Forgotten Dungeon

Uno

I was digging on the third level.

Or, to be more precise - my drones were digging.

Their upgraded stone chassis easily tore through the soil and an occasional rock. This deep underground they even sometimes got stuck on a particularly stubborn piece of material. These were getting more common than before too. I should probably start researching another upgrade for the drones. I guess iron would be a logical next step.

Anyway - I was hoping for the discovery of some new metals, maybe a petrified skeleton of some legendary monster useful in developing some nasty surprises for the next invaders… yet nothing came up - just the monotone brown and grey of the underground.

Hours passed as the tunnel was dug towards the north, starting from the stairs chamber. I decided to leave the trial room alone for now. Who knew if digging near it would have some dire consequences? It was still new territory, so better safe than sorry.

After a few more minutes of digging, I prodded my drones to change directions. They moved westward, chewing through the stone and soil. It was quite a zen experience, staring at them, busy and serious like ants building a new colony.

Some time had passed and I managed to drill out a large, oval room. It had a nice, rich floor covered in the best soil I could find - which should be enough to start my seeding project.

Not wasting any time I added Electrical Chandeliers to the mix, bathing the area in their cold, blue light. The wire network came just after, eye-cameras popping in sensitive locations, giving me the ability to see and react accordingly.

The Ratlings were hard at work too, their little paws adding tunnel after tunnel to my new design, intertwining their emergency exits, small watch posts, and warehouses with the already existing chamber.

Soon it was ready - an experimental farm smack dab in the middle of my underground. Or, for now, just a bare room with a large space full of dark, rich soil in the middle, intermingled with an occasional rock protruding from the floor.

A beginning.

Let’s get started then.

For now, I decided to not feed the plants any magic. Not directly anyway. Instead, seeds of various common plants were summoned and planted in the soil with a little help from the Ratlings. They had their own names, but I decided to call them using my old-world equivalents.

There was wheat, tomatoes, watermelon, and a pair of different berry bushes. Then something resembling corn, small paprika, stout cucumber of unheard size, and three or four bean-like plants in different colors, which needed a pair of wooden poles to grow. Then I had radish and carrot lookalikes, with a slight variation of color and size.

Each of them was planted in their corner of the experimental farm and for now, just allowed to grow at their leisure.

If I was correct the concentration of mana on my third level should rather quickly show some interesting effects. Once that part of the experiment would be complete I only had to isolate what made them special… and bam! A magical plant ready to grow!

Of course, there was no way to check which special abilities would develop. Or if they would develop at all, but that could be easily remedied with generous flooding of the area with my mana.

Even if they wilt (or explode) I had an unending supply of the seeds.

I was about to start testing some more volatile things when a commotion above ground attracted my attention. The humans were at it again.

As I shifted to one of the last surviving Devileyes to have good enough vision the Blueflame noble was quickly moving towards the place where Master Vincent and merchant Outeles Kamap stood, staring at the ground with serious expressions. Surrounding them was a large crowd of farmers and other unimportant civilians waiting in worried silence. The atmosphere was heavy and somber.

Bald Tom was also present, his large frame easily recognizable against his less muscular peers. He didn’t dare to step forward though, waiting at a respectful distance instead. Still closer than the randos around. I guess that denoted his position as somebody above the common man but with only one foot in the places of power.

Heh.

A few minutes later Charles arrived, the onlookers' expressions somehow brightening. Most of them knew that the red-haired noble was responsible for their miraculous survival in the depths of the dungeon and learned to rely on him when it came to decision-making. The man himself took the burden like he was born to bear it.

The whispers in the dark attributed him to every success of the colony and much more, the destruction of the Fallen Tribes horde being one of his supposed feats. The rumors grew, feeding on each other, making him out to be a superhuman figure and the sole hope of survival when it came to the Geinard Kingdom.

Something that he was wholly unaware of.

“What seems to be the problem, Master Vincent, Outeles?” He asked, before noticing the bald giant. After a moment of hesitation, he nodded towards him. “Tom.”

A simple gesture, but important enough to have the large man swooning.

“Sir Charles!” He shouted while bowing. The two others also responded, their faces austere.

“We have a problem, sir Charles.” Said Master Vincent, while digging in the dirt.

“A serious problem.” Outeles added.

“I see.” The noble looked around. “We’ll continue this discussion in private, then.” His voice took a more serious and firmer tone as he addressed the surroundings. “Good people, please disperse! Both I and the masters are on the case! There is no need to worry! Return to your duties and let us work in peace!”

Hearing his plea most of the onlookers dispersed immediately, the rest were convinced by the suddenly arriving guards. The soldiers appeared immediately after Charles, taking care of the stragglers. Even Tom was about to be displaced but managed to remain after a lazy wave from the human outpost's sole ruler.

“Speak then, please.” Charles asked, his tired face scrunched while preparing for the bad news.

“As you probably know after the destruction of the outpost and our re-emergence we embarked on a hard task of rebuilding.” The merchant started. “Like most Geinard Kingdom the former Waltzer castle allows us to grow both wheat and vegetables through the year, thus normally alleviating much of the food problems we experience.”

“I know. To the point please.”

“Yes.” Outeles bowed slightly, his face nervous. “The point is we can’t grow anything.”

“Huh? Why?”

“Let me explain, my boy.” Master Vincent interrupted gently, stopping the Charles’ angry outburst. He rose wearily, an old body straightening with nearly audible creaks. “You see under this remarkably rich soil…” He grasped a handful of dirt and let it slowly fall to the ground. “There is a network of equally remarkably sturdy roots.” His gaze hardened. “We already knew about them, but they were contained into much deeper strata and, more importantly, they didn’t mind our crops growing beside them. They were harmless. The operative word being were.”

With a small sigh, he gathered magical power without any explanation and blasted the nearby ground.

After the dust settled down and soldiers stopped panicking an interlacing net of silver and brown tubes could be seen inside the remaining hole. It was completely blocking the recess and under the wary eyes of the onlookers, the roots even regenerated, returning to their former shape.

“I guess you tried hacking it away or clearing them out using either poison, fire, or some other means?” Charles murmured while poking at the silvery growth.

“Yes. Fire, poison, arcane, ice, lightning, even brute force. Nothing works and if it does then the solution is only temporary. They regenerate back pretty much instantly and suck out the energy from any ordinary plants in the process.”

“They’re a dungeon creation then?”

“Yes, seems like it.”

“Why now though? I don’t remember reading any reports about such behavior in any of the books about Dungeon Cores.” Asked Charles incredulously.

“Maybe because there were no prior dungeons with two forcefully added entrances.” Commented Master Vincent.

“That might’ve been the cause…” Admitted Charles bitterly. “Even animals tend to curl up when attacked.”

“Yes, I agree that this may be a self-defense mechanism.”

“So these… roots. Will they grow weaker with time? Relax, so to speak?”

“Inconclusive.” Master Vincent shrugged his arms. “There was never a situation like this. True, some dungeons were outright destroyed, when necessary, but nobody managed to do what you did, sir.”

“I somehow feel like that wasn’t praise.”

“Oh, but it was!” The old mage's face flushed with excitement. “There aren’t many occasions to experiment with the dungeon behavior after all! Are they like animals? Curling up and trying to weather the bad times? Or do they unchangingly endure, like the oldest oaks? Do they want revenge on those who brought them pain? So many questions!” He grinned, calming down a while later. “That’s why I’m grateful to you, sir.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The noble waved his hand dismissively, but I noticed a small tremble on the word revenge. “What are our options then? Do you have any solutions? We can always hunt the dungeon rats for some meat, but other than that most of the monsters down there are undead. Bad for consumption.”

“Maybe we should get some meat from the invaders?” Piped up the merchant.

“Eating trolls, goblins, or orcs? We haven’t fallen so low! How’s that different from cannibalism?” Huffed Charles.

“No, no, I was more thinking about the various beasts of burden they used. Call them barbarians all you like, but they needed something to carry their supplies. Such animals are usually useful as the meat sources, be it horses, oxen, donkeys or less docile beasts.”

“Tell the truth. You’re just trying to save your draft animals from landing in the pot.”

“So what if I am? They are the lifeblood of any merchant. Losing them means a pointless death. Not literal one, of course, but still - a slow and agonizing fall into obscurity.” Outeles corrected the feathered cap on his head. “And besides my idea is not bad.”

“I agree, but it is still a temporary solution. Not to mention that the elves would never allow us to claim them considering our current standing. They would rather let us starve.” Charles shook his head.

“Ahem.” Master Vincent coughed artificially.

“Yes?”

“They’re half-elves, not elves, sir. It might be wise to stop calling them that. After all Luna Kingdom and Elven Theocracy are in a state of a silent war.” He sighed theatrically. “It’s similar to likening humans to the orcs or goblins.”

“You know I don’t care about the sharp-ears, right?” The red-haired noble answered haughtily.

“We were talking about starvation issues.” Interrupted the merchant, calming the two men instantly.

“I also have an idea.” Reported Master Vincent.

“I sure hope it’s not about the mushrooms.” Murmured Tom from behind.

“My good man! These mushrooms would be fit for consumption in no time!”

“Not before half of my workers die from a stomach ache.” Calmly retorted the chief carpenter.

“Anyway, it’s not about them.”

Hearing this conversation I decided to closely follow what Master Vincent did in the future. It seemed like his experiments weren’t far away from my own ideas. Of course, his attempts at playing god were much humbler than what I working with. Nonetheless, it was an interesting turn of events.

That’s why I was shocked by his words.

“There is a dungeon nearby.”

“What? Another one? But wasn’t that against the rules?” The red-haired noble wondered aloud. “Not to mention I didn’t hear about it before coming here.” He squinted his eyes, worried and a bit accusatory.

“The dungeon I’m talking about is deep underground, under the protection of the dwarf oathbreakers.” His words elicited another growl from the mage.

“I have nothing against the dwarves, but oathbreakers… they’re bad.”

“They’re not outcasts at least. Their word is as good as any other dwarf.” Smiled Master Vincent.

“They’re called oathbreakers, for Gods sake! How can I not worry?!” After the scream left his lungs Charles breathed in deeply, slowly calming down. ”Two questions.” He continued, visibly tired. “How long does one have to travel to arrive at this dungeon of yours? And what is its specialty? I presume it's something edible?”

“About four to five days by using carriage and as for specialty…” The helmeted mage scratched his feeble beard in embarrassment. “Snakes.”

A moment of silence followed.

“Really?!” The noble shouted again, exasperated. “Really?! Thrice-cursed snakes?! Oh, Gods… why?! Rats and snakes, that will be the contents of my future meals?! Who did I cross for me to have atone in such a way?!” Charles screamed aloud, turning the heads of the surrounding guards.

“We do what we need to survive.” Mused Master Vincent, not ruffled in the slightest. I could even spy a small flame of interest in his iris.

“They’re commonly eaten in the Dross Republic.” Outeles mumbled wearily.

“Anything to fill our bellies.” Tom’s reaction was the simplest. He smiled gratefully, bowing towards the old mage. In the meantime, the red-haired noble managed to calm down. His face was still flushed and his eyes widened, but at least the screams had stopped.

“What would we trade for food though?” He asked, unconsciously poking his chin.

“Our stores are limited.” Outeles shook his head, a small notepad suddenly appearing in his hand. “And the remaining supplies will last two weeks. Three, if we start rationing them now.”

“There is something we can barter with.” Vincent mused happily.

“Then what is it? Don’t keep us in suspense.”

“Simple - the trade goods I was talking about are weapons produced on the first floor.”

“These weapons?” Scoffed Charles. “They’re useless. Any dwarf worth their salt will tell you that! Any smith at all!”

“That is true, but they have another, rare quality. You see, they have been made from a high-class iron. For us humans it’s just useful, but otherwise secondary resource. Yet dwarves… dwarves love this stuff and are always searching for more ores or items suitable to melt down into ingots.” Said the mage excitedly. Hearing this Charles’ eyes brightened.

“You’re right!” A wide smile appeared on his face. “It’s decided then. We’ll try your solution.” Spring returned to his step. “Outeles!” He shouted, even though the Dross Republic merchant was just beside him.

“Yes, sir?” The merchant unconsciously straightened his back.

“Borrow a few of the Lois adventurers and Captain Duree soldiers. Gather your people too and the remaining carriages. Ask Master Vincent for directions and lead the caravan towards the dwarf dungeon.” He turned his head back to the mage.

“What it’s called?”

“Snake Pits!”

“Yeah, towards the Snake Pits.” He mumbled. “Freaking lovely.” Then, he added in a louder tone. “Do it!”

“At once!”

“You!” The noble pointed at one of the surrounding guards.

“At your command, sir!” The excluded man bowed sharply, saluting in the process.

“Ask Guildmaster Lois and Captain Duree to organize hunting rotations in the dungeon.” The noble breathed in, staring at the faraway camp full of lithe half-elf figures. “Most of the new squads should be on hunting duty, while the rest will focus on gathering the weapons produced on the first floor.”

“Yes, sir!” A wide, bloodthirsty grin appeared on the soldier’s face.

“Remember to not engage the first floor Guardian and do not - I repeat - DO NOT MOVE DOWNWARDS.” Charles cautioned, his tone raised to near-scream.

“Acknowledged, sir.”

“Run along.” The noble waved his hand in dismissal and the man sprinted into the freshly built barracks. His loud laughter echoed in the enclosed space. “I hope it’s enough.” Charles sighed.

“It surely will be, sir.” Tom, the forgotten carpenter dared to speak at this moment. He quieted quickly, aware of the awkward silence, and seeing the surprised face of his leader he quickly bowed his head. Charles didn’t even remember that he was nearby.

“Tom, it’s good that you’re here. Please ask Master Vincent - in his free time, of course - if he has a wish to build a permanent magic tower in the vicinity.” A small smile floated on his face, only to be chased out by an expression of worry. “Also.. is there any news from the capital?”

“No.” The large, bald man looked tired too, his fear carving first wrinkles on the otherwise calm face. “The Princess took our magic communication artifact with her when she left and none of the runners had yet managed to return.” With a heavy nod, the red-haired mage turned back.

“We still have time. Even a runner would take about a month to arrive at the northern frontier. And then they need to get back.”

“Yes, sir.”

Their silhouettes disappeared in one of the nearby houses, the speech too quiet to understand.

And I decided to return underground. I was staring at the happily growing plants, while my drones tried to dig out even more tunnels and rooms.

Everything was fine.

Non, Iron-melded Revenant

Geinard Kingdom Capital - Shieldstar

The undead was prowling the night.

It was not hard to gather information about Henning.

A deathly kiss here, a clink of coins there… and the picture was born.

Peter Hening, the first administrator of the Hawks. An important figure in the bureaucratic faction of the court, he was awarded the rank of a baron. Titular, not hereditary, but still. A man who weighed the life and death of many would-be spies and assassins gathering under the command of the Hawk. No matter the cost, no matter the consequences - but always for the Kingdom.

Married, with three daughters. Bella, Dorothea, and Casia.

Lived in a great mansion nearby, guarded by a knight legion and leeching off the Kingdom’s luxuries like a great, fat parasite. A man of power, a man of wealth and influence. One of the seven most important figures in the King’s court.

And right now?

A man on the run.

Slowly he crawled away from the terrifying shadow that arrived at his opulent residence.

The formerly lit mansion which was echoing with sounds of life now turned silent, distant, and cold. No sound traveled the abandoned halls but the lamentation of a human turned into simple prey.

The orchestra room no longer reminded him of the violinist who graced these chambers.

There was only fear.

There was only despair left.

And a maddening mantra of it’s not real, it’s not real, it’s not real!

Peter was never muscular or strong, his figure resembling a pear, with folds of fat unpleasantly clapping when he moved. That never stopped him from indulging in the most beautiful women, the sweetest nectars, and the rarest delicacies.

It was the first time in his life that he regretted these actions.

He regretted not training.

Not praying enough.

Not gathering enough of personal power to escape this… abomination.

She stalked every shadow, a pair of black eyes following him through the estate.

He noticed a sitting figure - a knight in full armor resting on the nearby couch. With a berating yell, he jumped forward, believing himself safe.

“Wake up, knight! Defend me, for Goddess’ sake!” His screams were cut short when he touched a heavily bloodied body and its macabrely carved head tilting back and landing on the floor in total silence.

With a soundless scream, he retreated, landing on the floor with a wet thump, and hissed in pain. The cut tendon still radiated pain. In the beginning, he tried to jump on one leg, to run faster, but this soon exhausted his stamina. Afterward, he was forced to crawl on his knees, moving like a worm. Tasting the humiliation for the first time in his life.

He sobbed and turned back to stare at his pursuer, with defiance born from desperation.

“W-what do you want?!” He screamed in the darkness, half-hoping for silence and a half - for a timely rescue. What answered was a hiss full of malice.

“G-give…”

“Give what?! Please! Money, women, power! I have it all! Just… let me live!”

“G-give… ba-ck.”

“What?!”

“Jo-anne. Be-eria. Wh-ere?” She asked with hatred, each word slowly crawling out of her mouth.

“Wh-who are they?” Peter asked, feeling the silent, black pressure wash over him like a cloud.

“Gi-rls. Un-der… Hawks.”

“I don’t know, please, I really don’t know!” He lied with his eyes closed, praying to every god, every demon that listened to save him. But no one did.

“W-wrong. Ans-wer.” Non smiled widely, her perfect-looking teeth leaving a mad, crooked impression. “Penalty.” She said, throwing something out.

“Eh?!” The administrator jumped back as far as his battered body allowed, only to fall into the pool of sticky blood. The liquid felt cold and dirty, but soon a feeling of something landing on his lap attracted his attention. Bloodshot eyes of the administrator wandered down against his will only to see up close a cut-off head of his wife staring at him with an expression of shock.

“Gyaaaaaaaaaaaa!” A scream echoed through the empty mansion as the grisly trophy was thrown in the air. Non didn’t waste any time. She repeated the question.

“Gi-rls. Under. Hawks.” Slowly accentuated words twisted like venomous snakes.

A shocked, wide-eyed stare was the only reaction. The revenant watched her victim for a moment, giving the human a chance. Then, she repeated coldly.

“Wrong. An-swer.” This breaks the spell, but it’s already too late. Another cut-off head soared through the air and this time the fat administrator was silent. He just widened his arms and sobbed quietly.

“B-bella… no. It’s not happening. My little Bella. What… why?” He raised his tearful eyes only to meet a pair of black orbs staring heartlessly at his despair. “Why are you doing this?”

“Gi-rls. Under. Hawks.” Was the only answer his interrogator had given.

“I-I can’t. Please. I’ll die. My family will die.”

“Wrong. An-swer.” Words spill out of the shapely mouth with a precision of a dwarven time-counter.

“I beg you---” A voiceless scream rose in his chest as another severed head landed on his already bloodied lap. He breathed deeply, lamenting, clutching, and hugging the remains of his daughter.

“Gi-rls.” She whispered in the broken man's ear.

“A notepad under the mage-light table. Press 3, 3, 4, 1, 8, and twist it right.” He answered soullessly, his eyes focused on the remains of his family. Another smallest head joined the quickly rising pyramid, but Peter didn’t react. He couldn’t. There wasn’t anything left out of him.

All he could do was to weep, desperately hugging what remained.

Tonight Peter Hening died. And nobody could bring him back anymore.

With the grace of a predator, Non moved towards the table he mentioned. It was old, well used, and indeed had a mage-light above it. On its wooden surface, a bunch of numbers was carved - following the instructions the revenant opened a hidden compartment.

Then, with bated breath - she searched. The hope she carried in her heart beats louder and louder. Then she finds a small, unimportant note.

[Joanne. Beria. Tinna younger sisters. Found inadequate. Eliminated. Due to emotional connection eliminate the older sister as she finishes the assignment. The Hawk agrees.]

Under that written in clear, bold words.

[Peter Hening, Chief Administrator.]

And her heart breaks completely.

That night a pair of voices howl in pain, scaring the surrounding urban area in the submission. At the dawn, military police found only a scarred, broken man who once was called Chief Administrator.

Non still haunts Shieldstar though.

It’s time for her biggest prey.