Dungeon of Assassins [LitRPG Through the Eyes of the NPCs]

Malvorik awoke with a start. Something was off. No, everything was off. He felt utterly alert, more so than he had in decades. It was a sensation he hadn't experienced since his seventieth birthday. The fog that had dulled his mind, the haze that had clouded his thoughts and memories for years, had lifted entirely.

Had he experimented with a new spell? No, that was impossible. He had abandoned experimental thaumaturgy long ago, ever since his disastrous attempt at a new portal spell had blown a hole in his study wall and nearly cost him an arm.

Focusing his thoughts, he searched for his last memories. Lately, he'd struggled to recall even the current day of the week, let alone the names of his six grandchildren. But now, everything was sharp and clear.

He remembered. On his ninety-second birthday, he had called upon the local priest of Lieselotte to perform the Liturgy of Honorable Farewell. He had gathered his children and grandchildren around him. He had even reconciled with Lorrik, his eldest son. Back in full possession of his mental powers for a short time, it had not been difficult for him to realize that he had become angry with him mainly out of obstinacy due to age. For years, their relationship had been strained, more because of Malvorik's stubbornness than any real grievance. Lorrik had forsaken an academic career to become a battlemage, a practitioner rather than a theorist. Malvorik could now see, that his magical aptitude lent itself to raw power rather than subtle applications. Flinging fireballs into hordes of undead had suited him far better than the meticulous study of magical theory.

For the first time in years, Malvorik had addressed each of his grandchildren by their correct names. He had listened with genuine interest to little Jörne's stories about a walnut tree and admired Arnhold's stone collection. The younger ones had been confused by the tears in their parents' eyes. He had explained his intentions in detail before the gathering. The Liturgy of Honorable Farewell would consume the last of his remaining life force to grant him a few fleeting hours of perfect clarity and vigor. The day had waned, and as the golden hues of dusk enveloped his home, he had drifted into sleep. Peaceful, content, and surrounded by family.

And then he had died.

Malvorik reeled. Died? He had never considered what the afterlife might feel like, but he certainly hadn't imagined this. He looked around. A square chamber of smooth stone walls enclosed him. There were no discernible sources of light, yet he could see perfectly well. An unsettling contradiction.

Instinctively, he tried to raise his hand before his face, only to realize he couldn't move. He had no body. He was simply... awareness. There was no weight, no sensation of limbs, no physical form at all. Just his consciousness, untethered.

He attempted to blink, to shut his eyes, but he had no eyelids to close. His vision, however, obeyed his will. He could shift his perspective freely, even looking directly behind himself or above, as if he were not constrained by a single point of view. He twisted his focus in every direction, searching for something, anything, that would explain his predicament.

A shimmering, golden dot of light flickered in the center of the chamber. It expanded into a thin line, then a yawning void. A portal. His gaze sharpened as he instinctively dissected the structure of the magic forming before him. He saw the framework of the spell with the clarity of an advanced analysis incantation. It was a portal spell of extraordinary complexity, woven from primordial energy and divine magic. The signature was unmistakable. This was the magic of the gods themselves. A one-way passage, leading from an unknown origin into the material world.

A figure emerged from the portal, its form humanoid but unmistakably otherworldly. Butterfly-like wings unfurled from its back, midnight black and traced with intricate golden patterns that pulsed with an internal glow. The portal sealed behind her, and she immediately took to motion, circling him in erratic patterns. She was quick, varying her speed, altitude, and distance unpredictably, as though testing his ability to track her.

Something shifted. His perspective lurched, and suddenly, he was staring at a red, glowing icosahedron. A twenty-sided crystal pulsing with arcane energy. The facets shimmered, casting refracted light onto the stone walls around him. It pulsed faintly in sync with the magical energy flowing through it. The mana stream he had discovered earlier flowed in from one side of the room, through the middle of the crystal and out again on the other side of the room. The mana lines that had met in the meditation room at the university had looked similar. Only they hadn't been so pitifully weak. Nobody would build a mage tower or even dig a tunnel in rock to get to this one. Realization struck him like a bolt of lightning.

The crystal was him.

He redirected his focus to the winged newcomer. She was clearly agitated, her eyes darting around the room as though expecting danger from every angle. After a few more spirals, she finally spoke.

"Don't be alarmed. I mean you no harm. My name is Selvara, and I am…"

Malvorik attempted to respond, but no sound emerged. Instead, something else happened. An instinctual reaction, something deeply ingrained in his new existence. He established a direct mental link with the creature, seamlessly slipping into mindspeech. It was effortless, as natural as breathing had once been.

<You're a dungeon fairy.>

Selvara's wings faltered, throwing her flight pattern off momentarily. "Okay… That's… unexpected."

<Black wings with golden lines forming a maze pattern. There aren't many recorded encounters with dungeon fairies, but all the accounts agree on that one detail. Your appearance is unmistakable. That means I… am a dungeon heart. I might as well have thought of that. So, this floating crystal is my body. Pretty. If I may be so immodest.>

The fairy maintained her flight, but unconsciously slowed down a little: "You don't sound as mad as the other dungeon hearts my sisters have told me about. Are you alright?"

<I was confused at first, but now that I know what I am, it makes sense.> He hesitated. <You're here to teach me everything I need to know, correct?>

The fairy folded her arms. "That is my duty, yes. But how in the world do you already know that?"

<I taught dungeon lore at university for years. Alongside other magic theory subjects.>

The fairy was silent momentarily: "You can remember your past?"

<Of course. Why not? I wasn't that senile yet.>

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"Your soul should have been bathed in the sea of oblivion until all your concrete memories have been dissolved. This should give you a fresh start in your new life."

<Me in the sea of oblivion? Are you crazy? That's where the souls of people rejected by all gods without exception end up. Sinners who even the God of the Undead and the God of War have deemed too corrupt to enter one of their paradises and thus be reborn at some point. Only the worst scum end up in the Sea of Oblivion and are then washed up on the beach of Golgoroth.>

"Well, you must have ended up in Golgoroth's domain somehow. Only the god of monsters and dungeons can plant a soul in a dungeon heart."

<I wasn't a saint but never committed any of the Unforgivable Sins. Never!>

"The gods have cast you out. It cannot be otherwise. Have you made a pact with an archdemon, killed a saint or desecrated a temple?"

<I never...> The crystal's thoughts dried up. As he continued, his words seemed to be directed less at the dungeon fairy and more into the far distance: <You're not serious, are you? Gods, you can't disown me just because of a dig. How was I supposed to know it was a saint's grave! We were only able to decipher the inscriptions months later at the university. No one today understands the glyphs from the Age of Dawn. A warning that nobody can understand doesn't count! And I didn't steal the treasures, they went to a museum!>

"You plundered a saint's grave?" There was genuine horror in the fairy's voice.

<Not on purpose. We thought it was just a tomb of a very devout Cathurian prince. The grave goods and the countless inscriptions have provided us with priceless information about the Cathurian Empire.>

The fairy buried her hands in her face: "Of course. An unforgivable sin can only be committed consciously and deliberately. But the gods decreed ages ago that no one who plunders the grave of a saint may enter paradise. Well, there must have been a long discussion when Uthgarl weighed your soul on the scales of righteousness. After all, there are worse things."

<Worse than being condemned to a fate reserved for the vilest of beings?>

"It's not as bad as you imagine. Dungeons have an important function in the world."

<Dungeons plague their surroundings and lure arrogant adventurers to their doom with their treasures!>

"They give people a target to fight against together. These are places where heroes can train their powers and acquire equipment that can't be found anywhere else. Without dungeons, the people would fall on each other even more often. The other gods would have thrown Golgoroth out of the pantheon ages ago if it didn't serve an important purpose."

<Can I lodge a complaint somewhere?>

"Try it on your next visit to a temple."

<This could be difficult since dungeon hearts can't move. Although...>

"What do you mean? Dungeon hearts can't move. Period."

<There's a theory that Dungeon Hearts only become permanently anchored the moment they create their dungeon and connect their aura to the surroundings, bringing an area under their control. However that works exactly.>

"I've never heard of that. Have you already used mana to create your dungeon? It should be an instinctive action as soon as your mana storage is full for the first time."

<I have done nothing of the sort>.

"Do you know how to access your status screen?"

<Naturally. We're not living in the age before the First Plague. Since Knightbasher387 sold the secret of the Status Screens to the Merchant's Guild, the technology has spread to the last peasant in the Hinterlands. Direct access to the skill system has revolutionized the world. Even if it hasn't become any more peaceful as a result.>

Without effort, he used the mental technique he had used earlier to manage his experience points. <Hey, what are you doing? Everything is gone! My spells, skills, special abilities, titles... Decades of work. It's all gone!>

"You have been reborn. Like everyone else, you start all over again."

Malvorik looked annoyed at the translucent document floating before him, visible only to him.

Name: Malvorik
Race: Dungeon Heart
Character class: [None]
[Note: Dungeon Master character class is only activated when the dungeon is created. Other character classes are not selectable].

Experience points: 0

Mana Pool: 10 / 10
Mana regeneration: 1 / hour (mana line strength 1)

<A mana pool with only ten points of storage capacity? With that, I wouldn't even be accepted as an apprentice at the academy. And only one mana point of regeneration per hour? Ten hours until I'm full again? That's completely unacceptable. With mages, the regeneration without advantages or special skills always adjusts so that the mana pool is full again after 8 hours of rest.>

"You're no longer a mage. Dungeons work differently. As you grow your crystal body later, you can gather more of the magical power around you. There are also methods to recharge your mana faster once your dungeon is bigger and can capture creatures. Some of your first special skills can also increase this by a few points, even if this is not a good idea in the long term. For now, though, you'll have to take things slowly."

<Ah, yes. Dungeons kill living creatures and absorb their experience and life force in the form of mana. That's why they're so dangerous. I'm beginning to understand.>

"Do you have a problem with that? I mean, at least you weren't a murderous sociopath like the other dungeon souls."

<I don't, strangely enough. I mean, I know I should find the very idea horrifying. But right now, I don't feel any moral discomfort at the thought of killing humans, elves, anubians or dwarves. I'm curious to see what it will be like when I test it in practice.>

The fairy looked at him. Her face twisted into an indecisive frown. On the one hand, a dungeon should have no problems with murder, on the other hand, she had already made friends with the idea of working with someone who had a conscience.

"That will be quite a while in the future. First of all, you have to found your dungeon officially. That's very easy. Call up the Dungeon Management Menu and click on Yes."

<Not yet. I want to try something else first. I don't have any magic skills or spells anymore, but I have an innate ability to see and manipulate mana, right?>

Before the fairy could answer, he simply tried it. He gathered mana from the surrounding area and molded it into the simplest of all known magical patterns. A pattern so primitive that it didn't even count as a proper spell. The first exercise all mages learned at the academy. The first visible success during their training. A primitive mana structure that consumed itself uncontrollably and produced light in the process. It flashed colorfully above him.

"What are you doing? What was that? Were you messing with the mana line? Leave it alone! That's the only source of mana you have at the moment. If you destroy it or direct it away from you, that's it. Magic is everywhere, but the density is a hundred times higher directly on a line of force than even one step away from it. You'll starve to death long before you get any of the other methods to work."

<I know what I'm doing. I think. You can be ready to catch me if I fall off.>

"You can't fall, dungeon hearts..."

He ignored the fairy's indignant shouts and concentrated on his memory of one of the simplest real spells he had learned as an adept. His innate ability had allowed him to manipulate mana at the age of eight. But it had taken him years of practice to understand the patterns that created effective spells. Meditation, learning the rules and patterns. Countless attempts to finally get the mana into precisely the correct form. He had lost the skills that would have allowed him to cast the spell without any effort, just by speaking the formula. But he still remembered the pattern of a few spells. Without his grimoire and the complex graphics of the spell matrices, he could only reconstruct the simplest of level 1 spells. But if he could do that...

The fairy could not see what he was doing. As he no longer responded to her questions, she leaned back on the stone floor and meditated. Dungeon fairies were used to staying in an inactive dungeon for a long time. While crystal hearts enlarged their crystal, they had to silently suck mana into themselves for months. Selvara's breathing became deeper and slower. She slowly slipped into a stasis sleep as she had been trained to do. She exhaled sharply and opened her eyes. Her breathing was fast and excited. She had forgotten something! She didn't have a pact yet. She didn't have access to part of his mana regeneration. Without a pact, she was in danger of starving to death and never waking up again. After a while, she calmed down again. The elixir still flowed through her veins and provided her with everything she needed. Hunger, thirst, tiredness... none of these were an issue for another week or so.