day didn’t make any sense. He should have either given up or left to gather allies for another invasion.

I don’t get it, Celeste. I don’t see the logic in any of this.

[Maybe it is not logic that drives his action.]

Hah. A Dungeon Core suggesting logic isn’t the reason? Now that’s rich.

[Because humans are not Dungeon Cores, Master. Not everything they do is optimal.]

True enough. If that were the case, then he might try to look at it from a different angle. What mattered the most to Azran?

That was...

Lahmia?

Yes. From Azran’s reaction the last time Viktor saw him, and from the way Clint had taunted him, it was clear she had been important to the bald man. Maybe romantically, maybe not. Nevertheless, the fact remained that he was devastated by her death. Maybe that was why Viktor couldn’t make sense of Azran’s actions. He couldn’t find out the motive because there was simply no motive. There was no plan, no scheme. Just a broken man who had lost his purpose. He had wandered since, and eventually ended up back here, the place where she died. To Viktor, that sounded irrational. Pathetic, even. But hey, he knew someone who had tried to kill herself after losing her loved one. In light of that, what Azran did seemed a lot healthier by comparison.

“I... don’t know what I’m doing anymore,” the bald man muttered, his words coming out slowly. “But whatever it is I’m trying to do, I need a party. And I don’t know if I can get one.”

Viktor chuckled. “You’re a Gold. Just stand in the Guild hall and shout, ‘Who wants to form a party with me?’ and watch people flock to you.”

“I can’t do that,” Azran said with a frown. “Besides, I can’t work with people I don’t know.”

“And how are you supposed to know people if you don’t work with them?”

“Well,” Azran replied. “At least they should be someone I’ve actually spoken to. And I haven’t talked to any other adventurer here. Clint doesn’t count, of course.”

“You’ve just talked to two. Yeah, that’s right. Cedric will probably do cartwheels if you offer to join his party,” Viktor said with a grin. On the other hand, Fiora probably wouldn’t be as thrilled.

“I don’t think it’ll work out,” Azran said, furrowing his brow.

“How can you know that if you don’t even try? Just give it a shot for a couple of weeks. If it doesn’t suit you, then say your goodbyes and leave.”

“Are there any other members in that party? If it’s just me and a bunch of kids, it’ll look pretty weird.”

“There’s another boy around the same age as them, and a gnoll,” Viktor replied. He wasn’t sure how old Noi’ri was, but probably middle-aged in human terms. “If you have an issue with being in the same party as a gnoll, then we’ll need to look for a different option.”

“A gnoll, huh? A bit unusual, but not really a problem. I might actually get along with him better than with most people.” Azran shrugged. “But how do I approach them? An older man just walking up and asking to join their party... it just seems awkward.”

“Here’s the trick, you don’t.” Viktor flashed a grin. “I’ll give Cedric the idea to ask you to join his party. Heck, you can even play hard to get. Reject him a couple of times, while I keep telling him not to give up.”

[You are enjoying this, aren’t you, Master?]

Of course I am, Viktor replied. He couldn’t wait to see how this drama unfolded.

Azran narrowed his eyes as he glanced at Viktor. “How old are you?”

“Twelve. Turning thirteen next week. Why do you ask?”

“You seem a lot more mature than you look,” the bald man said, turning away as he took a sip from his mug.

Viktor shrugged. “Many people say that.”

The bald man didn’t press further.

The two of them sat in silence. Azran drank quietly, while Viktor leaned back in his chair, fingers drumming on the table to the rhythm of the bard’s song as his eyes drifted across the room. His targets weren’t here yet, but they would be, soon.

Then came a creak from the stairs, and his gaze snapped in that direction. Two adventurers were descending from the upper floor. A tall, blonde-haired woman in a brown tabard and a sickly-looking young man.

There they are, Celeste. Those are Dagnar and Brynhildr.

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Chapter 57: The High Priest of the Sands

Undead.

Reanimated corpses that had been raised by dark magic. Their appearance varied, depending on the level of decomposition, with some being nothing but bleached, brittle bones, while others could look more “fresh.” Such superficial details didn’t matter much, though. They were all the same, mindless puppets dancing on the strings of their master. Viktor had heard of more intelligent undead before, but he had never encountered one. Until now.

“Well then, High Priest. Welcome to my dungeon,” he said. “I have to say that I’m unfamiliar with your title, however. It sounds impressive, yes, but what does it mean exactly?”

Khenemhotep’s voice was a dry rasp, as if his own desiccated body were being scraped against the stone. “I am but a humble servant of the Bearded God, the Sovereign over the realm of the dead. Together with my brethren, I serve as an intermediary between this world and the next. We minister to the dying with sacred rites, and prepare their souls for the journey that lies ahead, into the life everlasting.”

“That sounds priest-like enough. But where does the ‘sands’ part come from?”

“In the land where I once lived, the deserts were vast and without end, and that was where we laid our dead to rest. Great tombs were raised from the sands to house the bodies of those who had departed. But these tombs were more than just graves, for they were also gateways to the afterlife. And it was our duty, as priests, to inscribe sacred texts into their walls, so the souls of the dead could find their way, and be guided to the realm of the Bearded God.”

“Interesting,” Viktor said. “But you’re an undead, right? How do you fit into all of that?”

“You are right to inquire,” Khenemhotep replied with a solemn nod. “The path to the afterlife is not an easy one. In the realm beyond lie many gates and doors, each guarded by a host of lesser gods, a thousand in number. Every soul must give an account and complete the task required of it, before it can pass through. Once these trials have been completed, the soul will be brought to the Hall of the Bearded God, to face His judgment. There, it will be weighed on the Scale of Truth, to discern whether sin still clings to it. Those found unworthy will be cast into oblivion and swallowed by the void, but those found pure will be led into the Garden of Peace, where a second, eternal life awaits. Yet hear this also, for there is a third fate...”

Viktor chuckled. “And it’s to become an undead?”

“When I walked among the living,” the mummy continued, “I served the Bearded God with a faithful heart and a steady hand. I inscribed His sacred words into countless stones, and led kings and beggars alike into the stillness of death. And when the time of my own departing drew near, my brethren prepared my body and laid me to rest among the very scriptures my hands had carved. Then, I went through the realm of the dead, completing every task laid before me. At last, I stood before the throne of the Bearded God, and my soul was weighed on the Scale of Truth. It was found worthy, and my Lord welcomed me into the Garden of Peace. Yet He spoke once more, saying: ‘Do you seek peace for yourself, or will you remain in My service, even beyond death?’ I chose the path of duty, and so I was returned to this vessel of dust, to guide both the living and the dead, until the end of all days.”

“But if that’s the case,” Viktor asked, “then why are you here? Shouldn’t you remain in your world to continue your duty?”

Khenemhotep didn’t answer. His two glowing green orbs lowered as he let out a sound like a sigh, if such a thing were even possible for someone who no longer breathed. “It is a long story. But if you wish to listen, I shall tell it.”

“Let me guess. If I agree to make you my Guardian, then you will make me hear it eventually anyway, right?”

“If it be so.”

“Then it doesn’t have to be now,” Viktor said. “Let’s talk about your terms. You want ‘everyone to stay awhile and listen to you whenever you tell your stories,’ is it correct? I need to get something straight first. Who’s ‘everyone’ here exactly?”

“Then I, too, have a question. Are you the Sovereign over this dungeon?”

“I am.”

“Then you, the Dungeon’s Heart, and the other Custodians will be enough,” said Khenemhotep as his gaze of green swept over him, Celeste, and Sebekton. “Yet I shall not be displeased with a greater gathering.”

“Works for me,” Viktor said, glancing over at the Crocodilian, who gave a firm nod. “The request itself is acceptable, but the timing could be an issue. We might be busy with other stuff, and you can’t seriously expect us to immediately drop what we’re doing just to listen to your stories.”

“It need not be immediate. If you, or any among you, cannot offer your time at once, then simply let me know when you are ready.”

“Then there’s no problem,” Viktor said. “But how often do you want to tell your stories? And how long are they?”

Khenemhotep thought for a moment, then said, “Let it be known that no one will be compelled to listen to my stories for more than a single hour in any given week.”

“If that’s the case, I agree to those terms. But before I can accept you as my new Guardian, I need to know what you bring to the table.”

“As a servant of the Bearded God, I have been graced with many of His gifts. I am able to commune with the dead, to travel to the realms beyond, and to guide the souls of the dying on their journey. Yet, I perceive you want to know about my strength in combat. To that, I say: I possess the power to raise the dead, to call forth warriors from the dust, to stand as eternal sentinels of your dungeon.”

“Seems like a contradiction, doesn’t it?” Viktor asked with a chuckle. “You said you took care of the dead and helped them prepare for the afterlife. But you also raise their corpses to serve you as your puppets?”

“Let me give answer, Sovereign of the Dungeon,” Khenemhotep replied. “Our people regarded the tombs as sanctuaries for the departed, and it was our tradition to leave offerings with their bodies. These offerings were the belongings of the dead, supplies for their journey, and gifts to the gods. Yet, behold, such a custom brought with it a great dilemma.”

“Grave robbers?”

“Verily, there were those whose greed drove them to desecrate the resting places of the dead. It became another duty of ours, as priests, to protect those sanctuaries and bring judgment upon those who committed such sacrilege. When we built these tombs, we not only inscribed sacred texts but also set deadly traps for those who would seek to plunder. Then, we raised the bodies of the transgressors and made them stand as sentinels of the very tombs they had tried to defile, an eternal atonement for their sins.”

“Perfect. I’ve got no shortage of corpses from those who’ve tried to raid my dungeon. I’m sure you’ll find a use for them,” Viktor said. “But... is raising undead your only trick, or do you have any other power?”

“The power to command the sand has also been granted to me. I am able to shape the dust of the earth, to mold it according to my will. With a single word, I can make the ground betray my enemies, and quicksand will rise beneath their feet to swallow them whole. Or I can summon a great storm of sand to surround them, so that they will be blinded, scattered, and undone.”

“Sand, huh?” Viktor turned to Celeste. “You can create that kind of terrain with Domain of Earth, right?”

[Yes, Master.]

Looked like both matters of the new Guardian and the new Domain had been settled.

“Any question, Sebekton?” he asked.

“I have one,” the Crocodilian said, turning to Khenemhotep. “High Priest, from what you’ve said, your duty is to guide the souls of the dead to your god’s realm. You’ve killed, yes, but only those who have committed sacrilege. But in this dungeon, the enemies you’ll face are not such sinners. Can you still kill without doubt? Can you serve my master as faithfully as you serve the Bearded God?”

Good questions, Viktor thought. He glanced at the undead priest and added, “In case you haven’t known yet, the souls of the intruders killed in this dungeon are consumed by the Dungeon Core and turned into mana. I’m not sure if it’s quite the same as being cast into oblivion, but I’m certain they’ll never reach the Garden of Peace.”

For a brief moment, he thought he saw sadness in Khenemhotep’s glowing eyes. The mummy shook his head slowly. “I have fulfilled all that has been demanded of me by the Bearded God. From this moment on, the path I walk is my own.” He turned to Viktor, two green orbs locked onto his eyes. “Sovereign of the Dungeon, I vow solemnly, that if you do accept me, I shall serve you as I served my Lord. This dungeon will be sacred ground to me, and anyone who transgresses against you will be struck down by my righteous wrath.”

“Very well. Then it’s settled,” Viktor said. “I am the Master of this Dungeon, and this is Celeste, my Dungeon Core. We accept you, Khenemhotep, High Priest of the Sands, as our Guardian. From now on, we rely on you to protect our stronghold.”

“And I, Khenemhotep, servant of the Bearded God, do hereby accept this covenant. I shall stand as a Custodian of this dungeon, and I shall suffer no one to defile or trespass within its walls. By the sacred sands that gave me form, and by the holy scriptures I carved into stone, I do swear this oath.”

“Welcome aboard.” Sebekton grinned at his new colleague, thumping his chestplate in greeting. “Looking forward to seeing what you can do, High Priest.”

Khenemhotep inclined his head in a formal bow. “And likewise to you, warrior of scales.”

“Celeste,” Viktor said. “I choose the Domain of Earth.”

[Understood.]

 

>> Domain of Earth has been chosen.

>> Unlocking Domain of Earth...

>> Domain of Earth has been unlocked. 

>> The following skills have been modified:

- Shape Terrain: The ability to modify the dungeon to create all types of terrain and traps associated with the Domain of Earth has been added.

- Summon Lesser Minions: Upgraded from LV6 to LV7. Troglodytes have been added to the summoning options.

>> New skills have been acquired:

- Summon Earth Minions LV1

>> Minion capacity increases by 80.

Start | Previous | Next

Chapter 56: Mommy

“She stood there, high and mighty, scanning the crowd with her cold, piercing eyes like an ice queen, but then...” Viktor’s words trailed off as he couldn’t contain himself anymore and broke into uncontrollable laughter. “But then... when she spotted her son, she immediately strode over, wrapped her arms around him, and gave him a tight hug. Right in front of, like, half the town.”

Sebekton guffawed, his laughter booming like a thunderclap. “Poor guy,” he said as he clutched his stomach, still laughing hard, his shoulders heaving with each burst. “I bet he was hoping the ground would open up and swallow him whole.”

“Yes, Cedric looked like he was about to die from embarrassment right there,” Viktor said, recalling the boy’s reaction as he wiped a tear from his eye.

“Cedric, was it?” Sebekton asked, trying to suppress another laugh. “That’s the lad with the sword and shield who led the charge into our ranks to save that blonde-haired woman, right, Master? I was preoccupied with the gnoll, so I didn’t really pay much attention to him. But he looked like a fine warrior.”

“He is,” Viktor agreed. “Cedric, and his companions, are much more capable than their appearances suggest. What they lack is experience, and they’re gaining it very quickly.”

“Can’t wait to cross blades with them again,” the Crocodilian said, a predatory gleam briefly flashing in his slit-pupiled eyes.

“Yes, you might meet them again someday. But be careful, Sebekton. They might surpass you if they continue to grow at this pace.”

“I always enjoy a good challenge,” the Guardian said with a grin. “Besides, I’m getting stronger as well, thanks to the weapon and equipment you gave me.”

“Speaking of weapon,” Viktor asked. “Celeste told me that you wanted to keep the old ability on your axe.”

“Well, yes. When the blade of my axe is wrapped in that light, it becomes bigger and sharper. It’s a good thing, I’ll admit. But... since it cuts through everything so easily, there is no resistance, no feedback, no weight behind each strike. It feels... off.” Sebekton scratched the bony ridges on top of his head. “It’s like swinging something weightless. Efficient, yes, but too efficient. It makes me uncomfortable. I want the impact. I want to feel my strength clashing against something solid, not just empty air.”

“I see.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” Sebekton said, looking down at his feet. “You just wanted to upgrade my axe, but...”

“It’s fine.” Viktor waved a dismissive hand. “A weapon is only as strong as the hand that wields it. Its power means nothing if it doesn’t suit you.”

Not to mention, that blade of light only stayed active for a short while before flickering out, after which it had to be covered to recharge. Hardly convenient in the middle of a fight. With a sword, one could at least return it to a scabbard. But doing the same with an axe was extremely awkward and impractical.

Viktor shifted his gaze to the metal plate on Sebekton’s chest. “But you have no problem with your armor, right?”

The Crocodilian laughed, thumping the plate with his massive fist. “Of course not. There’s no warrior who wants to turn down good protection.”

“Good.” Viktor nodded, then turned to Celeste. “Well, I think it’s time to get to today’s main event. Is everything ready?”

[Yes, Master. We can begin the summoning process at your command. Would you like to proceed?]

Since the new Guildmaster turned out to be Cedric’s mother, the possibility that she was in cahoots with Clovis was quite low. Not entirely out of the question, but low enough not to warrant pursuing for the time being. That meant he could now focus on the next pressing matter: choosing his second Guardian. He had asked Sebekton to join him so he could weigh in with his opinion. The two would be working together, after all, so it would be best if they got along from the start.

“Yes, let’s get started.”

[Understood. Initiating summoning procedure...]

Just like the last time, a glowing circle began to take shape on the floor. It gradually spread outward until, in a sudden burst, it flared up and flooded the entire room with radiant light.

[A candidate is arriving. His terms are... He wants to be bestowed with as many mutations as possible during his stay.]

“What?”

That was... weird. While he knew that, eventually, he would have the ability to mutate his Guardians, much like he could with the “Mutate Lesser Minion” skill he already had, it was a power that required careful consideration. Not many Guardians were willing to have their bodies changed, and some might even demand a term that explicitly forbade such alterations. Yet here stood someone who actively requested mutations, and not just one, but as many as possible.

As the light faded, the newly summoned candidate came into view. He was a towering man, standing nearly as tall as Sebekton. His thin lips were twisted in a permanent grimace, while his bulging eyes twitched erratically as they scanned the room, jumping from Sebekton to Celeste to Viktor, in that order. His entire body was a canvas of blue ink. Strange tattoos were etched across his clean-shaven scalp, his stern face, his thick neck, his muscle-packed torso, all the way down to his feet. Though clad in little armor, he carried two large axes strapped to his back.

“Are you... my Master?” he asked, staring hard at Viktor as if trying to intimidate him.

Viktor chuckled. This wasn’t the first time someone had tried to play this game, and to be honest, this man’s glare was nothing compared to Nephra’s.

“Maybe,” he said flatly. “I haven’t accepted you yet.”

Realizing that he didn’t flinch, the man bowed. “I am Ma’kruk, at your service.”

“Tell me, Ma’kruk, why do you want mutations?”

“To make me stronger, Master. I seek more power to defeat my enemies once I’m back home.”

“And your enemies are?”

“The Queen of Rot, and her Plague Knights. They’re consuming my world, devouring everything until there’s nothing left. If it were just a matter of strength, then I could manage somehow. But the Rot... it corrupts everything. Even the mightiest warrior will succumb if he is exposed too long. That’s why I need my body to change, to alter, to mutate. So that I can survive its touch.”

Viktor gave a nod. He could see where Ma’kruk was coming from, and in all honesty, the man seemed capable enough and didn’t have any glaring flaws. A bit insolent, perhaps, but that was not really a big deal. However, the real issue here was that he already had a big guy with a big axe. Adding another would just be redundant.

“Thank you for coming here, Ma’kruk,” he said. “You’re strong, no doubt. But I’m looking for someone with a different skill set, and you’re not quite who I need right now.”

The warrior’s jaw clenched slightly, but he nodded. “I understand. Thank you for considering me.”

“Celeste, send him back.”

[Understood.]

The summoning circle beneath Ma’kruk’s feet came to life once more, its blinding light engulfing him completely. When it faded, he was gone.

“A pity,” Sebekton said. “I kind of liked him.”

Viktor turned to Celeste. “That man is huge. Do you think he’s really human, or is he from another species?”

[I think he is a half-giant, Master.]

“I see,” he said. “Anyway, let’s summon the next candidate.”

[Understood. Initiating summoning procedure...]

[A candidate is arriving. Her terms are... She requests the freedom to absorb mana to sustain herself as she pleases. In the way she wants, whenever she wants, wherever she wants.]

Viktor frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

[Her words, not mine, Master.]

The circle bled pink and violet mist that curled across the stone floor, carrying a scent so sweet it turned his stomach. From within the haze stepped a figure: lithe, curving, and disturbingly graceful.

“She looks skinny. I don’t think she’s a warrior. A mage, maybe?”

“That’s a succubus, Sebekton,” Viktor muttered under his breath.

Yes, this candidate was undoubtedly a succubus. Curved horns rose above dark, glossy hair. Eyes glowed with a mesmerizing shade of red. Bat-like wings folded behind her back, while a long, thin tail swayed lazily as she walked. As for her clothing... well, let’s just say that it was almost non-existent, leaving her smooth, pale purple skin on full display.

“Ah,” she purred with a honeyed voice. “So this is the realm I’ve been summoned to—”

“Thank you for coming here, lady. You’re strong, no doubt. But I’m looking for someone with a different skill set, and you’re not quite who I need right now. Celeste, send her back.”

[Understood.]

“Wait, what—” The succubus only managed a few words before the summoning circle’s light swallowed her whole. A few seconds later, the only thing that remained was a faint, nauseatingly sweet scent lingering in the air.

“Master,” Sebekton said. “You haven’t even asked her what she’s capable of, or what she meant by those terms.”

“No need,” Viktor replied with a dry chuckle. “I know exactly what she can do, and exactly what she wants.”

[Master, if you are concerned about her trying to charm you, it is actually not an issue. As my master, you are protected from it, just like you were from the songs of the mermaids.]

Viktor snorted. “Do you really think she needs magic in order to have an effect on me?”

[When you were still an adventurer, did you ever encounter succubi, Master?]

“Yes, a couple of times.”

[And how did you deal with them?]

“Scorching Winds.”

[...]

“What?”

[Master, that is a Supreme Thauma designed to obliterate armies, and you used it against a single succubus?]

“Yes. Your point is?”

“I don’t really follow what you two are on about,” Sebekton chimed in, “but it does sound a bit overkill.”

[Is there... anything left afterward, Master?]

“Charcoal,” Viktor replied. “Enough of this. Let’s find our next candidate.”

That was two thousand mana down the drain. Even though he was willing to repeat the process as many times as needed, an expense was still an expense. He really hoped the next summoning would bring someone he could actually use.

[Initiating summoning procedure...]

[A candidate is arriving. His terms are... He wants everyone to stay awhile and listen to him whenever he tells his stories.]

Viktor blinked. “What?”

Sebekton tilted his head. “Stories? What kind of stories?”

They stared as the light gradually faded, revealing the summoned candidate, who stood motionless in the middle of the circle.

“That is...” Sebekton said slowly. “A corpse?”

“An undead,” Viktor corrected him. “But it looks a bit different from the ones I’ve seen before. What’s up with all those bandages?”

[I believe he is a mummy, Master.]

“Mommy?” Viktor raised an eyebrow.

[Mummy. A type of undead whose body was embalmed and wrapped in layers and layers of linen.]

“That seems... excessive,” Sebekton commented. “All that wrapping must have taken days.”

Viktor studied the undead before him. It was, just as Celeste had said, covered from head to toe in many layers of dusty, tattered bandages. Even its face was partially obscured by the discolored cloth, with some exposed patches revealing ashen, withered skin. Its eyes were closed shut. Was it sleeping, or just, well... dead?

Then, the creature stirred.

Its two hands, which had been folding across its chest, began to move. Its head twitched, and the desiccated eyelids parted, unveiling two glowing green orbs.

“I am... Khenemhotep,” the mummy intoned in a raspy voice. “The High Priest of the Sands.”

Start | Previous | Next

Chapter 55: Guildmaster

“You can see everything here clearly, right?” Viktor whispered as he leaned back in his chair.

[Yes, Master. I can see everything you see. Is this place always this crowded?]

“Well, yes, this is where the adventurers come to eat, drink, and socialize,” Viktor replied. He brought his mug of apple juice to his mouth and took a sip, while his gaze swept across the mess hall to give Celeste a full view of the room. “Of course, usually it’s only packed during lunch and dinner, but today is different. Everyone is loitering around, waiting to catch a glimpse of the new Guildmaster once she gets here.”

He had recently discovered something new about his Dungeon Core’s abilities. As she leveled up, the link between them grew stronger, and with it, the distance they could communicate across also greatly increased. That was why they were able to talk like this, even when he was in town.

Before, while he could see what was going on in the dungeon even when he was at home, there was no real way to contact Celeste directly unless he was physically near the dungeon. If he wanted to get inside, he had to be close enough to call her, and then she would teleport him in.

And even teleportation itself used to be a tricky issue. While entering was not a problem, leaving was a different story. When Celeste teleported him out, she would send him back to the exact same spot where he had been. But she couldn’t see the outside world, so there was always a risk that someone, or something, might be there by the time he arrived. So he had to choose his spot carefully before making the call.

But now? He could just ask her to teleport him directly from his own room. There were no longer any concerns about unwanted surprises when he returned, especially if he chose to come back when Claire was still working at the Guild.

As for the other aspect of their connection—the bit where Celeste could see through his eyes—it had always been there, but it had been of little use when the range was so short. Now, however, he could relay information to her much more quickly and easily. Very convenient, indeed.

“It’s a shame Dagnar and Brynhildr aren’t here today. I could’ve shown you what they look like.”

Over the past few days, he had tried to gather more information about his targets, but all he could find were their names and a few passing details. The sickly-looking man—the Key Holder—was Dagnar, while Brynhildr was his companion, who also happened to be his aunt.

[Yes, if I know their appearance, I will be ready to act the instant they set foot in the dungeon. Master, do you want me to attack them with everything I have got?]

Viktor shook his head. “No, making a move on them before we get the full picture is unwise. In fact, I want you to go easy on them, so they’re more likely to return to the dungeon again and again.”

[Understood.]

Everything about those two adventurers was shrouded in mystery. First of all, if Dagnar indeed held a fragment of his power and was descended from the Six Heroes, then it was very likely he belonged to one of the royal families that ruled the world’s mightiest kingdoms. So why was he here, with only one guard? Yes, a guard. Viktor didn’t believe the story about Brynhildr being Dagnar’s aunt for even a second. It felt like just an excuse to explain why they were traveling together. Nevertheless, why? If the man were truly royalty, he shouldn’t be wandering around like just another lowly adventurer.

Viktor’s original plan was to make Celeste grow as quickly as possible. Only once he had established a powerful enough stronghold would he turn his attention to the six targets. Because he knew luring them here would not be easy. After all, they were either reigning monarchs or heirs to such thrones. He never could have imagined one would show up so soon, just two months after his dungeon emerged. Now, he was at a loss for what to do. Of course, attempting to kill Dagnar right away was an option, but the strangeness of the situation made him cautious.

They both had Brefjordian names, and while the man didn’t exactly look the part, the woman was unmistakably Northern to the bone. They arrived in Daelin shortly after his dungeon was attacked by a powerful warrior from the North, who was apparently working under the orders of a queen. Was this all really just a coincidence?

Well, maybe. The Northmen were fierce warriors, while their land was poor, so it was not unusual for them to roam the world, selling their services to anyone willing to pay.

[I wonder which kingdom they come from.]

“Brefjord seems obvious, so it’s probably not that,” Viktor replied. “I believe that their identities are fabricated, and their names are fake. Those two were not actually related. Brynhildr is just a mercenary hired to be Dagnar’s bodyguard.”

[There are so many things we still don’t know.]

“Agreed.” Viktor nodded as he took another sip from his mug. “I need to get closer to them and gather as much information as I can.”

There was someone who had just entered the mess hall, someone he knew all too well. She scanned the room, her eyes sweeping over the groups of adventurers, before finally landing on him. She immediately made her way toward his table, her two long, thick pigtails bouncing with every step.

“There is no—”

“I already ate,” she said before he could finish his sentence. Then, she gave him a smug grin, while her eyes gleamed with triumph, as if she had just won some sort of competition.

In response, he quickly raised his mug to his mouth and took a very loud gulp, finishing all that was left in one go.

“Why did you act like I was about to steal your drink?” Alycia said, furrowing her brow.

He shrugged. “It’s better to be safe than to be sorry.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she said as she dropped into the chair beside him. “Anyway, Jeanne has just been evicted.”

“What?” Viktor frowned at the news that came out of absolute nowhere. “What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly that,” Alycia replied. “She couldn’t pay the rent this month, so her landlord kicked her out.”

He recalled that Jeanne had been paid handsomely for helping Alycia’s party get through the maze on the second floor of his dungeon, but that was quite a while ago. If she couldn’t find new work, then even that money would eventually dry up.

“And you know that because?”

“Oh, I just happened to be passing by when it went down,” Alycia said nonchalantly. “By the way, she asked me not to tell anyone, so keep it to yourself, alright? Especially from Rhea.”

Viktor stared at the woman. “She wanted you to keep it a secret, and the very first thing you do is tell me?”

“Well, I thought that you might be able to help.”

“Now it’s you who’s being ridiculous,” Viktor scoffed. “First of all, an adult got evicted because they couldn’t pay rent, and you think a twelve-year-old has the solution? And second, why should I? Do I look like some do-gooder who runs around fixing other people’s problems for free?”

“I just hope you can talk some sense into her,” Alycia replied. “If it’s just money, I can help her. But she refuses to owe anyone even a tiny bit of favor.”

Oh, good luck with that. He knew Jeanne’s stubbornness all too well. That woman never accepted anything for free. She always did her best to avoid getting into debt, and if she ever found herself in one, she would bend over backward to pay it off as fast as humanly possible. In fact, quite a bit of the coin she got from Manfred went straight to him, for the food she never really needed to pay for in the first place.

Wait.

Does that mean I’m partly responsible for her eviction?

Of course not. He had told Jeanne not to concern herself, but she insisted on paying. That was her choice. So if there were any consequences, it was her problem, not his.

The sound of boots—a lot of them—thudded against the wooden floor outside. Around Viktor, the adventurers were already on their feet, one after another, murmuring excitedly among themselves as they prepared to leave their tables. The new Guildmaster must have arrived. So he got up from his chair as well.

“You’re here to see the new Guildmaster too, right?” he asked, giving Alycia a quick glance. Not that he waited for an answer. She could follow or not, but he was already heading for the door.

[Master, what do we know about this Guildmaster?]

Not much, Viktor replied telepathically as he tried to push through the crowd blocking his path. All Claire mentioned was that she was a Guildmaster somewhere else before getting assigned here. Calyssa might know more, but she’s been too busy lately for anyone to get a hold of her.

After he managed to squeeze his way out of the mess hall, he spotted Cedric’s party standing near the entrance of the Guild building, so he hurried over to them.

“You’ve come to see the new Guildmaster as well?”

“Well... yes,” Cedric replied with an awkward smile.

What’s up with him? Viktor wondered. The black-haired boy was clearly acting strange today. He looked... restless. Meanwhile, Lucian and Fiora kept exchanging amused glances between themselves, struggling to hold back laughter. Did I miss something? Noi’ri was the only one in the group who remained unchanged, but then again, he was a gnoll. It was hard to tell what he was thinking just from his face.

Together, they moved outside, weaving through the crowd that was getting bigger and bigger. Once they stepped into the open, Viktor saw the Guild employees, Claire and Rhea included, lining up before the building. A little ahead of the others stood Calyssa, the bespectacled Chief Secretary, staring down the road with a serious expression.

The sound of hooves grew louder as the arriving party approached. The cloud of dust settled, revealing a coach pulled by two heavy draft horses. On either side of the coach were two mounted guards, both wearing strange hound-shaped helmets. As they got closer, however, Viktor realized that those things weren’t helmets at all, but the actual faces of the guards. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, everyone’s attention now squarely on the two monstrous guards instead of the carriage they were escorting.

After all, they were gnolls.

Viktor was momentarily speechless. Yes, he knew a gnoll who was also an adventurer, but seeing gnolls riding horses was indeed a surreal experience.

The carriage rolled to a halt in front of the building, and the coachman jumped down to open the door. The two hyena-faced guards dismounted as well, standing watch beside the coach. Then, the door swung open, and a tall, slender woman emerged from within.

She was in her forties, probably around the same age as Brynhildr, but where the warrior woman was all rough hands and blunt steel, this one was polished edges and expensive silk. Every lash, every brow, every tiny bit of her appearance had been carefully curated to make the best show out of it. Her long hair flowed down her back in dark, glossy waves—not a single strand of grey, let alone white, could be seen, despite her age. She stepped forward, her regal face raised high, while her sharp eyes swept over the crowd with the gaze of a queen surveying her subjects.

Viktor stared at the woman’s face, and he found some of her features... familiar. Those cheekbones, that jawline. He couldn’t help but turn to the black-haired boy beside him, who had been acting weird the whole time.

Let’s see what we have here. A woman who used to be a Guildmaster somewhere else. The gnolls she employed as guards. The likeness of her appearance to Cedric’s. And the boy’s reaction. The answer to all of these was obvious.

“Is she...?”

And Cedric nodded with a sigh. “Yes.”

So this is Mommy, huh?

Start | Previous | Next

Chapter 54: Spoils of War

[Master, have you decided which domain you are going for?]

Viktor scratched at his chin as he leaned back, letting the chair creak under his weight. “I think we should summon our next Guardian first, before we decide on the domain.”

[Why, Master?]

He gave a chuckle. “Because otherwise, it’s like picking a recipe before even knowing what ingredients you have. There’s no sense in selecting the Domain of Fire only to end up with a Guardian who wields the power of ice. No, it would be best if the Guardian and their assigned floor’s environment complement each other. And since we can’t choose the Guardian before the summoning, it makes more sense to see who we get first, then select the domain that brings out the most of their abilities.”

[I see.]

“Celeste, show me your current stats.”

[Yes, Master.]

 

Path of the Dungeon - LV11

Essence Point: 801/931 

Mana: 13,550 

Floors: 3/4

Minions: 190/220

Guardians: 1/2 

Skills:

- Shape Terrain

- Transmute Gold

- Summon Lesser Minion LV6

- Summon Water Minions LV2

- Summon Greater Minions LV1

- Summon Guardian

- Mutate Lesser Minion LV1 

>> Choose a domain to unlock...

 

Even though he had spent considerable resources to summon replacements for the minions slain during the Dungeon Reavers’ attack, there were still plenty left. Enough to use the “Summon Guardian” skill several times.

He still remembered the first time he used that skill. Since he had only enough mana for just a single attempt, he was basically stuck with whoever answered the call. With the looming threat of the Azran and Lahmia’s invasion, however, he had no choice but to take the gamble. Fortunately, Sebekton had proven himself to be a reliable and capable subordinate, who had contributed a lot to the dungeon’s defense. Still, he didn’t want to rely on luck ever again.

Now, he could afford to be picky. His mana reserves were ample, so he intended to thoroughly assess each and every summoned candidate. If their skill set or contract terms didn’t meet his expectations, he would just dismiss them and summon someone else. He could go through the process as many times as necessary until he found the best Guardian for his dungeon’s needs.

He glanced at the words and numbers hovering in the air before him, showing him the Dungeon Core’s “stats” and “skills.” The first time he had seen this status screen was the day he met Celeste, at the ruins of his old castle. When she revealed it to him, he was taken aback. He hadn’t expected it at all that she also possessed a power that was structured so similarly to his own—his Thaumaturgy.

But after the initial surprise passed, he realized it was actually a blessing. The similarities made it easier for him to figure things out. He and Celeste had different “modules,” “Path of the Thaumaturgist” and “Path of the Dungeon,” which did different things, but the way the progression was organized was essentially the same. For the Dungeon Core to grow, he just needed to help her gather points, and once she had accumulated enough, she would level up and unlock new skills. Pretty straightforward, really.

He couldn’t help but wonder who had come up with all this in the first place. The Gods, perhaps? After all, it was said that the Gods had created the Dungeon Cores, so maybe they had created Thaumaturgy as well while they were at it. But if that were the case, then why?

Well, it didn’t matter.

Asking why the Gods did anything was like asking why bears shit in the woods. Some things just were, and trying to make sense of them was a fool’s errand. His objective remained unchanged: to track down the descendants of the Six Heroes, and kill them. Each one held a fragment of his power, a so-called “Key.” Only after obtaining all six would he reclaim what was rightfully his, and what made him him.

[Master, do you want to summon the new Guardian now, or wait until this afternoon?]

Viktor shook his head. “No, there’s not much time left this morning. I want to interview each candidate thoroughly, so it might take a while. As for the afternoon, I'll be at the Guild and won’t be coming back here.”

[Is something happening, Master?]

“The new Guildmaster will arrive today,” he replied. He needed to be there to observe them closely and assess what kind of person they were.

[I see.]

Now what? He still had some time before he needed to head back home to make lunch for Claire.

What should I do for the time I have left?

His gaze wandered around the room until it rested on the murals etched into the walls. A new scene had been added. It depicted Sebekton, his loyal Guardian, locked in a duel with Bjorn, the formidable Northman, with crescent moons and icy comets dancing between them. Off to the side, a lone mermaid was gliding through the water, toward the fight, and toward her doom. This was the first mural that didn’t depict someone meeting a gruesome end, and he found himself pleased by that. Yes, this portrayal felt just right. Celeste hadn’t disappointed him.

His eyes continued to roam the room, and then, he found the corner where several weapons and pieces of equipment lay scattered on the floor.

The Reliquaries.

These artifacts had once been wielded by the Dungeon Reavers, the invaders who had stormed his dungeon and slaughtered his minions. They were all corpses now, their cold, lifeless bodies stripped of these precious items.

Yes, I can use the remaining time to decide what to do with these spoils of war.

He walked toward the corner, crouched down, and picked up a vambrace. It was made of boiled leather, its surface dark and weathered. Though it looked unremarkable, this was the Reliquary that had caused him so many headaches.

 

Soul of a Victim of the Coldest Flame

Soul of a luckless woman, who lost her way in the frozen wastelands of the North. Just when all hope seemed lost, she spotted a brilliant flame in the distance. A surge of newfound energy rushed through her as she hurried toward it, to seek her salvation. As she drew closer, the air grew colder and colder, yet the woman pressed on, determined to reach the flame. When she arrived, however, all that awaited her was despair. There was no warmth to be found. The flame offered only cold, and surrounding it stood many ice statues, victims who had arrived before her. In the end, she too became one of them, frozen in place beside the Coldest Flame.

Rank: C

Ability: Manifestation of Frost

The user can use the Reliquary to create ice from any nearby water, and shape it into objects. The conjured ice objects could generate more ice if there is water around them. After a certain amount of time, the ice will detonate, though the user can delay it to control the timing of the detonation.

 

Viktor frowned. “What the hell is that backstory? A flame that doesn’t warm, but freezes people?”

[Well, there are many strange things that can happen in the world.]

“How do you know all of this anyway?” he asked, glancing at Celeste.

[All I did was show you the information stored within the Reliquary. I don’t know any more than you, Master.]

Someone had fought desperately for her salvation, clinging to the final shred of hope that she might escape her fate, only to realize it was all a lie. She was not even special, just one among many, deceived by an entity that was beyond her understanding and died a meaningless death. Viktor couldn’t say hearing that story brought him any comfort.

He shook his head. There was nothing to be done about it, and letting such stories cloud his mind would only hold him back. He needed to focus on the present and keep moving forward. Yes, just because someone else had failed didn’t mean he would end up the same way.

“Let’s put this into storage. I’ll decide what to do with it later,” he told Celeste before moving on to the next artifact, Bjorn’s sword.

 

Soul of a Challenger

The soul of a swordsman of extraordinary skill, who made his living as a duelist for hire. After countless victories, his name spread far and wide, and people from all over the land came to him to seek his services, knowing that he was a fighter without equal. Yet, the swordsman grew bored. His opponents always died too quickly, so he never got to demonstrate the full extent of his skills. In order to find a worthy foe, he set out to challenge others himself, but, much to his disappointment, no one was bold enough to accept. One day, a strange creature descended from the sky. One-eyed, six-winged, bathed in light. Seeing the sword in its hand, the man, eager for a real fight, approached and challenged the creature. However, in the blink of an eye, he was cleaved in two, before he could even draw his blade.

Rank: B

Ability: Blade of the Higher Will

Upon drawing the Reliquary, a blade of radiant light will be created to envelop its edge. The blade could cut through anything, but it gradually fades, losing both its reach and sharpness over time, and must be recharged by returning the Reliquary to its container.

 

So that was why the Northman kept unsheathing and resheathing his blade. The Reliquary’s requirement made it a bit cumbersome to use, but considering what the damned thing could do—how it cut through his minions like they were nothing—that awkwardness was but a trivial inconvenience.

“Let’s have Sebekton give it a swing. If he likes it, this could be a solid upgrade for his weapon.”

[Understood, Master.]

Now, the shield.

 

Soul of an Unyielding Warrior

The soul of a warrior from the North, who stood alone upon a narrow bridge to hold back an entire army. His comrades had been caught unprepared, their lines scattered by a sudden attack of their enemy. But the warrior did not flee. With a great axe in his hands, he roared a challenge and met the tide alone. One by one, his foes came at him, and one by one, they fell by his wrath. The bridge ran red, yet still he stood, unyielding and unbroken, holding the line and buying his friends the time they needed to retreat. In the end, he was brought down not by strength, but by trickery: a spear thrust from beneath the bridge. He died facing his enemies, his axe drenched in their blood.

Rank: D

Ability: The Last Stand

The user can use the Reliquary to block any attack from the direction it faces, nullifying the attack completely.

 

A warrior from the North? Was he a Brefjordian? Also, someone who died fighting to defend a bridge, huh?

Fianna...

Viktor sighed. “Again, tell Sebekton to try it out. We can use this to upgrade his armor.”

Next was the medallion, his old medallion, still looking the same after three hundred years.

 

Soul of a Drowned King

The soul of a king, whose pride eclipsed the sky and whose hunger for power rivaled the ocean’s depth. He ruled the mightiest of kingdoms, yet his heart knew no peace, for he envied the immortals, and he feared the fate that would eventually claim all living men. Heeding the whispers of the Deep and lured by promises of eternal life, he declared war upon the Gods, and rallied his great armada. They reached the edge of the world, where the whispers said the gate to the Realm of the Gods would be, where divinity lay waiting to be plundered. But there was no gate, no shore, no paradise. Only a shadow, a shape, a titan rising from the black beneath. The skies tore apart. The sea howled in fury. The king’s ships were swallowed by the storm, his armies buried under the waves, and he himself was dragged into his dark, watery tomb.

Rank: E

Ability: Sinking to the Deep

The user can breathe and move freely underwater when equipped with this Reliquary.

 

Viktor had been keeping this medallion for quite a long time, using it to conquer many water realms across many dungeons. Yet until now, he had no idea it was forged from the soul of someone with a story like that. A foolish king who declared war upon the Gods, a king who desired to be more than a mortal, only to end up less. And all because he had listened to whispers from the Deep. Was that the same Great One the Acolytes worshipped? And then, the king’s entire fleet was destroyed by a storm summoned by a titan? The Storm Titan?

“Are all those backstories real? Did they all actually happen?”

[Yes, I think so, Master.]

“In this world?”

[Not necessarily. While crystallized essences usually stay put, every now and then one falls into the Ethereal Sea through a rift, and ends up drifting about until it either washes ashore in a different world or gets picked up by someone.]

So there was a world where the Storm Titan and the Great One of the Deep were both present at the same time? He wondered when that story happened, and what fate had ultimately befallen that world. Oh well, whatever. Not his problem.

Finally, the bow.

 

Soul of an Arrogant Archer

The soul of a master archer, whose arrows never missed their mark. It was said he could shoot clean through a falling willow leaf, dead center, mid-air, from a hundred paces away. He rode out with his king when war came calling. He thundered into battle on his chariot, leading the charge. With each arrow he loosed, another enemy soldier fell. Through the eye, through the throat, through the heart. They fled, and the master archer gave chase, ignoring the warnings for caution from his comrades. He laughed as he pursued, certain of victory, certain that death was something that only happened to other men. But it turned out the enemy’s retreat was a ruse. They had laid a trap, and he ran straight into it. He found himself surrounded, projectiles raining down on him from all sides. Thus ended the master archer, swallowed by the storm of arrows.

Rank: C

Ability: Bull’s Eye

Allow the user to alter the trajectory of a projectile after firing, steering it toward any target that is visible to the wielder.

 

Out of all the Reliquaries, this was the one that interested him the most. After all, it guaranteed that every shot the wielder took would find its mark, as long as they could see the target. A terrifying prospect in the right hands. And in the hands of someone like him, who could see every corner of the dungeon, it was downright disgusting. The only problem was this scrawny body. He simply lacked the strength to shoot far enough to utilize this weapon’s potential to the fullest. Unless—

An idea had just dawned upon him.

“Celeste, call Kazyk. Tell him I’ve got something I want him to build.”

Start | Previous | Next

Prologue: The Day He Awoke

Darkness.

Darkness surrounded him.

There was nothing here. Just the void. It was neither hot, nor cold. He could feel nothing. He could touch nothing. He was not floating, but he wasn’t falling either. After all, there was no ground below, and no sky above. Only black, in every direction.

How long had he been here?

How long had he been... dead?

Did it really matter? Time was irrelevant in this space. There were no clocks here to measure the passage of time. One minute or one century, what was the difference? He had been here for eternity, and he would stay here for eternity.

But...

Staying like this—doing nothing, being nothing—would drive him mad. He had to do something. Anything.

He couldn’t move and he couldn’t feel, obviously. He couldn’t see, unless seeing nothing but black counted. He tried to listen, but there was no sound. He tried to smell, but there was no scent. And it seemed there was nothing here to taste either.

Looked like thinking was the only way for him to entertain himself in this endless emptiness.

Wait.

Think? How could he think if he was already dead?

Wait.

How could he even tell that he was dead? Was it even possible for someone to be aware of their own death?

But he was sure that he was dead before.

Before?

Could that mean... I am no longer dead now?

If that were the case, how about... trying to open my eyes, just one more time?

He focused, if “focus” was even a concept here, on the idea of opening his eyes. He tried to force the motion. He imagined the muscles moving, the lids lifting, and the eyelashes brushing against his skin as they parted. And then, he saw—

Bright white.

It took some time for his eyes to adjust to the light, and as his vision cleared, the scene in front of him slowly took shape. Old wooden beams, weathered and sagging, covered in scratches, dust, and spider webs. A ceiling.

It looks unfamiliar to me / This looks familiar to me

What?

Where am I / I’m in my room

What the hell?

My head hurts / My head hurts

He forced himself to sit up, then realized he had been lying on a bed. He jerked his head around, his eyes frantically scanning the surroundings.

The room was small, with only a tiny window that barely allowed any light to get in. The walls were bare and rough, functional enough to protect the occupant from the elements, but aesthetically speaking, they made this place look more like a cave than a human’s dwelling. Furniture was almost nonexistent. Other than the bed he was sitting on, there was nothing but an old chest of drawers.

I’ve never been here / I’ve been living here since the day I was born

Again? Seriously, what is going on?

The door creaked open, and a blonde-haired young woman stepped inside. “You’re awake!” she exclaimed, her expression shifting from concern to relief.

Everything was irrelevant now.

Life and death. Light and darkness. The unfamiliar but familiar room. The conflicting voices in his head. None of it mattered anymore the moment he laid eyes on her.

“You’re alive!” he cried. His body moved on its own. He jumped out of the bed and launched himself forward, his arms wrapping around her. He pressed his face against her chest, feeling the warmth of her body, hearing the steady rhythm of her heartbeat. Yes, she was alive.

The woman hesitated for a moment, then she placed her hand on his head, her fingers gently combing through his hair. Yes, his sister had always done this. This was unmistakably her.

“I... I miss you so much... Vera...”

Tears kept flowing from his eyes. It was no surprise. He had thought he would never see her again. So he had killed them all, every single one of them, for taking her away from him. But now, it didn’t matter anymore, since she was back, and they would live happily—

“Quinn, who is... Vera?”

What?

Who is Quinn / Quinn is my name

He loosened his embrace, lifting his head to take another look at the person he was hugging. She was a blonde-haired woman in her twenties, yes, but she looked absolutely nothing like Vera.

I don’t know this woman / She is my older sister

For a moment, he wanted to strangle her, the imposter who played with his feelings, who dared to trick him into believing that she was actually his sister. But he could barely lift his hand. He wondered how, just minutes ago, he had found the strength to lunge at her, yet now all of that energy had been drained away. His limbs felt heavy, his body weak, and he collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath.

“Quinn!” the woman cried, scrambling to help him to his feet. He wanted to push her away, but his body did not cooperate, so he had no choice but to let her bring him back to the bed.

“Quinn, are you alright? Quinn, answer me!”

Why did she keep screaming at his face like this? She was so fucking annoying. He hated her. He hated her voice. He hated her face. He hated everything about her. He wanted to yell at her, telling her to shut up.

No.

He calmed himself. He had no idea what was going on, but making a fuss was not going to help. She needed to shut up and fuck off, yes, but he needed to keep his manners in check.

“I... I’m fine... Just a bit... confused...” He turned to the woman and tried his best to smile. “Could you... could you leave me alone for a while? I... I need some quiet to rest.”

She slowly nodded. “Of course, I'll head downstairs and make some porridge for you. Just call if you need anything.” Then she grinned, her eyes lighting up. “I’ll throw in a ton of bacon, just for you.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. He heard her footsteps recede, followed by the soft click of the door closing. As soon as he was certain she was gone, he immediately snapped his eyes open. He had been seeing black for far too long. He was done with it.

So, what is going on?

It seemed... he was no longer haunted by the dual voices in his head. Or rather, they had merged into one.

“I am Quinn,” he murmured. “And I am... Viktor.”

Apparently, he had the memories of two people in his head. That was why everything was so confusing.

Let’s address the memories one by one. Viktor first.

Every moment of his life was clear in his mind. The childhood he shared with his older sister, Vera, and the tragedy that followed...

No, not this. I don’t want to remember any of it.

After the incident, he embarked on a long journey to search for an old man known as the Watcher, who would become his master and grant him the power of Thaumaturgy. Then, he became an adventurer. He conquered countless dungeons. He accumulated more and more power, and eventually, he had his revenge.

Yet, the story did not end there.

He took the throne of the man he killed in the name of vengeance, and he embraced the path of hegemony. He brought the entire continent to its knees, and he carved out his own empire. Ultimately, he was slain by a group who called themselves the Six Heroes.

I wonder what happened to Celestia after my death. Could Brandt have protected her? Took her to somewhere safe?

He shook his head. That was something he could leave for later. Next, Quinn’s memories.

Well, there wasn’t much to say about it. That was the memories of a freaking twelve-year-old child, after all. His parents were dead, and he had been living with his sister, Claire, the same annoying woman he had met just now. The last thing he recalled was Quinn falling from a tree and hitting his head hard. He didn’t know what happened after that, but judging by Claire’s reaction, the boy had probably been unconscious for quite some time.

So that’s why my head hurts. He had assumed it was a side effect of returning from death, but no, he was physically experiencing a headache.

Returning from death?

He recalled the strange encounter he had with that mysterious traveller—a man who walked between worlds—and how, at the end of it all, he bestowed upon him the power of reincarnation.

So, that was how it worked? Instead of actually coming back to life, he just... randomly took over the body of a boy who fell from tree?

Wait.

Why was he acting as if he were Viktor? He had his memories, yes, but he also had Quinn’s. And this body belonged to the boy, meaning he was, in fact, more Quinn than Viktor. How could he be so certain that he was a Viktor with the memories of a Quinn and not the other way around?

Well, he loved Vera while he hated Claire. So the answer to that question should be obvious, right?

No.

Emotion was fickle. He was not going to determine his identity based on that. There was a much more reliable way to figure out who he truly was.

His Thaumaturgy.

If he had been Viktor, then he would have still had it.

So, he tried to access his power, and—

 

[SYSTEM ALERT]

ACCESS DENIED

We regret to inform you that your access to the “Path of the Thaumaturgist” module has been denied.

After your death, your privileges have been revoked and transferred to the ones who slew you, the Six Heroes.

In order to regain access to the module, you must complete a critical action.

Action Required:

Each of the Six Heroes has been granted partial access to the “Path of the Thaumaturgist” module, along with a Key. From now on, they will be referred to as Key Holders. When a Key Holder dies, their Key and privileges will be passed on to their designated successor.

In order to regain access, you will need to locate the six current Key Holders and eliminate them to extract their Key. Once all six Keys have been collected, your access to the “Path of the Thaumaturgist” module will be fully reinstated.

Thank you for your understanding.

[END OF MESSAGE]

 

What?

Calm down, Viktor.

It was just the usual weird writing style that the message preferred to use, but the true meaning was quite easy to understand. After killing him, the Six Heroes had stolen his power, and after they died, it was inherited by their selected heirs. In order to regain his power, he just needed to track down the current wielders and cast them into the oblivion he had just crawled out of.

Good.

He could no longer use his Thaumaturgy, but it wasn’t because he was not Viktor, but because the power had been taken away from him.

Fine, then.

All he had to do was get it back.

Yes, he had to.

No matter the price, no matter the consequences, no matter the sacrifice.

He was going to reclaim it, the only thing that made him Viktor.

Start | Previous | Next

Epilogue: Path of the Thaumaturgist

“Hey,” Alycia said as she dropped onto the seat next to Viktor. Her two thick pigtails bounced, swaying back and forth as if they had a life of their own.

“There’s no food for you,” he said.

“I’ve already eaten.” She pouted. “Why did you immediately assume that I came to you for food?”

He tore off a chunk of bread and tossed it into his mouth. “Is there any other reason?”

“Of course, there is,” she replied, her mischievous eyes glancing his way as she brushed a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “I saw my cute apprentice sitting all alone at lunch, so I came to keep him company. Wow, I’m so thoughtful.”

Well, yes, he was eating by himself in the mess hall at the moment. When he arrived at the Guild earlier, Claire had told him that she was busy and would eat with Rhea later, so he should go ahead. As it happened, neither Lucian, Noi’ri, nor Jeanne was around today, so here he was.

Not that it mattered. Whether it was alone or with others, it made no difference to him.

“If you’ve already had lunch,” Viktor said flatly, “then why are you here? Don’t you have work to do at your shop? Oh, I know... Your business has gone bust, right? That explains the free time.”

Alycia frowned. “I haven’t even started yet.” She leaned back in her seat, crossing her arms. “I take back what I said. You’re not cute at all.”

Yeah, you shouldn’t call me that, Viktor thought. The last person doing so didn’t have a happy end.

“So,” he asked, “what do you want exactly?”

Alycia let out a sigh. “To put it bluntly, your sister is worried about you.”

Yes, and water is wet. Seriously, was there ever a moment Claire stopped worrying about her brother?

“And why does that concern you?”

“Well, she came to me and asked for my help. She told me that you were acting strange the past few days.”

“She did?” Viktor raised an eyebrow. “Why you of all people?”

“Technically, you’re my apprentice,” Alycia replied. “People don’t know what happened between us, so they think we’re closer than we actually are.”

Makes sense, I guess.

That day, after the bloody fight with the Reavers in the dungeon, he came home quite late. He had come up with an excuse, and Claire appeared to buy it. But he wasn’t entirely sure whether she was actually convinced or just didn’t want to make a fuss. Now, it seemed more like the latter.

“Tell her that I’m fine,” he said after a long pause. “Yeah, some stuff happened. But I’ll be good again in a few days.”

Alycia nodded. “That’s what I’ve told her. I know that you’re strong, much stronger than what one might expect from a twelve-year-old.”

“You seem to have an awfully high opinion of me,” Viktor said with a chuckle.

“I owe you my life, after all,” the woman murmured, her gaze drifting off to the distance. “I can’t help but wonder where I would have been now if you hadn’t saved me that day.”

“Buried deep underground, I guess. That’s where people usually put corpses.” Viktor shrugged, stuffing another hunk of bread into his mouth. “And being busy decomposing.”

“Eww... How can you say that while eating?” Alycia turned away, her face twisting into a grimace. “Not cute. Not cute at all.”

Viktor continued chewing, ignoring her.

“But... it’s so like you...” the woman said. “Every word you told me that day was very unkind. But...”

“But what?”

“Nothing.” She shook her head, then smiled at him. “Nothing, really.”

What? Viktor furrowed his brow. What is she trying to say?

“By the way, do you happen to know where my firebomb is? The one that I showed you last time? The bomb and its detonator are missing. I’ve looked everywhere but still couldn’t find them.”

Oh, I totally forgot about that.

“Nope,” Viktor said through a mouthful of bread, as if the matter had nothing to do with him.

“I see.”

This could get complicated. Even though he doubted that Alycia would suspect him, a missing firebomb was a problem too serious to ignore. She would not let it slide, and she would turn the whole town upside down to find it, which might lead to consequences he could not foresee. Maybe he needed to do something before the situation got out of hand—

“Oh well,” the woman said nonchalantly. “Not the first time I’ve lost some explosive anyway.”

I definitely do not want to go anywhere near that shop.

Viktor continued his meal, while his eyes wandered across the mess hall. Most of the people here were adventurers, as the Guild employees were, just like Claire and Rhea, still working. He had heard the newly appointed Guildmaster would be arriving in Daelin soon, so everyone was busy getting all the documents in order.

So Calyssa has lost her bid for the position, huh?

While it didn’t really matter to him who the next Guildmaster would be, he needed to know whether they were Clovis’s creature. If that were the case, he would have to keep a close eye on them and find out whatever scheme they were plotting.

Clovis.

The fat Guildmaster from Iskora, and the most likely suspect behind the recent invasion of the Dungeon Reavers. But what was his deal? And was he really the one calling the shots, or was he himself also someone else’s underling? Joshua had talked about Bjorn working for a queen. Who was she? Was she the current Queen of Brefjord?

As Viktor mulled over the possibilities, a new arrival caught his eye. A warrior woman had just entered the mess hall. And she was unmistakably from the North, something that he could tell at first glance.

The woman appeared to be in her forties. She was very tall, a full head above the man next to her. She must have been beautiful when she was younger, yet now her features had been tempered and hardened by age. Her golden hair, streaked with strands of silver, was tied into a long, thick braid that rested above the deep brown tabard she wore over her armor. She had a broadsword on her hip, and her fingers never strayed far from its grip as her watchful eyes scanned the room.

The woman’s companion was the opposite of her in every single way. He was a young man, perhaps not even twenty, but his sickly pale skin and hollow cheeks made him look much older than he actually was. Long, dark hair fell in unkempt strands, partially obscuring his face, and through that curtain, the man’s sunken eyes erratically darted from one corner of the room to the next. Those were the eyes of a prey, ever fearful, always ready to flee at the faintest sign of danger. How could someone this weak and afraid be an adventurer?

Under normal circumstances, Viktor’s focus would be on the warrior woman, while the sickly-looking man hardly deserved a second glance. After all, she was the one with the commanding presence, while the man was little more than a shadow, almost invisible next to his towering companion. Yet, somehow, his gaze was slowly, gradually, drawn to him.

What is this feeling?

Viktor rose from his chair. “I’ll go to see Claire,” he told Alycia. With that excuse, he would leave the mess hall and, in doing so, naturally pass by the two newcomers. As he approached, they parted to allow him through, and he walked between them toward the door.

And at that very moment—

 

[SYSTEM ALERT]

Nearby Key Holder Identified

A Key Holder has been detected nearby, and their Key is available for extraction. This presents an opportunity for you to retrieve the first Key required to regain your access to the “Path of the Thaumaturgist” module.

Please follow the steps below to proceed:

1. Locate the Key Holder

The Key Holder is currently active in the vicinity. To begin the process of extracting your Key, you must find the Holder.

2. Eliminate the Key Holder

The Key Holders keep their Keys for life. You can only extract the Key after the Holder is dead. In order to retrieve your Key, the Holder must be eliminated.

3. Extract the Key

Once the Key Holder’s death is confirmed while you’re in the vicinity, the Key will be automatically extracted and sent to you.

Important Reminder:

• Partial access to the module

After you have retrieved the first Key, you will regain partial access to the “Path of the Thaumaturgist” module.

• Five Keys remain

This is the first of six Keys you need to retrieve. After the extraction, you will need to find and eliminate five other Key Holders in order to regain full access to the module.

Proceed carefully, and good luck with your task!

[END OF MESSAGE]

 

Oh, how nostalgic.

Such messages were all too familiar, something he had seen so many times in the past, whenever he used his power—his Thaumaturgy. However, after his reincarnation, it only appeared exactly once, on the day he had first awakened. It had informed him that his power had been stolen by the Six Heroes upon his death, split among them, and then passed down to their successors over the past three hundred years. In order to get it back, he would need to hunt down those who currently held the power.

More than two months had passed since that last message, and now, it had shown up once again. The wording was still as weird as ever. System? Key? Module? What the hell were those supposed to mean? It mattered not. It was easy to decipher the actual meaning from those obscure terms and cryptic words. One of the Six Heroes’ descendants was here, right next to him, and to reclaim what was rightfully his, he just needed to kill him.

That explains the strange feeling I had when I saw this sickly-looking man.

As Viktor walked out of the mess hall, he turned and glanced over his shoulder at the two adventurers. The young man was his target. He had to die. And the warrior woman, his companion, might be an obstacle that would need to be eliminated as well.

 

Start | Previous | Next

Chapter 53: Humanity

The Core Room was still the same as when Viktor departed. At the heart of the chamber, the crystalline form of Celeste was suspended midair above the dais, radiating a rhythmic azure glow as it waited for his return. Striding across the room toward the Core, he gazed at the murals on the wall that chronicled the past triumphs of the dungeon.

The panels there depicted scenes of his enemies vanquished. Scene of Sebekton tearing Lahmia’s head off with his savage maw, scene of Sebekton mercilessly cleaving the red-haired warrior woman in two halves, scene of Sebekton obliterating Manfred’s skull with a crushing strike. But what would the scene showing the victory over the Dungeon Reavers look like? Fianna had given up her life to defeat the intruder, and was torn apart in the process. How would the murals remember her? A martyr bathed in radiance, or an expendable pawn that had been well-used? Or would she even be remembered at all?

[You are back, Master.]

Was it just him, or had the tone of the Dungeon Core changed slightly? It sounded a bit less monotonous and lifeless today.

He gave it a nod. “Show me the battle report.”

[Understood, Master.]

 

Harvested essence:

- Bjorn: 785 pts

- Xahir: 465 pts

- Joshua: 390 pts

- Clint: 345 pts

The Dungeon Core has accumulated 1,985 Essence Points.

The Dungeon Core has reached LV11!

The harvested essence has been converted into 19,850 mana.

Current mana: 19,900

Casualties:

- Fatalities: 17 Goblins, 11 Dread Spiders, 16 Venom Spiders, 15 Froglings, 8 Gnolls, 5 Merfolk, 6 Acolytes of the Deep, 4 Cyclopes

- Critical injuries: 6 Goblins, 7 Venom Spiders, 1 Gnolls (recovery expected within 7 days)

- Minor injuries: 4 Goblins, 2 Dread Spiders, 2 Gnolls, 2 Merfolk (recovery expected within 3 days)

 

Fatalities: 5 Merfolk.

Fianna was one of them. She was just a statistic now. Her death had been reduced to a number, one among many in a grand equation.

He wondered what had happened to the mermaid after her death. Her body had disintegrated, but what about her soul? Would it simply fade away, or be condensed into essence?

He glanced at the Dungeon Core. “Hey, Celeste, what happens to a minion’s soul after it dies?”

[Master, have you ever asked yourself why we can only harvest essence from the intruders, but not from our own dead minions?]

That was a very good question. Viktor had never given it much thought, but now he couldn’t help but find it strange. “Why?” he asked.

[Because only humans have souls, while non-humans do not. So, to answer your question: nothing happens. How can anything happen to something that was never there to begin with?]

The answer left him momentarily speechless. “N-none of them? Goblins? Merfolk? Acolytes? Even Sebekton?”

[The Acolytes of the Deep are an interesting case. Some of them do have souls, those who were once human. But their souls belong to their god, so they are not mine to harvest. When they die, their souls go to the Great One. Turns out, eternal servitude is, indeed, eternal. The contract cannot be nullified, even after death.]

Sebekton and Fianna. Their appearances were different from his and from each other’s, but the way they talked, the way they acted, the way they showed their emotions made it hard to believe they were soulless. Had he been blind and interacted with them solely through conversation, he would have assumed they were just normal people from some distant land with strange customs and beliefs.

“Why?” he asked. “Why do only humans have souls? What makes us special?”

[I do not know. That is what the Gods have decreed.]

Gods really loved to play favorites, didn’t they? He couldn’t really complain, since he was among those who benefited from such arbitrary decisions. After all, without a soul, how could he come back from death? He knew that he should be grateful for the Gods’ favor, but still, there was some lingering bitterness that was hard to wipe away.

“But you, Celeste,” Viktor asked, “you do have a soul, right?”

[Yes, I do. I was once human, after all. I retain my soul even after I... changed.]

Yes, you had changed. A lot. He was sure of it even though he knew absolutely nothing about the Dungeon Core’s previous life. It struck him as ironic that the Core was considered human, while Sebekton and Fianna were not. With the latter, there were things to talk about, but with Celeste, it was all just reports and exchanges of information.

[Master.]

“What?” asked Viktor.

[I want to apologize for what happened to Fianna. I never meant for things to happen that way.]

“Why do you need to apologize? She getting chosen is just bad luck—” Then the realization dawned on him. “It’s no coincidence, right? You picked her on purpose.”

[Yes... I am... so sorry...]

Why? He wanted to snap. But instead, he paused, taking a deep breath, and tried to look at it from Celeste’s perspective. The Dungeon Core didn’t know his plan. It believed that he had one, but it did not know what it was exactly. So it couldn’t have known he meant to sacrifice the chosen mermaid. By keeping Fianna on standby rather than sending her into battle, it had, from its point of view, placed her in the safest possible position. The plan had backfired in the worst possible way, of course, but the intention was clear. Celeste had wanted to protect Fianna.

But why?

Maybe, just maybe, the Dungeon Core thought that the mermaid was a friend of his, so it wanted to keep her safe? Was that the reason?

Now he was sure of it. Celeste’s tone was indeed a bit different today. There was something else in it, subtle but unmistakable. Was it... regret?

Viktor looked around the chamber. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, the furniture, the murals. Everything in this room had been designed, constructed, and maintained by Celeste. The Dungeon Core had made it to accommodate the Guardians, most of whom were not even here yet. And then, there was Sebekton’s house. Completely unnecessary, but he was certain the Crocodilian was grateful for it.

Could he really say that something—or someone—who did all of that had no emotion?

If it was wrong to judge someone’s humanity by their appearance, then he shouldn’t do the same based on their voice, should he?

“You’re not to blame,” Viktor said, turning to Celeste. “I should’ve let you know my plan. The responsibility falls on me.”

[But...]

“If you keep dwelling on one sacrifice, how can we move forward?” he asked. “You knew from the start that the path we took would be built on corpses, didn’t you?”

[Yes... I did...]

“Then let’s press on, without looking back. What’s done is done,” he said with a smile. “Let’s focus on our goals. I’ll make you the greatest Dungeon Core to ever exist, and you’ll help me reclaim my power, my Thaumaturgy.”

[I understand, Master. I will not falter again.]

“Good.” Viktor let out a deep breath. “You’re now Level 11, right? Let’s see your current stats.”

[Understood, Master.]

 

Path of the Dungeon - LV11

Essence Points: 726/931

Mana: 19,900

Floors: 3/4

Minions: 78/220

Guardians: 1/2

Skills:

- Shape Terrain

- Transmute Gold

- Summon Lesser Minion LV6

- Summon Water Minions LV2

- Summon Greater Minions LV1

- Summon Guardian

- Mutate Lesser Minion LV1

>> Choose a domain to unlock...

 

The Dungeon Reavers’ invasion had cost him half of his forces, but in return, Celeste had harvested a significant amount of essence. She has leveled up and become much more powerful. New floor, new Guardian, new skills, and most importantly, new domains to unlock.

“What type of domains can we choose?” Viktor asked. If he remembered it correctly, Celeste had said that the option he didn’t choose last time, Domain of Fire, would still be available now.

[Master, we can choose to unlock either the Domain of Earth, the Domain of Air, or the Domain of Fire.]

 

Domain of Earth:

The floors under the influence of the Domain of Earth are filled with vast mountain ranges, deep caverns, and other rocky landscapes. This realm was home to creatures that can camouflage to blend into their surroundings, traverse tunnels with ease, or even reshape the mountains themselves at will.

Domain of Air:

The floors under the influence of the Domain of Air are characterized by endless skies and high, floating islands, where the winds are ever-changing and unpredictable. The creatures that inhabit this domain are swift and elusive hunters, adept at using the environment to prey on any careless intruders.

Domain of Fire:

The floors under the influence of the Domain of Fire are dominated by flowing rivers of molten lava. The atmosphere is thick with intense heat and the heavy scent of sulfur. Creatures that dwell in this fiery realm wield the destructive power of fire to obliterate any intruder who dares trespass.

 

So now I have three choices instead of two, huh?

Each of the domains represented a different kind of power, a different way for him to shape his dungeon, to build his forces, to plan his strategy. Rushing into a decision was unwise. This was a very important matter, after all, one that required careful consideration. He needed to take his time to think it through before making his final choice.

“I’ll choose the domain later,” he told Celeste. “Let’s see something else. Show me the skill Mutate Lesser Minion.”

[Understood, Master.]

 

Mutate Lesser Minion LV1:

Choose one of the following mutations:

- Spend 50 mana to give one Lesser Minion the “Bloated with Noxious Gas” mutation. The minion’s body will become swollen with noxious gas, which will leak into the environment, continuously poisoning the air around it. The minion was now immune to all poison. If it dies, its body will detonate, unleashing a violent burst of toxic fume.

 

Mutation, huh? Viktor had always known that higher-level Dungeon Cores had the ability to mutate their minions, granting them new abilities while, well, altering their forms. And what this particular mutation did was to fill their bodies with gas. The constant gas leakage might not be very useful—in fact, it could even be harmful to the other minions around it—while the poison immunity was just a minor bonus, obviously not the main reason for choosing this mutation. No, the mutated minions were meant for suicide missions, where they would die in order to inflict damage on their enemies.

That was... a valid tactic, but not an idea he wanted to entertain at the moment. Definitely not today.

Viktor took a deep breath. “Celeste,” he said, “I think that’s enough for now. It’s been a long day, and I need to rest. We’ll continue tomorrow.”

[Understood, Master. Take care and stay safe on your way home.]

“I will.” He smiled. “See you.”

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Chapter 52: A Good Trade

“So,” Fianna asked, “what do I need to do exactly, Master?”

“It’s simple,” Viktor replied, handing her a small, round object with a faint star symbol etched into its surface. “All you have to do is hold this, and get as close as possible to the intruder.”

The mermaid nodded. “I see. Does it matter where I keep it?”

“No.”

“In that case...” Fianna slipped the orb into her mouth, her eyes gleaming with mischief as she slowly swallowed it. “This way, I won’t have to worry about losing it.”

Viktor furrowed his brow. There wouldn’t be much of her left after this. Well, at least it would be quick and painless.

The mermaid was grinning at him, acting as carefree as ever, as if the earlier dreadful conversation had never taken place. She had accepted her fate, and now she put on the mask of cheerfulness to ward off the fear, so that she could press on with her mission without any hesitation.

It was convenient for him, wasn’t it? This was exactly the outcome he had hoped for. She was just a tool, a pawn, a minion that cost him a little more than 66 mana to summon. Sacrificing her to eliminate a powerful enemy like Bjorn was an acceptable, no, a very good trade.

“Do you have any requests?” Viktor asked.

“Well, let’s see...” Fianna glanced upward, tilting her head as she took a moment to think. Then, she giggled. “Ah, I know. Can I pat your head now, Master?”

“...”

He stared at the mermaid, who was slightly leaning forward, her mischievous gaze still locked on him, as though waiting for him to comply. With a resigned sigh, he lowered his head.

Without missing a beat, she placed her hand on top of his head, gently brushing her fingers against his hair as if she were comforting a child. “There, there,” she cooed. “Good boy, good boy.”

I’m not a kid. I am your master.

“It’s a shame I won’t be here to see you grow up, but it can’t be helped. Just promise me you’ll take good care of yourself, alright?”

I know how to take care of myself. I don’t need you to tell me.

“I still think that being cynical doesn’t suit you. You’d be way cuter if you lightened up a bit.”

Just go already, you stupid mermaid.

Fianna withdrew her hand, and he lifted his head. “Goodbye, Master,” she said with a sad smile, before she turned and slipped into the water. In the next moment, she was gone, as though she had never been there at all.

Now is not the time for sentiment, Viktor thought as he launched his vision forward to follow the mermaid. She was swimming underwater, racing toward the calamitous dance between moons and comets.

“Celeste,” he called the Dungeon Core. “When Fianna got close enough, order Sebekton to retreat immediately. And tell him, and everyone else, to get as far as possible from the intruder.”

[Understood.]

Fianna glided through the water with speed and grace, like a true daughter of the ocean. Before her, the sea churned and twisted, flashing at intervals with the collisions between crescent moons and cold spear-tips. The battle had been raging on for a while. But now, it had stopped. Sebekton had received the command and was about to leave. Bjorn was dumbfounded, unable to comprehend why his opponent had suddenly withdrawn. Then, his gaze shifted to the lone mermaid who was streaking through the water toward him like an arrow.

The Northman conjured an ice lance and hurled it at Fianna. However, the elusive mermaid’s mastery over the currents had granted her an agility beyond any anticipation. She moved like a shadow, her form dancing in and out of sight, faster than Bjorn could possibly track. Then, she veered toward the warrior. Out of nowhere, a trident made of coral appeared in her hand, aimed straight at his head.

The sword of light swung in a wide arc of radiance, cleaving the trident in two with ease. But before that dazzling blade could reach Fianna, Viktor detonated the bomb.

The mermaid’s body contorted. It was hard to make out her final expression. Was it a serene acceptance, or a knowing grimace? It mattered not. She disintegrated in a cloud of red. Nothing remained but a severed tail sinking to the depths.

What was more important was the fate of his formidable opponent.

Bjorn’s body stiffened, his deadly blade slipping from his grip, its glow snuffing out as it spiraled into the murk. The warrior’s eyes bulged, veins rupturing across the whites. His mouth gaped, but no scream emerged. He sank slowly, limbs drifting as limp as withered seaweed. Thin tendrils of red curled upward from his nose and ears, bubbles streaming from his lips, each bursting into a tiny cloud of pink.

The Northman had suffered some superficial external injuries due to getting hit by the debris, but those were not what killed him.

Viktor had witnessed the devastating effect of an underwater detonation firsthand when Alycia tossed one of her firebombs into the water during her party’s assault of the dungeon. His froglings had been ripped apart, while the merfolk floated motionless on the surface, their internal organs ravaged by the blast.

After the battle, he had dissected their corpses to assess the damage, so he knew exactly what had happened to Bjorn’s body. His lung had been crushed, air sacs burst and filled with blood, while tiny air bubbles from his shredded lungs shot into his heart, clogging its blood vessels. His liver, spleen, and kidneys had exploded, flooding his body with toxins. His stomach tore open after being slammed against his spine, spilling acid and half-digested food into his belly. His intestines twisted and split, leaking their putrid contents everywhere. Even his brain was not spared, bleeding and swelling from the trauma and ruptured tissue.

In other words, there was no one thing that had killed him. He died because everything broke at once. His lungs couldn’t breathe, his heart couldn’t beat, and his brain couldn’t think. That body was now nothing more than a sack of blood, shit, and poison.

This noon, after Viktor had concluded that the Dungeon Reavers’ invasion was imminent, his mind immediately ran through multiple simulated scenarios. The Acolytes of the Deep and their tentacles were his dungeon’s best line of defense, yes, but what if one of the intruders was exceptionally good at fighting underwater? Of course, he couldn’t rule out that possibility, because that was exactly what he did back when he himself was an adventurer. Nevertheless, the real question was: what could he do to deal with it? He then recalled the fight with Manfred’s party. What he had used could be used against him, yes, but the opposite was also true. So he rushed back to Alycia’s shop, and when the woman wasn’t paying attention, he stole one of her firebombs along with its detonator.

He saw Sebekton rise from the water’s surface, his towering form struggling through the crashing waves as he attempted to walk toward him. There were no visible injuries, but his slow movements and ragged breaths made it clear that the battle had taken its toll. Even his reptilian eyes, once burning with the murderous intent of a predator, now looked tired.

The Crocodilian spat out a mouthful of blood onto the water before stepping into the sand. “Master,” he said, his voice hoarse and strained, “What the hell... is that?”

“Something dreadful,” Viktor replied.

“Did it kill the intruder?”

“Yes. And it seems even you were affected as well, despite the distance.”

Sebekton nodded. “Aye, for a moment I thought that I couldn’t breathe. And I might have sunk if not for this fellow.” He turned and gestured at a figure in a drenched robe behind him. The Acolyte had been blocked from view by the Guardian’s massive body, so Viktor hadn’t noticed him until now.

The mutant mage bowed deeply. “Master.”

“Orloth, isn’t it?”

The mutant blinked his pitch-black eyes in surprise. “You remember me?”

“I remember everyone who left an impression,” Viktor replied. While the Acolytes of the Deep might look identical at first glance, there were enough distinguishing features to tell them apart. Of course, he was not going to remember all of them, but at the very least, he would do with the one he had shared a long conversation.

“That was my old name though,” the Acolyte said. “The name I’ve abandoned, after I chose to serve the Great One.”

“Did your god give you a new name?”

He shook his head. “No, Master.”

“Then how did he address you all?” Viktor chuckled. “Acolyte One and Acolyte Two?”

“Well, there was no need for that. Through His Prophets, He could speak to each of us directly in our minds, instructing us on what must be done.”

“That’s a good trick, but I can’t do that. So, how can I call you?”

“Orloth will do, Master.”

“Orloth,” Viktor said. “It’s good to see you survive the battle.”

“I’m just lucky. Many others... are not.” The Acolyte glanced back at the water. “That mermaid... She was the one with you when you summoned me, wasn’t she?”

“Yes.”

“She was very brave.”

“Yes.”

“She sacrificed her own life in order to bring down that intruder,” Orloth murmured, looking down on the sand. “Not many people could do the same. I probably couldn’t. You may give the order, and I might obey. But I have no idea what I would do in the final moment. After all, I am someone who has abandoned his humanity to save his own skin.” He turned to the waves again. “She was the epitome of loyalty, serving her master with utmost devotion. I admire her... and envy her.”

No, that’s not it, Viktor thought. Fianna sacrificed herself because he had placed her in a position where she couldn’t say no. Yet, she bore him no resentment. In fact, she was sad that they would never meet again.

He turned to his Guardian, to distract himself from the lingering thoughts of the ill-fated woman. “Sorry, Sebekton, for interrupting your duel like that.”

The Crocodilian guffawed. “What are you talking about, Master? I would’ve probably lost if the fight had continued. If anything...” He scratched his broad head. “My lack of ability to handle the intruder on my own was what had forced you to take action. It was my fault that—”

“It was not your fault,” Viktor cut him off. Then he said, “Gentlemen, thank you for your efforts in the battle. It’s because of you that we’ve emerged victorious. You’re dismissed. Now take some time to rest.”

His two servants bowed to him. He gave them a nod, then turned back to the Core Room.

Start | Previous | Next

Chapter 51: Moon and Comet

“Is the rogue dead?” Viktor asked his Dungeon Core.

[Yes, Master.]

The reply was short. Cold, clean, final. And reassuring.

He had been almost certain of Clint’s demise, but “almost” was not good enough. The last thing he needed right now was yet another unpleasant surprise. He had already had more than enough of those.

So yes, confirmation was nice.

Underwater, Bjorn was battling his minions. He rammed his shield edge-first into a frogling's throat. It toppled, spewing crimson clouds. Its friend nearby tried to flee, but he grabbed its ankle, dragged it close, his blade of light slicing the creature diagonally from pelvis to cranium. The two halves drifted apart, organs spilling in a grotesque, slow-motion bloom, while the man hovered amidst the carnage, chest heaving, his hair fanned out like seaweed.

He was wearing it, Viktor’s old Reliquary. That was a medallion, probably hidden under the warrior’s layers of cloth and armor. The artifact granted its wearer the ability to traverse any aquatic environment with ease. They would no longer feel the crushing pressure of the water, nor would they need to gasp for air. It also gave them the ability to swim with unparalleled speed and precision, moving in any direction without the limitations that even the finest divers would struggle against. In other words, trying to drown the Northman was futile, as he could stay underwater as long as he wished. If he were to be stopped, it would have to be in combat.

“Celeste,” Viktor said, “have our minions fall back.” It would make the ranged attacks less effective, as the water’s drag would slow down the projectiles significantly, but it was necessary. “Tell the Acolytes to bring down the two giant tentacles from above, and summon more to surround him. Also, order the mermaids to attack from afar with their magic.” They could manipulate the water currents, launching torrents or creating whirlpools. While those might not deal much damage, they would help disorient the enemy. “The mermen and froglings should now focus on protecting the spellcasters,” he added. “Do not let the intruder get close.”

[How about Sebekton, Master?]

“Have him stand by for now,” Viktor replied. There was no reason to use his strongest card prematurely. He needed Bjorn to be worn down first, and then the Crocodilian would be sent in for the killing blow.

As the mermen flicked their tails and scrambled away, the Northman lunged after them. However, the first colossal tentacle uncoiled from above, slamming down to block his path. The blade of light flared from its sheath, searing through the rubbery flesh, black blood blooming in its wake. Yet, the limb was too thick to be severed by a single blow. As he raised his dazzling sword for another strike, the currents around him twisted. Water seized the warrior, hurling him into a spiraling vortex.

But Bjorn halted mid-spin, his movements defying the overwhelming force of the water as he pulled himself out of the whirlpool’s grip. It’s that damn medallion again, Viktor thought. But it was fine. His minions would keep the pressure on.

A harpoon hissed past the Northman, grazing his armor. Three mermen were circling the edge of the vortex, hurling missiles that wobbled toward their foe. And while Bjorn was distracted by those projectiles, tentacles rose from below, twisting and thrashing as they tore through the water like massive serpents, coiling around him like a living cage.

The radiant blade danced in Bjorn’s hands, carving through the murk like a beacon. Wherever that glow moved, it left behind trails of seared tissue and clouds of inky blood. Severed limbs spasmed, suckers twitching wildly as they sank into the abyss. Yet, for every serpentine tendril he struck down, more seemed to rise in its place. And, more importantly, while the warrior was pinned in place, the second colossal tentacle descended with terrifying speed, coming down on him like a falling mountain crashing toward the seabed.

“Just die already,” Viktor muttered. If this succeeded, then Sebekton wouldn’t even need to join the fray.

Then, it happened.

Frost spread like a web across the tentacles surrounding Bjorn. The water hardened around them, then detonated. Ice shards shredded flesh, exploding the tentacles into drifting meat.

What?

The warrior surged free. He launched himself upward as the colossal tentacle plunged down, meeting the bulk head-on. The tentacle’s own momentum was now used against itself as the light sliced through it like a hot knife cutting through butter, splitting the monstrous limb from tip to root. Ink gushed out, a black fog that choked the water as the two gargantuan halves slowly drifted apart.

As the tentacles were taken care of, Bjorn immediately turned his attention to the next target. He raised his left hand, and ice crystallized above it, forming a jagged lance. He hurled the missile toward one of the mermaids.

A merman lunged to shield the spellcaster. The lance struck his chest, and frost bloomed across his scales, slowly encasing his entire body. For a moment, he hung suspended. Then, the ice ruptured, shattering the merman into fragments, guts and frozen debris spraying the mermaid behind him. She let out a silent scream as she fled in terror, her kin’s entrails still tangled in her seaweed hair.

A fourth Reliquary. Wonderful.

Apparently, Viktor was not the only one here holding onto his trump card until the very last moment. Turned out that the Northman had yet another artifact, one that allowed him to create and control ice from the surrounding water. The frozen objects he conjured could also spread additional ice, even when they were far away from him. And they could explode. An excellent weapon in an environment where water was abundant. Ugh.

As the merfolk faltered, Bjorn pushed himself upward. But he didn’t swim to the surface. Instead, he lingered within the upper layer of the water, circling around and scanning the area.

“What is he doing?” Viktor wondered. “Why isn’t he heading for the exit?” Then realization struck, and he barked at the Dungeon Core, “Celeste, order the Acolytes to scatter!”

But it seemed the warrior had located where the mutant mages were conducting their ritual. He dove toward the spot, a massive ice lance slowly forming in his left hand, growing bigger and bigger. Clearly, the man wanted to eliminate all threats before advancing forward.

Bjorn’s arm thrust forward, and the ice lance tore through the water like a lightning bolt, its trajectory locked directly at the heart of the circle the Acolytes of the Deep were forming. The seabed shattered, and frost quickly spread. It crawled up the mutants who hadn’t moved away fast enough, locking legs, sealing tendrils. One eel-skinned Acolyte—a woman probably, though it was hard to tell given their current appearance—clawed at the ice that crept up her torso, but soon, it encased her throat, freezing her face into a twisted mask of terror. Several Acolytes had been engulfed by the ice, their bodies slowly solidifying into frozen statues.

Then, they detonated. Ice shards and meat erupted in a storm. A chunk of spine impaled a fleeing mutant through the chest. A head, cleanly severed, rolled and bounced across the water floor.

Thanks to Celeste’s warning, some of the Acolytes managed to scramble away just in time, retreating into the murk. But with their circle destroyed, their numbers diminished, these stragglers would no longer be able to make any meaningful contribution to the battle.

“Fine,” Viktor said. “Bring Sebekton in.”

[Understood.]

Bjorn was now attacking the merfolk. The mermaids frantically tried to disperse, while the mermen fought desperately to shield their women.

One ice lance brushed against a mermaid’s hand, but that was all it took for the frost to begin climbing up. The mermaid watched in horror as her limb was slowly devoured by the ice, muscles hardening into mounds, fingers stiffening into icicles. As she struggled, a merman barreled toward Bjorn, attempting to engage in close combat. He was quickly beheaded by the blade of light, but the creeping stopped. Only the mermaid’s frozen arm exploded, and she fled, clutching the stump.

I see, so the ice stopped spreading if he’s distracted.

A massive crescent whistled through the water just above Bjorn’s head as he ducked, barely evaded the projectile. Sebekton had arrived, and immediately, he launched an attack against the intruder.

The Northman turned, assessing the threat. Afar, the Crocodilian loomed like a submerged titan, his predatory eyes fixed directly on his foe, while the jaw full of jagged teeth formed a murderous grin.

Bjorn conjured an ice lance and threw it at the Guardian, its crystalline tip cutting through the water with deadly intent. Sebekton’s eyes narrowed as he watched the projectile approach. With a powerful swing of his massive axe, he carved another crescent-shaped arc, shattering the spear mid-trajectory, both defending himself and attacking his enemy in a single move. The Northman flung himself sideways to dodge, while another ice lance already formed in his grip.

This is not good, Viktor thought. One of the advantages of Sebekton’s axe was its ability to launch invisible ranged attacks. However, when used underwater, the distortion caused by the curve’s movement through the medium revealed its presence. And thanks to the power of the medallion, the Northman was extremely agile, allowing him to avoid any incoming projectiles with ease.

The clash between Sebekton and Bjorn had escalated to a dance of destruction. Bjorn conjured one ice lance after another, before hurling them away in quick succession, while Sebekton’s axe spun in a deadly blur, slicing through the water with a relentless barrage of sickles that hissed through the depths.

It was as though a meteor shower had erupted beneath the surface. Bjorn’s lances streaked like comets, their frozen tails sparkling with trapped bubbles. Sebekton’s moons glided through the dark, each one leaving a brief void in their wake. And whenever a waning moon and a cold comet kissed, the collision detonated a storm of shrapnel. Shards of frozen crystal exploded outward in all directions, shockwaves and debris slowly pushing both combatants backward.

[What do you think, Master?]

Viktor shook his head. “I don’t think Sebekton can win this.”

[Why, Master?]

“Using that Reliquary takes a heavy toll on his stamina,” he replied. “His endurance is extraordinary, but even he can’t last forever.”

The Crocodilian had once told him what it felt like when he activated the axe’s ability. It was as though the very air before him solidified to oppose his swing. The harder he struck, the greater the resistance. And while this meant the blow would unleash a more powerful projectile, it exhausted him very quickly. On the other hand, Bjorn could go on forever, unless he ran out of water, which was obviously not going to happen anytime soon.

[Should we command the merfolk and Acolytes to regroup and assist him?]

“You can give the order, but I doubt any of them would want to get close to that,” Viktor replied with a chuckle as he watched explosion after explosion unfold in his vision.

[How about having Sebekton retreat, then try to snipe the intruder once he is out of the water?]

“I doubt it’ll work. That Northman is too cunning to fall for such a trick. And don’t forget, he still has his shield.”

[We still have two Cyclopes left. How about Sebekton teaming up with them to fight the intruder on land?]

“You saw how quickly he killed the Cyclopes on the second floor with that blade of light. Engaging him in melee combat is suicidal.”

[The situation is very bad, isn’t it?]

“It is.”

[Yet, you still seem too calm.]

Viktor chuckled. “So do you.”

[Well, I just refuse to believe that you have not considered the possibility that at least one of the intruders is very good at underwater combat.]

Of course he had. And he had prepared a contingency for this exact situation. It was time to use it—his final plan.

“I’ve told you to keep a mermaid on standby, waiting for my further instructions...”

[Yes, I have done what you instructed. She is just outside the Core Room.]

“Good.”

He opened his eyes, rose from his chair, and made his way toward the door without any hesitation. His movements were automatic, as he was simply following the steps he had already mapped out in his mind.

Yet, the moment he crossed the threshold, he froze.

“Master?” Fianna asked. The mermaid was leisurely sitting on the beach, oblivious to the battle that was raging underwater, oblivious to the fate that was awaiting her.

With so many mermaids in this dungeon, what are the chances of her being chosen?

“Master?” Fianna asked again, tilting her head.

It matters not, he decided. She was just a minion. Unlike someone like Sebekton, she was expendable, and replaceable.

He strode forward, eyeing the mermaid. “Do you know what’s going on?”

“Well, it seems there’s a battle underwater over there,” Fianna replied, pointing at the distant waves. “Have the intruders reached this floor, Master? How are we faring against them?”

“Badly,” Viktor said with a cold voice. “Merfolk, froglings, Acolytes, all have suffered heavy casualties. Sebekton is now dueling the enemy, but even he’s at a disadvantage.”

The mermaid’s eyes widened. “That means...”

“Soon the intruder will be here. He will walk through that door. He will enter the Core Room. And then, he will take the Dungeon Core away.”

“But... but...”

There was no need for him to spell it out, as Fiana understood the consequences all too well. If the Core was no longer here, the dungeon would gradually crumble into nothing but an empty cavern. The merfolk would be trapped here, along with their larvae and eggs. And without the mana from the Dungeon Core to sustain them, all of their offspring would perish.

“What... what do we do?” Fianna asked. Her hands trembled, her voice barely above a whisper.

Viktor gave a casual shrug. “Yeah, what do we do, I wonder?”

“How can you act like this is nothing?” The mermaid yelled, her tail slapping the water. She clenched her fists, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes. “Y-You must have a plan, right, Master? There’s no way you would let that happen.”

“I do have a plan. But I need you to carry it out for me.”

“Just give me the order.” Her face lit up. “Whatever it is, Master, I’m ready to do any—”

“I’m going to order you to die, Fianna.”

“What...!?”

“I’ll be straight with you,” Viktor said. “This is a death sentence. Your chances of coming back alive are zero.”

Fianna was frozen in place, her breath trapped in her lungs. Her wide eyes were locked on him. Her lips quivered, yet no sound escaped. He didn’t know what was going through her head, but it made no difference, as he already knew the decision she would make in the end.

While technically he could command his minions to do anything, there were a couple of things that could get in the way. Fear was one of them, and there was nothing worse than the fear of death. It was one thing to tell the minions to engage a dangerous opponent; it was another to make them walk to certain death. Even if they obeyed his order, they might still hesitate at the last moment, and that could jeopardize his plan.

Which was why he had instructed Celeste to hold a mermaid in reserve. With the fate of the eggs and larvae hanging in the balance, he was using her maternal love to make sure that she would die as he dictated.

“Master,” the mermaid finally said. “Will... will my death stop the intruder?”

“Yes, he’ll go down with you.”

“I see,” Fianna said with a sad smile. “I can’t believe that I get to become the Guardian of the Bridge.”

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Chapter 50: The Third Floor

Viktor still couldn’t believe what he had just witnessed.

Four Cyclopes lay sprawled across the floor of the arena, dead. These monstrous, one-eyed creatures had triumphed in many battles before, with those foolish enough to challenge them either meeting a swift, brutal end or fleeing in terror. Even Cedric’s party, with their combined strength, had only managed to take down one after a drawn-out and hard-fought battle. But here, just now, four had been slain. Within seconds, no less.

He would have accepted it better if there had been some magic involved. After all, these creatures were notorious for their lack of intelligence and weak wills, making them highly susceptible to mind control. Which was why he had built the whole plan around that very flaw in the first place: to exploit it, to turn it to his advantage. But no, the Cyclopes were not subdued by magic. They had been brought down by sheer brute force.

To be fair, he didn’t expect to obliterate the entire party in one fell swoop. He had always assumed that even if the battle went his way, he might only be able to take down one or two of them. When seen in that light, the battle could hardly be called a disaster. In fact, it was well within the acceptable margin. Still, the prowess displayed by the Northern warrior was nothing short of unbelievable.

The man possessed two Reliquaries: the sword and the shield. The shield appeared capable of absorbing the full force of the strike that came at it, negating the impact entirely. That ability was what allowed him to successfully block the Cyclops’s devastating swing. Very useful, indeed, but it wasn’t exactly mind-blowing. What truly set Bjorn apart, however, was the sword.

The moment it left its scabbard, a blinding radiance emerged, enveloping its entire edge and transforming it into a blade of light. The blade stretched twice the length and width of its metal core, giving its wielder a longer reach. More importantly, this beam of radiant destruction could cut through anything. Wood, meat, or bone. Everything unfortunate enough to be in its path would be cleanly cleaved in two.

Obviously, engaging the man in close combat was unwise. The blade’s power and reach made it a formidable weapon in any kind of direct confrontation. Even Sebekton would have a hard time dealing with that. No, his minions needed to stay away from Bjorn, far out of reach of that terrifying sword, and with ranged attacks, they could harass, wear down, and hopefully pick him apart from a safe distance.

After assessing the situation and contemplating the next move, Viktor’s attention returned to the arena, where the three Dungeon Reavers were coming to terms with the aftermath of the battle.

Joshua gave a brief glance at what used to be Xahir. His face went pale, his hand going to his mouth as if he might vomit right then and there. But he swallowed it down, quickly averting his eyes.

“Fuck!” Clint spat on the ground, then he turned to Bjorn. “What now?”

“We press on,” the warrior said flatly.

“Is that wise?” Joshua asked with a frown. “This dungeon seems much more dangerous than we expected.”

“We’ll be fine.”

“No, you’ll be fine,” Clint yelled. “But how about us?”

“You can go back if you want,” Bjorn said. “I’ll continue, with or without you.”

“You’re acting strange, Bjorn. Is it really all about money? Or... does that queen of yours have something to do with this?” Joshua asked. For a brief moment, the Northman’s eyes narrowed.

Queen?

“What queen?” Clint voiced the same question.

Bjorn glared at the aeromancer, his jaw tightening. “Do not make baseless assumptions. She has nothing to do with this.”

“Oh, really?” Joshua didn’t back down. “Then tell me, where did you get that sword? You didn’t have it before. Someone has just given it to you. Right before this job. Who? Must be someone very rich and powerful, right?”

“It’s none of your concern,” Bjorn said, cutting off any further argument. Without another word, he turned and made for the other exit of the arena. The mage and the rogue exchanged a glance. Joshua sighed, before trailing after Bjorn. Clint spat again, then picked up his pace to catch up with his companions.

That was... certainly some interesting information. So, someone had entrusted Bjorn with the Reliquary for the purpose of completing this mission. And Joshua had mentioned a queen. But which queen? Since Bjorn hailed from the North, the Queen of Brefjord seemed the most likely candidate. However, the word “queen” here might not necessarily refer to a literal monarch. There was also that mysterious woman, Nephra, who might be involved in some way.

Before long, the Dungeon Reavers had reached the third floor, where a vast expanse of shimmering blue lay before their eyes. Joshua raised his hand without waiting for Bjorn’s order, as if the decision had already been made beforehand, and a gust of wind began to stir. The currents of air swirled around the three adventurers, and slowly, their feet lifted off the ground.

Viktor watched as the trio flew onward. As expected, they tried to cheat the water realm by taking flight, bypassing the dangers of the treacherous sea below. But he had something at his disposal that could stretch all the way to the heavens. No place was safe, not even the sky.

“Rise.”

When the party was about to reach the midpoint, he uttered the word.

The water exploded. His minions, the Acolytes of the Deep, who were preparing their spell beneath the surface, had heard their master’s call and unleashed their power, calling forth an extension of their god into this world. A leviathan pillar of flesh, covered in writhing suckers and grotesque mouths, shot upward, rising like a siege tower. It swung, a mountain of muscle and malice, aimed directly at the intruders.

“Left!” Bjorn roared.

Joshua wrenched his hands upward, and the air screamed in response. The party lurched sideways as the colossal limb nearly grazed Clint’s boot. The rogue cursed under his breath and loosed an arrow, which buried itself uselessly in the tentacle’s thick, slimy hide.

When the serpentine pillar returned, targeting the center of their formation, Joshua veered to the left, while Clint swore again as he was flung to the right. Bjorn’s blade flashed to life, slicing through the tentacle’s head with a wide arc of silver. The tip fell, spraying putrid ichor as it plunged back into the depths.

The severed stump coiled, then lashed like a whip. Joshua grunted, sweat streaming down his face as he struggled to dodge the flailing remnants, all the while straining to keep his companions out of danger as well.

“Send me down!” Bjorn bellowed, sliding his sword back into its scabbard.

“What?”

“Get me close to its base! I’ll cut it at the root!”

“Are you mad? We have no idea what might be lurking down there.”

“Just do it!”

The aeromancer let out a sigh. “Hold on tight!” he said, moving his hand, and the warrior began to plummet. He was not dropping straight down, of course, but instead angled toward the spot where the tentacle emerged.

But before he could reach his target, the water moved. Dozens of smaller tentacles shot upward, each one as thick as a man’s torso. The blade of light danced, cleaving them in bursts of gore and black blood. But for every tentacle he cut down, two more serpentine tendrils surged to take its place.

That’ll keep him busy for a while.

The true target was still the wind mage. Once he was slain, the other two would fall to their watery grave.

“Rise,” Viktor uttered again.

A second pillar of flesh breached the surface. This one was smaller than the first, but no less grotesque. It rose a bit further away from the Reavers, since its purpose was not to strike at them, but to send something—or more accurately, someone—into the sky. At its tip clung Sebekton, his loyal Guardian, axe raised high, slit-pupiled eyes glinting with murderous intent.

Joshua saw him too late.

The deadly Reliquary sheared the air, and an invisible crescent launched forward, passing through the aeromancer’s waist without any resistance. For a heartbeat, Joshua hung intact, his brow furrowed in confusion. Then, his lower half fell, guts spilling out like a torrent of glistening red. Blood rained in crimson droplets as his torso toppled as well, a moment later. The mage’s eyes, wide with shock, blinked at the sky one last time before his world went dark forever.

Viktor grinned. Perfect!

Clint screamed, clawing at empty air as the wind died. The rogue and the warrior dropped, swallowed whole by the dark water beneath.

The archer was as good as dead, Viktor was certain of it. Falling from such a height, it didn’t matter what was down there waiting to meet him. The impact alone would have reduced the man to a crumpled heap. Bones would be shattered, flesh would be pulverized, and life would be snuffed out in an instant. No one would be able to survive that.

His focus shifted to Bjorn, who was now underwater. He had to make sure that the warrior wouldn’t resurface. “Send the merfolk and froglings to encircle him,” he ordered the Dungeon Core. “But don’t get too close,” he added. That blade of light could still be a threat. “Maintain distance and bombard him with missiles.”

He watched closely as his minions began to converge. First came the mermen, their scales gleaming in the murk, webbed hands clutching harpoons and javelins. The froglings trailed behind, their throats puffing up as they readied their darts. They formed a ring, staying just outside the reach of the sinking warrior’s terrifying sword. Weapons at the ready, they prepared to strike as one.

But before the first projectile could even be unleashed, Bjorn’s body twisted. He surged toward the nearest merman, and the radiant blade arced upward, slicing through scale, flesh, and bone from hip to shoulder. The merman’s torso peeled open, spilling coils of entrails that drifted away, while the lower half sank, tail still thrashing.

What?

A harpoon hissed past the warrior’s ear. He spun, shield raised, and a dart bounced off the metal surface. Another merman threw a javelin, but he ducked and launched himself at the creature with unnatural speed. His sword carved a crescent through the water, severing his foe’s arm at the elbow.

Unbelievable...

Viktor wanted to dismiss the Northman as just a good swimmer. He really wanted to. But the way Bjorn moved underwater felt so wrong. Too fast, too precise, and worst of all, too familiar. It mirrored the same fluid, deadly movements he himself had made when he was conquering the water realms of the dungeons in his past.

[He is using your Reliquary, right, Master?]

Ugh.

There was no mistake. This was another artifact from the collection Alycia had called the Tyrant’s Legacy, or whatever name people had slapped on it. Back when he was an adventurer, he had used this Reliquary to dive into the depths and slay the Acolytes of the Deep, who were hiding at the bottom, thinking they were safe and beyond his reach.

And now, it was being used against him.

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Chapter 49: The Second Floor

“Where’s the Cyclops?” Joshua muttered as he reached the end of the staircase, his eyes squinting into the gloom. “There should be one here.”

The chamber that lay before them was empty. There was no sign of the hulking, single-eyed monster that usually guarded this part of the dungeon. Viktor had, of course, pulled the creature from the spot. Leaving a lone Cyclops here would have just made it easy prey for the Cabalist.

Bjorn grunted. “The dungeon’s moved its minion again.”

“As if it knows I’m about to take control of the beast,” Xahir murmured. “As if it’s actively working against us.”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Bjorn said. “The attack just now on the first floor. What else could it be but a deliberate move against us? The dungeon has bared its fangs, clearly.”

A grin spread across Clint’s face. “If that’s the case, then it’s failed spectacularly. It lost a bunch of its minions and didn’t accomplish a thing.”

“That’s a probing attack,” Bjorn said. “It’s not meant to defeat us. It’s meant to test us.”

Was that the reason why the Northman didn’t fight at all? To deny the dungeon any information about himself?

“Now what?” Joshua asked, pointing toward the gaping mouth of the corridor ahead. “Are we going to enter the maze? We’ve got four gnolls now. We can use them as our screening force.”

“Wait,” Bjorn said, narrowing his eyes. “How did the Cyclops leave this place?”

That gave everyone pause.

“That’s... a good point.” The aeromancer slowly nodded. “You’re right. The creature’s massive. No chance it could make it through that opening. Not without causing a collapse. There has to be another exit from this room.”

Yes, there was. Viktor had built a secret tunnel, wide enough for the one-eyed brutes to walk through, connecting this chamber to the arena at the far end of the second floor, completely bypassing the maze. It was meant for retreating wounded Cyclops, as well as bringing in its replacement.

“Joshua, check the walls,” Bjorn ordered. “Find the secret passage.”

The mage gave a quick nod, stepping forward. He raised his hands, and the air around him began to hum. A faint breeze stirred, brushing against the surrounding stone walls, probing for any gaps or cracks that could betray the hidden passage’s location.

“There,” the aeromancer said, pointing at the wall to his left. “That spot.”

Bjorn turned to Clint, jerking his chin toward the location Joshua had pointed out. With a snort, the rogue approached the wall and knelt down, running his fingers along the cold surface. After a moment, he pressed a stone, and a rumble followed as the wall began to shift. One section slid aside, revealing the secret passageway.

“Good,” Bjorn said. “Let’s move.”

The four adventurers entered the tunnel. Two gnolls took the lead, while the other two guarded the rear, ready to intercept any attacks from both directions. Protected by their canine meatshields on either side, the Dungeon Reavers advanced, keeping the same formation as they had on the first floor.

“Hey, Bjorn,” Joshua said.

“What?”

“What exactly is this place?” the mage asked in a low voice. “Is it... sentient?”

“No idea. But it’s different from the others. There’s something more to it. It’s alive, in a way. At least our client thinks so.”

The one who hired them? Was that Clovis? Did the fat Guildmaster from Iskora know something? Well, Viktor did find it odd that he had been willing to fork out two million gold for the Dungeon Core, but he had brushed it off as just a bold business move. Now, however, he wondered if Clovis had caught wind of something important. And it was possible that that mysterious woman—Nephra, if it was even her real name—had something to do with all of this.

“Has there ever been a dungeon like this before?” Clint asked.

“If we’re to believe the legend, then yes, there was one,” Bjorn replied. “Thousands of years ago.”

“What became of it?”

“It grew. And grew. And grew. Until it rose to the surface and swallowed the land itself. It sought to make the entire world one endless labyrinth. Had it succeeded, there would be no more ‘inside’ or ‘outside.’ Everywhere would be dungeon.”

Clint whistled. “I guess it failed then, seeing as we’re still standing.”

“The Eternal Flame descended from Heaven to stop the dungeon’s madness,” Bjorn said. “The battle between them was unlike anything ever seen before. It ripped the earth open. And the result is what we now call the Abyss.”

Joshua chuckled. “What a silly story. Someone probably saw that chasm and made up the whole tale just to explain it.”

“Isn’t the Eternal Flame what you Northmen worship?” Clint smirked as well. “Don’t drag your religion into this, Bjorn. You're a warrior, not a priest.”

The Brefjordian snorted, then remained silent after that.

Viktor recalled what his master had told him about the Abyss. The story Bjorn shared was just another variation of it, with some differing details. Well, everyone and their grandmother had their own interpretation of that place’s origin, each one more contradictory than the last, and who could say which one was true? After all, it happened millennia ago, when reality blurred with myth and legend. What he did know for certain, though, was that there was indeed a dungeon beneath the Abyss.

Once the Dungeon Reavers reached the other end of the tunnel, Joshua and Clint immediately jumped into action, repeating the same process they had used earlier. The secret door gave a reluctant groan as it slid open, revealing the arena beyond. Xahir gestured for his puppets to enter first. The gnolls stepped forward, weapons raised, their eyes narrowing as they glanced left and right, their noses twitching as they sniffed the air, alert to any threat.

“It looks empty,” the Cabalist reported. “But there is the scent of Cyclopes and goblins behind the walls.”

“This is where Lahmia died,” Bjorn said. “Yes, they’re set to ambush us.”

“What should we do?”

“Is there any choice but to press on?” the Northman said, moving to the front. He had always taken the safest position in the formation, but clearly, he knew when to take the lead to bolster the party’s morale. “Joshua, protect us from the projectiles.”

“Alright.” The aeromancer waved his hand, and a gust of wind erupted. It swirled around the four adventurers, creating a barrier of air that would blow away any incoming arrows or bolts.

They entered the arena, joining the gnolls who were waiting for them. And the moment they reached the center—

At the corners of the room, four concealed doors shuddered open. From each, out lumbered a mountain of muscle and one-eyed malice, swinging a club the size of a small tree like it was nothing but a walking stick.

“Shit!” Clint cursed, eyes widening at the sight of the monsters charging from every direction.

Xahir, on the other hand, showed no sign of worry. A smile twisted his lips as he signaled for his thralls to throw themselves at the Cyclopes.

And they died almost instantly.

The first gnoll’s skull was flattened by a casual swat, brains spraying across the ground. The second one was stomped, its ribs crushed under a Cyclops’ foot, innards bursting out between the brute’s monstrous toes. Another Cyclops seized the third gnoll by its ankles, whirling it overhead like a flail, then hurled it at the fourth. The two puppets collided, merging into a bloody pulp as they crashed into the wall.

But they had served their purpose: to buy time. With the few seconds the gnolls had bought with their lives, the Cabalist completed his incantation. Two Cyclopes froze, then turned in unison. Letting out a roar, they charged at their former friends.

“Let them fight,” Xahir said, allowing himself a satisfied smile.

The old bastard was undeniably a master when it came to bending minds, Viktor had to give him that. The way he effortlessly commanded multiple thralls at the same time was truly impressive. Even with the one-eyed brutes bearing down on him, he remained completely unfazed, sending his current batch of meatshields to their deaths without any hesitation, and by the time their corpses hit the ground, he had already seized their replacements. Clearly, the Cabalist’s magic far surpassed Lucian’s in effectiveness.

However, in this specific situation, it would be his downfall.

“Do it, now!” Viktor ordered his Dungeon Core.

[Understood.]

Behind the stone walls of the arena, a small contingent of goblins waited, their crossbows, handcrafted by the gremlins, ready. These weren’t just any goblins, but the finest sharpshooters his dungeon could muster—well, finest sharpshooters by goblin standards, of course. Their skills still left much to be desired, but that was fine. Their targets were huge anyway, while the distance wasn’t all that significant. Under Celeste’s command, they raised their weapons and loosed their bolts through the arrow slits. Not at the adventurers, but instead—

The four brutes howled, clawing at their faces. Their clubs swung wild, obliterating the stone pillars, spraying shrapnel everywhere.

Xahir’s smirk disappeared. The one-eyed monsters now no longer followed orders. Anyone’s orders. They were consumed by pure, unrelenting rage and began to indiscriminately smash anything within range, friends or foes alike, destroying everything in their path. The room had transformed into a meat grinder, with him being the meat.

The old man stumbled as a stray rock struck his leg. As he tried to rise, a club came crashing down.

“No—stop—!”

His body folded like parchment, splintered ribs tearing through his cloak. His skull collapsed inward, eyeballs popping free, rolling across the bloodstained ground.

One down, three more to go.

Viktor would have preferred to have Joshua killed first, as without him, the party would have a harder time traversing the water realm. But it couldn’t be helped. The problem with making the Cyclopes attack everything at random was that he had no say in which target they would choose.

“Fuck!” the aeromancer cursed. He vaulted to dodge the strikes, while summoning a gust of wind to lift Clint off the ground as well. However, the ceiling was low, so even as they soared upward, the Cyclopes and their colossal clubs still remained a deadly threat.

Interestingly, Joshua didn’t try to help Bjorn. Despite the chaos around him, the Northman stood firm at the center of the arena. As a club swung toward him, massive and lethal, air shrieking with the force of its strike, the warrior was unmoved, shield raised. And—

The blow was stopped dead.

A thunderous sound shook the arena, the force of the impact sending a shockwave reverberating through the air. Yet, the Northman didn’t budge even a single step.

That’s definitely a Reliquary, Viktor thought. The sheer power of the Cyclops’ strike should have been enough to shatter any normal shield, and even if the shield itself hadn’t been broken, the blow would have still crushed the hand behind it, and flung Bjorn away like a sack of meat.

The warrior’s sword sang from its sheath. Light surged, and a blade of pure radiance erupted from the steel. He lunged forward, his blade of light passing through the Cyclops’ neck. The head tumbled to the ground, and the towering body crumpled like a felled oak.

What?

The Northman didn’t waste even a second. He immediately moved to the next target. The nearest Cyclops swung its club, but Bjorn’s radiant blade sliced cleanly through both the weapon and the brute’s body. The severed half of the club thudded to the ground, while entrails gushed out as the creature’s upper body toppled sideways.

What the hell is that weapon?

With two of the brutes slain, the pressure on Joshua and Clint eased. The archer, still hovering in the air, drew and released an arrow. It curved, striking a Cyclops’ gaping maw and exploding out the back of its skull. Then it looped, drilling ear to ear, a geyser of blood and brain matter spraying outward. Finally, it spiraled upward through an eye socket, sealing it shut. The creature swayed, then fell.

Meanwhile, Bjorn leaped at the last remaining foe, his sword a blazing arc of silver. The light cleaved the Cyclops vertically, splitting cranium, thorax, pelvis. The two halves peeled apart, collapsing in opposite directions.

No melee combat then, Viktor decided. From now on, he needed to have his minions keep their distance and wear the Northman down with ranged attacks.

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Chapter 48: The First Floor

Viktor watched as the four adventurers made their way through the maze on the first floor of his dungeon.

Taking the lead was the one in the tunic, a man in his forties, streaks of gray creeping into his dark hair. He didn’t carry anything but a pair of bulging satchels hanging from his belt, which clinked softly with every step. Viktor wondered what was inside those bags. Probably some metal pieces, but what exactly?

Close behind, the hooded figure shuffled along. His features could be made out more clearly now, an old man with deep wrinkles. Yet, despite his age, he had no trouble keeping up with the group.

Then came the man with the braided beard, whom Viktor had assumed to be Bjorn. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his armored form wrapped in a heavy cloak. Beneath the fabric, Viktor caught a glimpse of a sword at his side and the outline of a shield.

And finally, there was Clint. His eyes were sharp, darting back and forth, constantly searching for any threats lurking in the shadows. The bow was gripped tightly in his left hand, while his right hand hovered near the quiver on his waist, ready to nock an arrow and shoot at a moment’s notice.

So the rogue’s at the rear, huh? Well, it made sense. Rogues needed to protect the party from unseen dangers, so they were typically either the first or the last in the formation. Bjorn’s placement was puzzling, though. Why was the frontline fighter not in either the first or second position?

“Hey Joshua, why do you think Azran followed us here?” Clint yelled from the back.

“Isn’t it obvious?” replied the man in the front. “He wants to steal the Dungeon Core from us. He expects us to suffer casualties in the dungeon, so he waits outside to ambush us after we get out.”

Clint chuckled. “If that’s really what he thinks, then he’s a fool. Bjorn’ll chop his bald head off if he tries anything funny. Right, Bjorn?”

The tall man walking before him snorted. “You talk too much.”

“Yes, I do. I love talking,” Clint replied. “Besides, what else can I do here but talk?” He spat on the ground. “We’ve been on guard this whole time for nothing. Doesn't look like there are any monsters nearby.”

“And don’t you find it strange?”

“What’s strange about it? It happens sometimes. Maybe the monsters on the first floor have been slain by the other adventurers, and their replacements haven’t been summoned yet.”

“Or it could be the dungeon playing its tricks.”

The Dungeon Reavers’ unchallenged progress so far was, of course, no accident. Viktor had told Celeste to pull back all of his minions. After all, sending the goblins and spiders to approach this party and die pointlessly would just be a waste of resources. He would not commit his forces until he had gathered enough information about these intruders.

“Tricks?” Clint asked. “Since when can dungeons play tricks?”

“This one can,” Bjorn said, his voice almost a growl. “You forgot what I told you back at the inn?”

The rogue grinned. “Maybe I wasn’t paying attention.”

“I’ll not repeat myself. Xahir, educate the fool.”

“Bjorn is right,” said the hooded old man. “There are many things very unusual about this dungeon. First of all, it grows too fast. The dungeon is estimated to have come into existence less than nine weeks ago, yet it already has Cyclopes. And when Azran and Lahmia invaded six weeks ago, it already had a boss—”

“Yes, that’s fast,” Clint interrupted. “But some dungeons grow fast, others slow. It’s not like that’s never happened before.”

“There are many other peculiarities as well,” Xahir said. “Like the way that Crocodilian moved around. Azran fought him at the end of the second floor. The party that discovered the dungeon found him under the staircase leading to the first. Then a different party got slaughtered when they ran into him on the third. Dungeons do shuffle their minions from time to time, yes, but this drastic change, this constant shifting of monsters, all within such a short period of time, is not normal.”

Well, it was only a matter of time before someone noticed that this dungeon was indeed an oddity. That couldn’t be helped. It was the inevitable downside of trying to do everything as optimally as possible.

“There’s more,” Xahir continued. “Like the tunnel network on this floor that allows the goblins and spiders to maneuver around the adventurers, the weird labyrinth with narrow corridors, and of course, the fire trap that was used to kill Lahmia. If it were just one of those things, we might dismiss it as an anomaly. But all of them together? It’s just strange. Very, very strange.”

Clint scratched his head. “Well, if you put it that way...”

“And lastly, it’s this mission itself. Someone’s paid us a hefty sum to steal the Core of a dungeon that’s already gone public. How is that anything but strange?”

“You’re right. Hey, Bjorn, who is our client anyway?”

“You don’t need to know,” the warrior said with a grunt. “Just do your job, and take the money. Do not ask questions.”

After that, they moved on in silence. Clint did try to talk again, but Bjorn quickly made him shut up, and the rogue had no choice but to fall back into line. He muttered something under his breath, sulking in the rear of the party like a kid who had been denied his favorite toy.

Looks like I won’t learn anything new just by listening to their conversation, Viktor thought. So he asked Celeste, “Is everything ready?”

[Yes, Master, everyone is in position.]

“Good. Let the attack commence.”

With a single command, the silence in the maze shattered. Goblins snarled as they brandished their weapons, while the spiders skittered across the stone floor. Alongside them, a recently summoned pack of gnolls let out a war howl, preparing to charge. All these minions, who had been keeping their distance from the intruders, were now going to attack them from all directions. Viktor didn’t expect them to win, of course. These Dungeon Reavers were not opponents that could be overwhelmed by mere numbers. But such a sudden, large-scale assault would certainly force the adventurers to show their cards. They would have to reveal to him their abilities, their strengths, and maybe even their weaknesses.

“Incoming!” yelled Joshua, the man at the front of the group.

“Finally,” Clint said with a grin, an arrow already nocked in his hand.

The ambush struck when the party arrived at an intersection, leaving them open to attacks from all sides. But the adventurers were unfazed. Joshua, Xahir, and Clint quickly took up their positions, while Bjorn stood his ground, anchoring himself in the center of the formation.

Joshua opened his bags and spilled the contents onto the floor. Rusty nails, broken blades, scrap metal, all types of junk clattered as they hit the ground. Then, he raised his hands, and winds surged from his palms. A fierce gale howled, lifting the metal debris into a whirling storm.

Well, that’s one way an aeromancer could fight, Viktor thought.

With a snap of his fingers, the whirlwind dancing around the mage changed direction, and the metal barrage swept through the advancing minions in one corridor. Blood misted the air. The leading goblin exploded, spraying red offal all over his friends, who fared no better against this storm of shrapnel. Another goblin collapsed, several nails buried in its throat. A spider’s abdomen burst like a melon, green ichor gushing over the floor. A gnoll raised its shield to protect its face, a moment too late. Shards of iron sheared off the creature’s jaw, scattering its teeth like broken dice across the spreading pool of blood.

Xahir stepped forward, meeting the attackers in the adjacent corridor. His eyes were half-lidded, as if he was just bored, and with a twitch of his fingers, four gnolls froze mid-charge, drool dripping from their fangs. Then they turned, weapons rising.

Yes, definitely a Cabalist of the Lidless Eye.

The mage’s will had crushed theirs, and the hyena-faced warriors struck. Not at the intruders, but at their own allies. A gnoll’s axe split the chest of one of its kin, opening up the entire ribcage. Another grabbed a goblin by the ankle and smashed its skull against the wall. One gnoll, not yet mind-controlled, hesitated as it was forced to confront its former friends. A flail crashed into its face, skull cratered like shattered porcelain. Xahir yawned while all the carnage happened.

Clint’s bowstring sang. A charging goblin slumped over as the arrow went straight through its forehead. Blood, brain, and shards of its skull erupted like a geyser. But the projectile didn’t stop there. It streaked like a silver flash, piercing a gnoll’s eye, then curved, slicing through a spider’s leg. It arced wildly, carving a path from throat to groin to chest, painting the walls in splatters of gore. By the time the arrow lost its momentum, the archer had already nocked another.

“That’s enough,” Viktor commanded. “Pull them back.”

He unleashed his creatures in order to test the intruders, to push them to reveal their abilities. And he had seen enough. There was no point in continuing this mindless slaughter. It would achieve nothing but unnecessarily deplete his resources.

[Understood, Master.]

After Celeste’s response, the minions began to retreat. Spiders scurried back into the shadows, while surviving goblins and gnolls grabbed those too wounded to move and dragged them away.

“Should we chase after them?” Clint asked, kicking a nearby corpse.

“No,” replied Bjorn, who remained unmoved throughout the battle. “Help Joshua retrieve his ammunition, then we’ll move on.”

“Ew...”

The rogue frowned in disgust as he gazed at the gruesome aftermath of the battle. Bloody viscera splattered everywhere. Bodies of goblins, gnolls, and spiders sprawled across the corridors, their entrails spilling into the crimson pools around them. Joshua’s metal debris now lay scattered among those broken bodies, mingled with flesh and bone. Collecting them would be a truly nasty chore.

“Any small, sharp, and hard fragments will do,” the wind mage said. “Splintered bones, shattered skulls, anything that can tear through flesh.”

“Shut up!” Clint yelled. But he didn’t dare to disobey Bjorn’s order, so with a grimace, he began the repulsive task.

Xahir smirked, leaning against a section of wall miraculously spared from the bloodstain. He gestured with his hand, ordering his thralls to assist the two adventurers.

The assault had resulted in significant casualties, but it was far from pointless, as Viktor had acquired some valuable information about the enemy in the process. His assumption about the mages in the party had been proven correct. Joshua, the man in the tunic, was indeed an aeromancer, while Xahir, the hooded old man, was a Cabalist. He had also more or less figured out how Clint’s bow, the Requilary, worked. On the other hand, Bjorn remained a mystery, as the man didn’t fight at all, leaving all the dirty work to his underlings.

All in all, this was an acceptable trade. This was only the first floor. He would continue to observe, study, and adapt as the Reavers ventured deeper into his dungeon. And eventually, they would fall, just like the ones who came before them.

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Chapter 47: Preparation for Battle

“I see,” Sebekton said, closing the thick, ornate-covered tome he had in his massive clawed hands, the very same history book Viktor had given him several weeks ago, before placing it gently on a nearby chair. “A group of powerful adventurers might show up and attack us at any moment.”

“Yes, exactly.” Viktor nodded, fingers drumming on the table, his chest still heaving with rapid breaths after all the running.

He had just been teleported to the Core Room by Celeste, only to find his trusty Guardian already there. Slouched in an enormous seat built specially to accommodate someone his size, the Crocodilian was engrossed in his book, voraciously devouring every line of text. Viktor wasted no time in briefing him on what he had learned—Azran, Clint, the Dungeon Reavers, everything—while Sebekton sat there and listened, still as a stone. Then, with unflinching calm, he closed the book as if nothing at all were on fire. In fact, Viktor could see a glint of excitement in those slit-pupiled eyes.

[Master, what do we know about these intruders?]

“If you’re asking for hard facts, then all we’ve got is a guy named Clint and another named Bjorn.”

[That is not much to work with. We cannot exactly make a plan with so little information.]

“Tell me about it,” Viktor muttered. “Time is not on our side. I couldn’t afford to stay and gather more intel.”

After he came to a conclusion about the four adventurers, he said a quick goodbye to Cedric and rushed out of the inn. He sprinted back to Alycia’s shop, asking her to tell Claire he wouldn’t be able to make lunch today, and to buy something for the two of them to eat. He would have to come up with a good excuse for his “sister” when he got home tonight, but that was the least of his worries at the moment.

“However,” he continued, “we can still make a few deductions about them.”

Sebekton glanced at him. “What kind of deduction, Master?”

“The Dungeon Reavers need to clear the dungeon as quickly as possible. They’ll storm in, seize the Dungeon Core, and make their escape before the Guild or the other adventurers catch on to what is happening. Therefore, they need to form a party specifically designed to counter our dungeon. And that means...” Viktor drew a breath. “We can deduce their team composition by analyzing what they know about us.”

“I see.”

“They know about Azran and Lahmia’s failure, so it’s safe to assume they know how the battle unfolded. In other words, they know about my fire trap, as well as you and your part in that fight. They should also be aware of other publicly available information. Manfred’s defeat, the water realm, the merfolk. And the Cyclopes, of course.”

“But they don’t know about the Acolytes,” Sebekton said. “No adventurer has ever encountered them.”

That was true. But if the Dungeon Reavers were worth their salt, they should have prepared for the possibility of the Acolytes of the Deep already being in the dungeon by now. And Viktor needed to plan with the assumption that they had done just that.

[What do you think their party will be like, Master?]

“Let’s start with Clint. The guy is an archer,” Viktor said. Well, there was literally a bow next to his seat. “But there is something odd about his arms. His right arm, presumably the dominant arm, is noticeably bigger than his left. Probably the result of years spent drawing heavy war bows. However... the bow he carries is just a normal hunter’s bow. Not a longbow, not a composite bow. Definitely not something that could make his arm look like that. Unless... it’s not what it appears to be.”

Sebekton leaned forward. “You mean...”

“A Reliquary.”

Of course, it was also possible that Clint had lost his usual gear for some reason and just grabbed a cheap replacement. But that didn’t make any sense. After all, this was an important mission. He had to bring the best equipment he could afford.

Ugh, if even a rogue has a Reliquary, this is going to be ugly.

“Next is the hooded one,” Viktor said, leaning back in his chair as he recalled the details. “I didn’t see their face. Couldn’t even tell whether that was a man or a woman. But judging from the body frame, probably someone skinny. Not a frontline fighter, then. And having two rogues in the same party is just weird. So, a mage. The same can be said about the guy in the tunic. Which means, two mages.”

If he assumed the four adventurers were about the same rank as Azran, meaning a party of four Gold-ranked adventurers, then it was about right. A team of that level typically had two or three mages.

“Knowing that they have two mages is certainly helpful,” Sebekton said, folding his arms. “But the question is, what kind of mages?”

Viktor shrugged. “It’s impossible to know for sure. But as I said, we can make an educated guess. Let’s see... If I were building a team to conquer this dungeon, who would I choose? An aeromancer is the most obvious choice. They can fly and lift their teammates into the air, bypassing the water realm easily. Now, as for the second mage... A pyromancer wouldn’t be very useful, so they’re out. A Riftwalker... no, Clint said that there was a spot for Azran in their team. If they already have a Riftwalker, why invite the bald man? An Emerald Mage may not be vital, but they are a well-rounded mage, useful in any situation. So, maybe. Lastly, a Cabalist...” The realization dawned on him. “Yes, a Cabalist of the Lidless Eye. They would be a great choice to deal with Cyclopes.”

Unlike Lucian, whose magic specialized in taking control of his target’s body, allowing him to stun a Cyclops for a few seconds, a Cabalist could actually control the mind. The one-eyed brutes, not being the brightest creatures around, were susceptible to that kind of magic. And if the intruders could dominate a Cyclops, they would not only neutralize a defender of the dungeon, but also gain a powerful ally on their side.

“So,” Sebekton said, nodding slowly. “A wind mage and a mind controller?”

“Those are the ones I would have picked if I were on their side. Now, lastly, the man with the helmet...”

Clint had told Azran about “Bjorn’s offer,” so most likely that was the name of their leader. A Brefjordian name. And the man did look like someone hailing from the North. Blond hair, pale skin, a stern face, and a braided beard. All typical traits of the northern folk.

“...he’s the most troublesome one,” Viktor said.

Being the leader, he was probably the most powerful, and the highest-ranking adventurer in that group. He might not be just a Gold.

“Why, Master?”

“He’s a warrior.”

“And?” The Crocodilian looked at him, puzzled.

“At lower ranks, mages have absolute advantages over warriors. After all, warriors, in the end, are just some guys with weapons. They are not you, Sebekton. Their strength and endurance are limited by their frail human bodies. Mages who can summon fire to incinerate their enemies or wind to blast them away are vastly more powerful. And the Gold rank is the peak of mage dominance. Mages at this level have such overwhelming power that there is nothing warriors can do to compete, no matter how hard they try or how skilled they are. That’s why most Gold-ranked adventurers are mages. However... once we move beyond that, to the realm of Mithril and Adamantite, the situation reverses.”

“Why, Master?”

“Reliquaries. Those artifacts are great equalizers. Now, everything the mages can do, the warriors can do as well, and maybe even more.”

“But,” the Guardian asked, still unconvinced, “Reliquaries can be used by anyone. Sure, they’ll close the gap a bit, but wouldn’t giving one to a mage just make them even more powerful?”

Viktor chuckled. “That’s not how it works. Let’s say there is a pyromancer, who is best at, well, throwing fireballs. Now we give him your axe, for example. Just picture it. Seriously, what the hell is he supposed to do with it? He can’t even lift the damn thing. And if, by some miracle, he manages to swing the weapon, all he could achieve is toss around some weak-ass projectile. No, he should stick to his fire tricks. The Reliquary’s far better off in the hands of someone who actually knows how to fight with axes.”

Sebekton’s eyes gleamed with understanding. “That makes sense.”

The introduction of Reliquaries had drastically shifted the power dynamics between mages and warriors. And the main reason was how easy it was to train someone to use these artifacts. Again, take Sebekton’s axe for example. While it was too heavy for any human to handle, the earlier version, Redhead’s axe, could be wielded decently by any well-built fighter. Sure, some Reliquaries might be trickier to master, but the training was still quite short. By contrast, it could take aspiring pyromancers years to be able to throw a proper fireball without burning their own hands.

And the ease of training led to the ease of finding replacements. A powerful warrior with a full set of Reliquaries could retire, pass on their gear to a chosen successor, and just like that, instantly you had someone nearly as good. On the other hand, losing a high-level mage meant losing the decades of investment poured into them, and waiting like twenty years for their apprentice to catch up.

Reliquaries also provided flexibility. Mages were basically stuck with the tools they had. They couldn’t acquire new spells without dedicating more time and effort. Meanwhile, warriors could switch their skills at will. They could bring various equipment suited for different environments and swap them out depending on the situation.

And now, it was exactly this flexibility that made the intruders so troublesome. Viktor could make a guess about the types of mages the two spellcasters were, and therefore, predict the abilities they had. But Bjorn and Clint? Knowing that they had Reliquaries didn’t help at all. He had no idea what they could do. All he knew was that they must have been prepared for this dungeon, so they should be good at killing merfolk, Cyclopes, and maybe even Acolytes of the Deep.

“The man you mentioned,” Sebekton said. “You believe that he’s a warrior who is even more powerful than the mages. So he must possess several Reliquaries, right?”

“Two, maybe three,” Viktor replied. “Let’s assume the worst and consider the possibility he’s a Mithril.”

Actually, the worst-case scenario would be that Bjorn was an Adamantite. But if that were the case, there would be no point in making plans, as he would have absolutely nothing in his arsenal capable of dealing with someone of that level.

[Master.]

Viktor frowned as Celeste’s voice suddenly echoed in his mind. He had a bad feeling about this.

[Four adventurers have just entered our dungeon. I don’t recognize them, so this must be their first time here. However, they are moving very fast, so I suspect they are the intruders you are talking about.]

He closed his eyes shut, and shifted his vision to the first floor, where Celeste had directed him. As soon as he glimpsed the four advancing adventurers’ silhouettes, he immediately realized who they were.

“They’re already here,” he said. “Prepare for battle!”

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Chapter 46: Dungeon Reavers

It had been a while since Viktor last visited the Emberwood Inn.

The main hall of the inn was bathed in warmth, thanks to the large hearth that roared merrily in the far corner and the well-insulated wooden walls that sealed in the heat. At the center stood the same young bard, his fingers strumming the strings of his lute, his voice loud and clear over the crowd, half of whom had joined in the chorus, cheering and singing along between gulps of ale and mead.

It was no different from the last time, when he had come here to spy on the Dungeon Reavers. Exactly seven weeks ago, he had broken into Azran’s room, digging through the bald man’s belongings and uncovering the secrets that were kept hidden. Then, just a week after he had learned of their plan, Azran and his ever-charming companion, Lahmia, came knocking on the door of his dungeon.

Now, the man sat in the far corner of the hall, seemingly oblivious to the world around him. He didn’t look at the bard. He didn’t look at the other patrons. He didn’t look at anything, really, except the mug in his hand.

Viktor had followed him here, keeping a cautious distance, after spotting him on the street. Still the same outfit, black from head to toe. Still the same attitude, his face as dour as ever. And now, it turned out that the bald man had chosen to stay at the same inn.

What was he trying to accomplish, though? After all, the Dungeon Reavers’ modus operandi was to locate newly appeared dungeons and move in to steal the Dungeon Core before the locals had any idea what was going on. But Viktor’s dungeon wasn’t exactly a secret anymore. Quite the opposite, in fact. There were adventurers going in and out at every hour of the day. There were guards at the entrance, and anyone who wanted to enter had to register with them. Attempting to steal the Core now would be beyond madness.

Besides, why was he alone? Last time, he had brought Lahmia, and it didn’t end well for her. Azran himself had barely escaped with his hide intact. So if he truly meant to have another shot at it, he should have brought reinforcements. Stronger allies, and plenty of them. If there were such people, where were they now?

Or perhaps he just wanted to enter the dungeon as a normal adventurer? Dungeon Reaver or not, Azran was still a Gold-ranked. It was not hard for him to find a party willing to take him in. All he had to do was open his mouth to ask. Ah, maybe that was the problem. He didn’t talk. He didn’t smile. The guy was a loner who avoided other people, so he might have trouble working with strangers.

Viktor could stay here, spending the whole day watching the bald man stare moodily into his booze. But he had other things to take care of, namely, getting home and cooking lunch for Claire. Maybe he would come back here in the afternoon. There was a chance that he wouldn’t learn anything today, though, so he might need to return tomorrow, and even the days after that. Maybe he would have to break into that damn room one more time.

Or maybe, just maybe, the best way forward was the simplest, most direct approach. So he made his way across the hall, right up to the man’s table.

Azran didn’t acknowledge him at first. Only when Viktor stopped beside him did the bald man let out a low growl. “What do you want?”

Viktor mustered the most innocent expression he could manage, tilting his head slightly as he asked, “You’re Lahmia’s friend, right?”

He saw a spasm run over Azran’s face. The man turned, staring at him with piercing intensity, his gaze locking onto Viktor’s eyes as if searching for any hidden thought, any unspoken plan. Finally, he spoke, a hint of recognition in his voice. “You... you’re the kid who walked her through the town.”

“Yes,” Viktor replied with a big smile. “And she gave me a silver coin.”

“What do you want?” Azran asked again, his tone softer this time.

“Where is she? Did she come back here with you?”

The man’s face hardened, his jaw clenched. His eyes darted to the side, avoiding Viktor’s gaze. He shook his head. “No, she didn’t.”

“Why?” Viktor asked the question to which he already knew the answer.

“Just forget about her! She’ll never come back here!” Azran snapped. But as soon as the words left his mouth, he seemed to regret them. He stopped, his chest heaving with a slow breath. “She...” His voice was barely a whisper. “She’s retired. Lahmia’s now living with her daughter, in their hometown.”

“I see,” Viktor said, going along with the lie.

Now what? He had successfully started a conversation, and that was great. The door had been open, but where should he go from here? Perhaps he could start by asking why the bald man came to Daelin or if he had companions. He needed to keep the conversation light, though. Casual. Like a curious child asking innocent questions—

“Yo, Azran.”

Oh?

As Viktor was pondering the next move, a new voice spoke behind them, with a tone that seemed to invite a punch to the face.

He turned and saw a man in his thirties, with a lean yet athletic build. He wore a black sleeveless shirt clinging to his body like a second skin, revealing two muscular arms that looked like they had been chiseled out of granite. Interestingly, the right one appeared noticeably bigger than the left, particularly in the shoulder and bicep. His brown hair was messy, and a smug grin stretched across his unshaven face as he stared at Azran.

The bald man didn’t reply. Instead, he lifted the mug in his hand to his lips and took a long, loud slurp of wine. Only after the mug was empty did he lower it onto the table, before slowly—very, very slowly—shifting his gaze to the newcomer.

“Clint.”

“Well, well, Azran,” the other man said, his grin unwavering. “Such a cold reception. No wonder you have no friends. Well, you had one. Too bad she’s dropped dead.”

The bald man’s entire body stiffened, his hand tightening around the mug in his grip. For a moment, Viktor thought he might lunge at Clint, strangling him on the spot. But Azran just took a deep breath, and said in a low voice, “What do you want? State your business, then get lost.”

The other man smirked. “State my business? Shouldn’t it be me asking about yours? After all, you’re the one who followed us here.”

Followed us?

“I go wherever I please. Daelin doesn’t belong to you.”

“You stay in the same inn.”

“This is the best inn in town.”

“Come on,” Clint said. “We all know what you’re after, and we all know you can’t achieve it by yourself. Drop the damn pride. Bjorn’s offer still stands. There’s still a spot for you.”

The man jerked his head toward a table by the wall, where Viktor saw a group of three sitting. One was a burly man wearing a metal helmet, his braided beard flowing down to his chest, who raised a mug as they looked at him. The second man, clad in a simple tunic, was bent over his plate, his mouth full as he chewed with the ferocity of someone who had been starving for days. The last one, hooded in a cloak, features invisible, sat motionless, more statue than man. That was a table for four. One seat was empty, probably the one Clint had just vacated, and next to it was a hunter’s bow leaning against the wall.

Viktor’s gaze returned to the brown-haired man. He still couldn’t figure out whether this guy was trying to pick a fight or act like a diplomat. Either option was fine, but doing both at the same time was just plain stupid.

Azran took the jug from the table and poured the wine into his empty mug, again at an excruciatingly slow pace. It felt like an eternity had passed before the damn thing was finally filled. Once he was done, he raised the mug, looking at Clint over its rim.

“Fuck off.”

“You’ll regret it,” the other man said as he stormed away.

Azran didn’t spare him another glance. He finished the remaining wine in one great slurp. “I’ll go back to my room to sleep,” he said, standing up. “Just... forget about Lahmia.” Then, he made his way toward the stairs.

Viktor sat down in the empty seat, gazing at Clint’s table. The brown-haired man had gotten back there, drink in hand like nothing had happened. The man with the braided beard cast a brief glance at Azran as he headed upstairs, before he returned to his group, resuming whatever conversation they had been having. Of course, Viktor couldn’t hear a word from here.

Who are they? Are they Dungeon Reavers too?

Clearly, they were not friends with Azran. But the Reavers were not one monolithic group. There were many different factions, each one essentially a competitor with the other. They knew Lahmia, they knew she was dead, and they knew what Azran wanted. The possibility that they were also Dungeon Reavers was very high.

But why? Why here? Why now?

That was not how the Reavers operated. They were supposed to steal Dungeon Cores without anyone noticing anything. If a group of high-ranking adventurers came to Daelin and the dungeon was gone the next day, everyone would know that it was their doing. Their names, their faces, and their ranks were all known, logged in the Guild’s records. So even if they managed to get away, the Guild in Daelin would just file a petition to the Conclave, and a bounty would be put on their heads. Every adventurer in the world would hunt them down.

As Viktor was deep in thought, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Quinn.”

He looked up, raising a surprised brow. “Cedric? What are you doing here?”

The black-haired boy shrugged. “I always have lunch here with Fiora. She likes listening to that bard’s songs.”

Was that the reason why they never ate at the Guild’s mess hall with Lucian and Noi’ri? Since he was so focused on Azran, he didn’t realize they were also in this hall.

“So, what are you doing here? Was that bald man your acquaintance?”

Viktor nodded. “Yes, he’s a Gold-ranked adventurer who was here several weeks ago. I haven’t talked with him before, though. Only with his companion.”

“A Gold?” Cedric blinked, taken aback, before turning to the group of four with a frown. “That fool... he actually tried to pick a fight with a Gold?”

The boy probably couldn’t hear their conversation from his table, but anyone watching could easily interpret their body language.

“Maybe he’s a Gold as well,” Viktor said.

“No, his rank is Bronze.”

“What?”

“I saw them in the Guild this morning. When they registered with Rhea, they told her that they were all Bronze.”

That... doesn’t make any sense.

Clint knew everything about Azran, so he must also have known that he was a Gold-ranked adventurer. There was no way he could act so cocky in front of the bald man if he were merely a Bronze.

Did they lie to Rhea? But she must have checked their license. And while forgery wasn’t impossible, it would be extremely difficult to pull off without the help of someone very high-ranking in the Guild—

It was Clovis.

Yes, Clovis. That fat Guildmaster from Iskora. He was certainly capable of this. And he had a very good reason to do so.

He was willing to throw two million gold to buy the dungeon. It was clear that he wanted it badly. He wasn’t going to give up just because the town said no. And if he couldn’t get the Dungeon Core legally, what was the most obvious alternative?

Viktor stared at the four men who were scheming to steal Celeste from him. Once again, his dungeon was under threat from the Reavers. And this time, he wouldn’t have one week to prepare. The attack could happen tomorrow.

Or, even today.

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Chapter 45: Magic and Engineering

“An unexpected discovery?” Viktor asked. “What’s it?”

Alycia didn’t reply right away, her lips curling into a smile. She was enjoying this, clearly, the little game she was playing. She wanted to make him wait on purpose, drawing out the moment just to see his reaction. And of course, he was not going to give her the satisfaction. He stared back at her, unblinking, with a neutral expression. Eventually, she broke the silence.

“Have you ever wondered what would happen if you broke a gem in half?”

Breaking the gems? That had never crossed his mind. After all, why would he want to destroy something he could actually use?

“No. What will happen? From the way you’re acting, I take it they don’t just stop functioning, right? So... you end up with two smaller gems to cast spells with or what?”

“No. Technically, only the bigger fragment can be used to cast spells.”

Technically? Viktor frowned. “So the smaller one is useless?”

Alycia’s grin stretched wider, as if she had been holding back a secret for far too long. “If you hold the small shard and try to cast the spell...” She paused for dramatic effect, eyes brimming with excitement. “It’ll be cast at the location of the big shard. No matter the distance.”

“What?”

“Well, strictly speaking, the distance is not unlimited. But it’s long enough. For example, you can stay in your house and start a fire here.”

That’s ridiculous. He stared at Alycia. If what she claimed was true, it would open up a world of possibilities. Traps, for example. Yes, that was the most obvious application. He could break a few gems, hide the larger pieces throughout his dungeon, and use the smaller ones to activate them from the safety of his Core Room. A fire trap to burn unsuspecting adventurers to a crisp, or a wind trap to hurl them into a pit full of spikes. The potential was endless.

It was hard to believe that no one else had discovered this detail about the gems until now. But to be fair, it wasn’t like people had access to Celeste and got the convenient description that told them exactly what the Reliquary did. Normally, when one was hauled out from a dungeon, they had to find out how it worked the good old-fashioned way through trial and error.

“Have you made your findings known to the public? What was the reaction?”

“I’ve reported to the Arstenian military, of course. Even gave them a live demonstration. They were enthusiastic at first, but then... they decided that it was of no practical use and dismissed it.”

“Why?”

“Well, because the triggerstone and the powerstone must work as a pair. Oh, that’s what I call them,” Alycia explained. “The triggerstone is the smaller half, the one you use to activate the spell. And the powerstone is the bigger half, the one that actually casts it.”

Viktor nodded, prompting her to continue.

“You have to remember which triggerstone goes with which powerstone. And it can be tricky to keep track when there are a lot of pairs. The higher-ups said that sometimes the soldiers wanted to activate a powerstone, but they couldn’t figure out which one was the corresponding trigger.”

Fair point, Viktor thought. If he ever used these to set traps, he would have to label them clearly to avoid activating the wrong ones. Also, he needed to keep the stones as far away from those gremlins as possible.

Now he could see why the Arstenians had been reluctant to implement this. While the stones indeed had potential, they also introduced a lot of complexity. It was hard to scale it up for use by an army. Keeping track of pairs, organizing the stones, and ensuring they were used correctly—those were management nightmares. One misplaced triggerstone, one moment of confusion, and suddenly they had a fireball in the wrong place. A disaster waiting to happen, honestly.

Also, the whole point of creating the pseudo-mages in the first place was to keep things simple, cheap, and expendable. They took ordinary soldiers, gave them reliable tools, trained them well, then let numbers do the rest. If they had wanted something fancy and complicated, they could have just hired normal mages.

“But that didn’t stop you from using this discovery yourself, right?” Viktor glanced at the rotator Alycia held in her hand. “I see it now. The triggerstones inside your gauntlets and the powerstones inside the rotators. That’s how you control your constructs.”

She smiled, clearly pleased that he had pieced it together. “Exactly. They’re all fragments of the wind gems. Through the triggerstones embedded in my gauntlet, I can adjust the speed of each and every rotator, and that gives me full control over how my birds move.”

“But...” Viktor frowned. “There are a lot of rotators inside one bird, and you control every single one of them manually? In fact, you control two birds at the same time.” He stared at her. “Are you sure you’re not some kind of wizard?”

The woman shrugged. “It’s not that hard. Just requires a lot of practice. Took me two years, though.”

Viktor could imagine why the Arstenian military wasn’t thrilled with the idea. Two years was an absurd amount of time, enough to train a soldier to acquire a lot of useful skills, and certainly shouldn’t be wasted on something like learning how to play with toy birds.

His gaze returned to the table, his fingers brushing over the various items laid out before him. He picked up one round object, examining its weight and texture in his palm.

“Be careful,” Alycia said. “It’s a firebomb. But... well, it only explodes when I choose to detonate.”

In an instant, he connected the dots. He had figured out why this explosive didn’t need a fuse and how it could be used underwater.

“It’s the same with the birds, right? The black powder is packed inside a sealed case that shields it from water, along with a powerstone that could create fire. Then, you use the corresponding triggerstone to make it explode.”

And it works in any weather.

“Exactly.” The woman chuckled, gazing at him. “You’re very smart, you know? Honestly, I can hardly believe that you’re just twelve. Sometimes I feel like you’re an adult living in a kid’s body.”

Well, about that...

Viktor rubbed his chin, deep in thought, as he turned the firebomb over in his hand. Then, he furrowed his brow in realization. “Wait. To use this, you throw it at the enemy, and then you make it explode. But you have to be damn sure to activate the right trigger, right? Otherwise, you might blow yourself up by detonating the wrong bomb.”

Alycia snorted. “You’re saying the exact same thing that snobby captain of mine has said. That idiot. I’ve clearly marked the bomb and its detonator. The ones in the same pair have the same symbol. You’d have to be blind to screw that up.”

“Your captain?”

“My immediate superior in the army.”

“You were in the army?” Viktor asked, staring in disbelief at the young woman. It was hard to imagine her standing in the ranks and files, marching in formation with the other soldiers. With those two fluffy pigtails, no less.

Alycia nodded. “I used to be one of those pseudo-mages. Served in their corps for a short while.”

“Why did you enlist? You don’t exactly strike me as the type who likes being told what to do.”

“They had a lot of toys I couldn’t get anywhere else. And I wanted those toys.”

“Fair enough. Then why did you quit?”

“Dishonorably discharged, actually,” the woman said nonchalantly, almost as if she were discussing the weather. “They kicked me out after I blew up a couple of warehouses.”

Perhaps he should start treating this place like Kazyk’s workshop. Avoid at all costs. In fact, he was sure that Alycia and the gremlin would get along extremely well if they ever met.

“I’m surprised that they didn’t lock you up.”

“Well, Tyra and Lord Manfred came to my rescue. He had to leverage his family connections and toss in a fair bit of coin to get me out of that mess. After that, I joined his party.”

And with that, you became indebted to him, Viktor thought. He doubted that Manfred had the most noble intentions when he saved her. The man probably wouldn’t have lifted a finger if she hadn’t been so attractive. Oh well, whatever. Not that any of it mattered now anyway.

“Your party didn’t mind having someone who had blown up military property? They had no problems whatsoever with your bombs? After all, if you had messed up, you wouldn’t have been the only one getting killed by the explosion.”

“Well, I didn’t tell them how they work.”

Of course. How else could she have gotten away with it?

“Don’t look at me like that,” Alycia said. “As I told you, I’ve marked the bombs and the detonators. Like that one, the one you’re holding. It has a star symbol carved on its surface, doesn’t it? There...” She turned, pointing at an item on the table. “That one has the same symbol. That is the detonator.”

Viktor looked at the object. It was black, rectangular, roughly the size of his finger. At its center, a star symbol etched into the surface, just like she said. The corresponding triggerstone was probably encased inside.

It seemed he had learned everything he needed to know. For now, at least. Once in a while, he might return here to see if she had any new inventions. Otherwise, he would keep as far away as possible from this shop.

“I have to go,” Viktor said, carefully putting the firebomb back on the table. “I need to go home and make lunch for my sister.”

“You’ll bring it to the Guild at noon, right?” Alycia asked, eyeing him with a mischievous look. “Then make one portion for me as well, if you don’t mind?”

How shameless. She should have learned some manners from Rhea, or Jeanne.

“Didn’t you say you could cook for yourself?”

“I will.” She grinned even wider. “From tomorrow.”

Well, he always made a bit more than needed anyway. “Fine, but only for today,” he said over his shoulder, walking out of the yet-to-be-opened shop.

A chilly breeze swept past him as soon as he stepped outside, rustling the dust along the silent street. It had been much warmer in the shop than he had realized. Winter was coming, clearly.

Let’s get home quickly.

He was going to cook something hot to chase away this cold. A hearty stew, yes, which he would bring to the Guild, and have lunch with Claire and the others. As for the afternoon, well, he wasn’t sure he would go to the dungeon today, considering the weather. Unless something unexpected happened, the dungeon ran by itself anyway, so there was no need to check on it every day. And he couldn’t see any problem that could arise in the foreseeable future. After all, the issue with Clovis’s deal had been resolved. There was absolutely nothing left to worry about.

At that very moment, Viktor saw him.

A bald man had just walked past. A man who was tall and slender, slightly hunched. A man with a gaunt face, framed by a dark beard. A man who was clad in black, with a short spear hanging from his belt.

That was Azran.