Chicken.
Of all the things Jessica could be thinking about, it was chicken. Or, more accurately, the old saying of if it looks like chicken, it’s probably chicken.
To be fair, she was paraphrasing that saying so hard she might as well have made it up all on her own. And Jessica wasn’t sure the stew last night actually tasted like chicken or if her brain was simply being merciful and clouding her other senses…and judgment. Because if it wasn’t…that meant what she, Y’cennia, and Layalee were doing today was shattering her world in more ways than one.
Ellesea had left at the crack of dawn like she always did, and Alastair was locked in his room, most likely gloating over all the peasants who didn’t get to sleep in their own inn suite.
Well, Jessica knew he was doing morning devotions, but it was fun to imagine otherwise.
Strangely, it was Y’cennia who roped Jessica into heading to the guild bright and early, when normally it was the other way around.
But then again, maybe Whispershade was a reverse-o world, since it wasn’t bright outside at all, despite it being prime time for the sun to be poking her in the eye.
Melia wasn’t the biggest fan of the guild, so she took the strawberry elf sightseeing. It wasn’t until Jessica and Y’cennia entered the guild after finally locating it that she realized they had gained a babysitter.
Layalee, the big, beefy [Retainer] with biceps like a steel beam, was walking serenely behind them, as if they were a couple of well-to-do ladies out for a morning stroll. And there Jessica was without her parasol.
They entered the guild, pausing at the sight of a full hall. Most chapter houses Jessica was familiar with were fairly deserted; she wasn’t used to seeing it so packed. Not that a full house would impact their business at all, but it did make things potentially awkward. Jessica hadn’t needed to punch a creep in the face for getting handsy in over a year. As a pair of young women without an escort, they needed to be mindful of their surroundings, regardless of their levels' effect on their ability to fend for themselves.
Many heads swiveled toward them on entry, curious to see the newcomers, but most people quickly returned to what they were doing. More than a few lingered on them, but that was when Jessica realized their escort wasn’t so unnoticeable.
Layalee stepped in front of them, stretched, flexing as she did so, and silently retrieved her battle axe from her inventory and slung it across her back. Jessica suppressed a snicker as she watched several faces pale and upgraded Layalee from babysitter to accomplice. Y’cennia quickly led them to a counter.
“Good morning,” Y’cennia said to the receptionist. Like everybody else in StoneCairne, it was easy to separate the locals from the tourists. The man was pale, like he’d never seen the sun, and he had dark bags under his eyes. His complexion didn’t stop him from smiling, and he greeted them warmly.
“Good morning, welcome to the StoneCairne guild branch. What can I do for you?”
“I’m an [Alchemist], and my party is going to be staying in Whispershade for an unknown amount of time. I was wondering if you could tell me about any local ingredients or reagents?”
“One moment,” the man said, offering Y’cennia a system slate. “Please confirm your membership on the pad.”
Jessica was used to the guild song and dance, so she was about to go back to looking around as she heard the man suck in a rush of air.
“So it is true, then,” he said in a shaky breath. His eyes darted up to Y’cennia, lingered on Jessica, and eventually landed on Layalee, locked in place. He gulped at the stoic woman’s unflinching resolve and tore his eyes away, focusing back on the catkin. “A new dungeon has been found. We all heard the rumors from the capital, but we didn’t know what to believe.”
Jessica froze. Of course, as soon as any one of them ran their identity through the guild, the fact that they entered a dungeon could be found. And if the guild was looking for it? It would be found. It didn’t matter that they’d already given everything they knew to the big boss himself. Jessica steeled herself, ready for the inevitable interrogation.
Until Layalee spoke up.
“The [Obsidian Mansion] is not up for discussion,” she said in her high, ethereal voice. The man balked at her, possibly just as confused at the pitch as the firm denial in her voice.
Layalee was unmoving, though, and mean-mugged the crap out of the poor man until he wilted. Defeated, he turned back to Y’cennia, clearly deflated.
“Yes, Whispershade is home to an excellent array of alchemical reagents, mostly poisons and toxins. If you’re in need of skins and leathers, [Wargs] provide excellent material at high drop rates with a bonus to classes with [Skinning]. Though they might look enticing at first glance, stay away from [Infested Rotguts]. The mushrooms on their bodies are for show only; there is no recorded instance of them appearing as loot.”
The man took a breath, glanced at Jessica again, and shook his head.
“For a [Hunter], I’d say you might consider trying your luck at giant spiders. They’re common in the west and have a low detection radius relative to their level. You might be able to hunt them from a distance and dispatch them before they reach you. Unless you’re traveling in a Raid, avoid The Hollows at all costs. You’ll know you’re close when the trees become more webbed silk than leaves. One wrong step and the [Brooding Eggs] will hatch, and you’ll be swarmed by thousands of smaller spiders. And when I say ‘small,’ they’re still larger than my head.”
Yeah, no, that was not in Jessica’s job description. It was a good thing Ellesea was gone, because she wouldn’t be able to handle talking about a single giant spider, let alone thousands of them. The man stuck a finger to his chin in thought before eventually deciding to add something else, just for completion’s sake, rather than thinking it might benefit them.
“I suppose, if we’re talking about specialties of Whispershade, it’s not over until we’ve mentioned cerulean. It’s the region’s primary export, and while most of the veins are highly regulated, the workers are always looking for extra protection, and there are talks about trying to open up one of the northern shafts. Anything you mine while escorting [Surveyors] is yours to keep…though I don’t know how applicable that is to you three.
“You’d be surprised,” Layalee said with a single raised eyebrow. She put away her axe…only to retrieve a mining pick.
Jessica stared at it in disbelief. That was a weapon, no questions asked. Not a tool to dig rocks. It was as absurd as it was huge, meaning both. The head arched like a crescent moon, looking entirely impractical and undoubtedly unusable. The flat side of the “blade” had literal blades, as if impaling somebody through the chest and removing their torso as a whole wasn’t enough. Obviously, the razors were added for good measure to flay some flesh off the remaining bones. A very faint, purple bolt of lightning coursed through it on occasion.
“I am qualified to enter a mine.”
[Retainers] were ridiculous, and that’s all Jessica had to say about that.
Jessica had to hand it to ol’ Stumpy; the ram was ornery, but he was no pushover. After leaving the guild, Y’cennia fretted about whether or not it would be alright to scout locally for some mushrooms, or if it would be too dangerous. Layalee, in perfect bodyguard style, casually remarked that she would never allow any harm to come to her mistress’ treasure, which was both flattering and weird, but it got the point across. Thinking that the morning was bizarre enough already, Jessica said what the hell and made a day of it. She, Y’cennia, and Lalayee all had a nice girls’ trip out to slay some giant spiders.
It was a very good thing that Ellesea was safely locked in a classroom back in Horizon.
“Giant Spiders” was certainly one way to put it. The girls rode about an hour to the west and eventually found the first one, a [Juvenile Pale Skitterer], and it gave everyone the heebie-jeebies.
If that was juvenile, Jessica would hard pass on seeing an adult. It had a fat, bulbous body with eight spindly legs that rose high above its head and twitched ominously as they splayed out to the side. It was, at least, very pale, a sickly green bordering on white, and it had massive fangs sitting in its too-large head.
Standing up, its face was level with Layalee’s.
Jessica knew this because the insane woman marched calmly up to the spider, watched as it hissed fearfully in her face, reached her massive hand out, clamped down on its face full of ruby red eyes…and crushed it to a pulp.
The thing barely had a chance to squeal in agony before it simply got snuffed out.
With her free hand, Layalee smoothed the ruffles of her dress, then pulled out a pristine white hanky, with which she proceeded to wipe all the goopy eye-gore off her fingers. With her serene smile, she turned to the horrified [Alchemist], whose tail had shot ram-rod straight, and nodded.
Jessica, utterly repulsed and disgusted, saw the body begin to glow with gold, and her ability kicked in. She reached down, activated [Looting], and was rewarded with a stack of five white items.
[Crunchy Spider Leg]
Level: 250
Rarity: Common
Quality: 3 stars
Ingredient. Used in [Alchemy], [Engineering], and [Cooking].
Finger lickin’ good.
Jessica stared at the five giant legs sitting in her inventory, emotions warring within her. This was obviously what they’d eaten last night. And it was tasty. Really tasty. The question was, was she repulsed enough to care?
As if spinning a slot machine, her brain clicked into place. She shrugged. Nope, not my problem. Jessica put the legs away, followed Layalee to the next skittering freak, and prepared to [Loot] again. She made a mental note never to tell Ellesea.
Walking around the abbey in Abbyton was surreal for Clark Higgins. As far as he’d drifted away in recent years, it was an integral part of his life. It had seen him through the toughest years of his life and ushered in the best, and he’d like to think he could say the same. Not that he was much help during the dragon attack several weeks ago. But seeing the place he grew up, all the old haunts and familiar faces (some decidedly older than others) never failed to remind him of an old saying.
The more things change, the more they stay the same.
The old church hadn’t changed a bit, not since it was built several centuries ago. Those stones in the walls were as old as the hills themselves, and Clark sincerely hoped they lasted far, far longer than he did. But that didn’t mean there weren’t additions and improvements. Back in the day, if somebody had told him the abbey was trying to modernize, he’d assume they were working on the roads, repairing the walls, or maybe including some new infrastructure in the town itself.
Not building architectural wonders like magic [Greenhouses].
Clark agreed to join the advanced expedition to scout the new dungeon for many reasons, but he’d be lying if he said checking in on the abbey wasn’t one of them. The brothers and sisters there were kindhearted to a fault; they were too soft, and it would be easy for the ruthless guilds scrambling to get a first taste of the dungeon to roll right over them. He made it his goal to make sure they weren’t being bullied.
To his great shock, he needn’t have bothered. Every attempt from the Post Office, Adventurers Guild, Communicatorium, and Transportium to encroach on the land north of the abbey had been rebuffed. The forest would have been a perfect place to build a fledgling town dedicated to conquering the dungeon. It would have grown, prospered, and flourished from all the benefits a new dungeon had to offer. And after the dungeon was tamed, firmly under the heel of seasoned adventurers, the only arguments would have been who got priority rights to resets and what to name the town.
Dungeonton? Abbyton-by-the-hill? Clark wasn’t the best at naming things.
He also wasn’t sure how he was supposed to aid the abbey when he himself saw all the advantages of building a camp so close to the mountain might bring. He hated himself for letting his greed get the better of his morals.
But, seemingly out of the blue, Bishop Larking, [Cardinal] of the Church of Light, swooped in the moment the grumbling started. No expansion would be permitted; to preserve the sanctity of the abbey, the forest must remain unmolested. On this, he staked his full title and authority of the church, saying it was blessed by Celestara herself. Some people wanted to complain, saying the goddess hadn’t been seen or heard from in a hundred years. The Bishop then responded by taking the leaders of the camp into the [Greenhouse], where he simply pointed at a golden tree.
Clark would never have guessed that Celestara was fond of avocados if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. Perhaps the next time he made an offering, he would bring some.
Late in the afternoon, a messenger from the guild found Clark in his camp, summoning him and the other guards. The trailhead had finally been surveyed and was ready to be ascended. It had taken the scouts almost a day to locate it, which was worrisome. Some of those scouts were [Pathfinders], who were excellent at discovering hidden trails in the wilds, and had dedicated skills to help them. That it took so long spoke to the trials they were surely about to face. As a rank 6, Clark had seen his fair share of strange and powerful creatures in the world, but he’d grown used to most of them. As a freshly minted rank 7, he was excited to challenge himself against something new. If the reports were to be believed, the dungeon was level 1000. He couldn’t begin to imagine what lay ahead.
Normally, a survey for expansion into the wilds would never embark at night. There wasn’t a point in adding unnecessary risk on top of the danger of exploring in the darkness already presented. But none of the advanced team cared; they were far too eager to begin, and they had the levels to back it up. From across 4 separate guilds, no less than 15 members had been assembled for the mission, and not one of them was under level 600. In any other circumstance, a party like this would be overkill.
Sable Lane, the [Dragoon] from [Starfall], made the decision. As the sole rank 8, he was the highest-level member of the expedition, and he often abused the privilege his power afforded him. Clark took some twisted satisfaction knowing he wasn’t the highest-level person that would eventually be tackling the dungeon, once they were prepared. For now, Clark would let the man have his small victories. He saddled Whitemane, his horse, and set out with the others.
It took a little over an hour to locate the trail, marked by ethereal, glowing orange flags. A [Pathfinder] skill. Once the group secured the trail, they’d come up with a more permanent solution, but for now, it would do.
And that’s when trouble started.
The group didn’t suddenly get attacked by monsters or beset by troubles befitting a level 1000 dungeon. But their mounts simply would not set foot onto the trail. Even Whitemane, Clark’s loyal steed of many years, tossed his head violently, neighed fiercely, and threatened to throw Clark off if he was made to take a single step further. It was the same for everyone: not a single mount would budge and would not let itself be led any further.
A little hike in the darkness wouldn’t bother them, so Sable made them push on. One of the scouts produced a lantern and handed it to the [Dragoon], who used his impressive leaping ability to jump from boulder to boulder, casting light below. It was nearly midnight by the time they reached the top.
Clark’s class didn’t give him any support or utility skills, being a fully offensive build. He wasn’t much help once they reached the summit, and he couldn’t even see the so-called Obsidian Mansion in the darkness. He could feel something nearby; his skin prickled the moment they set foot into the clearing, and he began to suspect they might have taken this assignment too lightly. Under the glow of Sable’s lantern, he could just make out the silhouettes of two ancient, dead oak trees.
“It’s too dark to see,” Francis, a [Rogue], said with a frown. If a [Rogue] was having trouble seeing in the dark, something unnatural was clearly at play. Sable stared ahead, calculating, slowly chewing on his tongue.
“Fine,” he said eventually. “We’ll make a camp. Draw lots for watch. It’s about six hours until sunrise; three groups, three hours each, should give everyone time to rest.”
Nobody would be happy with that little sleep, but they were all used to roughing it. Sometimes exceptions had to be made. Clark ended up with the middle shift, which sucked, so he pulled a small bedroll out of his inventory and threw himself down on it, quickly passing out.
The light of morning didn’t instill confidence. As the sun peaked over the mountains, the darkened shadow of the mansion started coming into view. Clark frowned, staring at the pitch-black walls and shuttered windows. Such an uninviting place.
Not that a dungeon was supposed to be welcoming. But wasn’t this supposed to be some noble’s residence long ago? Somebody on the first watch had made a small fire; Clark sat down next to it and pulled out a small pouch from his pack. Coffee grounds and a percolator. One of the few luxuries he allowed himself on every mission, where space was a premium. Soon, the smell of coffee was waking everybody else up, and he graciously poured a cup for everyone who asked.
Third shift was finally stirring, rubbing the crust from their eyes after getting their last few winks in, as everybody’s attention started veering toward the mansion. Now that he could see it better, Clark found a begrudging amount of respect for it. Whoever built it up here in the middle of nowhere must have been a few screws loose. They were either an eccentric recluse, more wealthy than he could ever imagine, or else a megalomaniac. The thing was huge, and it probably required a staff the size of the abbey just to keep it running. No wonder it was deserted. After everybody filled their bellies with a few pieces of bread or cram, Sable eventually walked confidently up to the front doors.
They towered over the man, making him seem small and insignificant. Two things Sable clearly did not appreciate. He reached out, firmly grasped the handle, and gave it a firm tug.
The door did not budge.
Sable’s frown turned into a full scowl.
“We’re going to have to break it down,” he said. “Anybody have demolition skills?”
As an [Arbolist], Clark had several siege skills that could technically blow down a door in a pinch. Not that he wanted to, or even agreed with Sable’s hasty assessment. Before he agreed to anything, he’d make sure they exhausted any other options first. Maybe check for a side entrance or try to peer through the windows. Heck, those were made of glass; it might be easier to slip through the windows than try to ram down the door made of some unknown material.
“I would advise against that,” a regal voice said. The group jumped; nobody present expected to get snuck up on, and yet it happened. As expected of high-ranking adventurers, in a heartbeat, they’d all drawn their weapons, turned to face the stranger, and the more jittery ones had gotten themselves into better positions. Clark was staring down the sights of his giant crossbow, not quite understanding what he was seeing.
Oh, he recognized a person when he saw one, and this was clearly no monster, but never in his wildest imagination did he expect to encounter a giant elven maid. The woman looked far too calm, and when Clark [Inspected] her again, he gulped and slowly lowered his weapon. Her demeanor was not a show; he could not see her level.
Perhaps none of them could, not even Sable, but the [Dragoon] did seem quite surprised in a way nobody else did.
“Wait,” Sable said with narrowed eyes. “I’ve seen you before. Did the [White Witch] send you?”
“No,” the elf replied, “But you seek to trespass in my mistress’ mansion. You enter the abode of the great and powerful dragon, Meliastraza Obsidianheart. It’s by her grace that you proceed.”
With those ominous words, the elf walked forward, unlocked the front doors, and pushed them open. She motioned the group forward, like a steward might welcome guests into their master’s home…and if her words were to be believed, that’s exactly what she was doing,
The group did not find the woman very reassuring. They might not need to tear down the door, but they each eyed the maid warily and gave her a wide berth as they stepped inside.
A dragon, was it? Clark didn’t know much about the dragons of World’s End, and he assumed most of them never left. If one did, this mansion certainly fit the description they might choose. Eccentric recluse and megalomaniac. Clearly, the house had not seen use in quite some time, but the remnants of glory could still be seen. But the name stuck out to Clark.
Meliastraza Obsidianheart? Had he heard that somewhere before? It sounded familiar.
Perhaps it was because the dungeon was called the [Obsidian Mansion]. Maybe the mansion itself was named after some ancient dragon, or maybe it was the color of the stone walls. Black dragons were infamous on the other side of the mountains for the destruction of the land and terrorizing the dwarves.
“Why is everything so…unused?” One of the scouts asked. Clark took a look around the entryway and hummed. This place clearly hadn’t been lived in for years.
“What sort of mistress allows her estate to fall so far into disrepair?” Sable asked more bluntly. Despite the biting tone of his voice, it lacked the man’s usual venom. Clark was reminded of the [Dragoon]’s behavior the other day and wondered if the two were connected. Sable Lane wasn’t exactly known for his people skills.
“She had only just returned,” the maid said. “You will find the side wings locked,” she added sharply as one of the men moved to a nearby door and tested the handle. He jumped back, like he’d been burned. He was obviously unharmed, but clearly spooked at the giant maid suddenly looming over him.
“Entry has been granted to the Grand Ballroom only. The addition of a dungeon to my mistress’ home has not changed its ownership.”
“Then if you’d be so kind as to lead the way?” Clark asked respectfully before Sable could stick his foot in his mouth and ruin this for everyone. The maid regarded him with an impassive smile before swiftly nodding and moving on. The others quickly followed.
“There’s got to be a hundred rooms in this place,” the [Rogue] whispered to one of the [Pathfinders] as they trailed behind. Clark was only a few feet away, and he barely heard them. The maid, far ahead of everyone, did not have such problems.
“Two hundred and thirty-seven,” she corrected regally. “There are four floors with one hundred and seventy-five guest rooms. Parlors and lavatories are grouped by wing, though as you can see, they are not currently fit for hosting guests.”
“What do you even do with that many bedrooms?” The [Rogue] whistled appreciatively.
“Fill them with treasure,” the maid responded instantly. Everybody started chuckling…until they realized the woman wasn’t joining them.
“Are you serious?” The [Rogue] asked. Clark couldn’t see the man’s eyes, but he could hear the budding curiosity in his voice. He had a hunch the man might “get separated” from the group later on.
“Let me caution you against wayward fingers, Mr. Wade. You won’t find what you’re looking for, and it is unwise to steal from a dragon.”
The man stopped dead in his tracks.
“You…know my name?”
Truth be told, Clark didn’t even know the [Rogue]’s name. He simply referred to him as “The [Rogue].”
The woman merely glanced at him as if he was far beneath her…or maybe simply that all of his secrets were laid bare.
“We have arrived.”
Like everything in this mansion, the double doors Clark found himself standing in front of seemed purposefully designed to make him feel small. The maid pushed the doors open and Clark gulped nervously. He was wrong. Small wasn’t the right word. He felt insignificant.
Calling the room a Grand Ballroom was both fitting and inappropriate. Yes, it could have hosted a ball. It could have hosted many balls. At the same time. He did not envy any musicians who tried to play here, because the acoustics would have been atrocious and nobody would have heard them halfway across the room.
That was, of course, not considering any magical trickery at play.
The room had also seen much better days. The roof was crumbling, and large chunks of stone, presumably from the half-destroyed wall, littered the area around. Along the nearest wall were several timeworn statues, vaguely resembling historical figures posed in heroic stances. There were no placards identifying them, but Clark swore they looked familiar. In the middle of the wall, dividing the statues in half, was a large painting.
The colors were faded, and the canvas was torn, but lying on a mountain of gold coins, amidst draperies of crimson and violet, was a massive black dragon. The beast lay curled around itself as if harmlessly sleeping, but a single, purple eye stared down at him, challengingly.
No matter where Clark moved, no matter the angle he looked at it from, the eye always seemed fixed on him. He couldn’t tell if it was due to some trick of the light, some unknown skill of the long-forgotten artist, or perhaps some magic of the place.
The system offered no answers and Clark shuddered.
“So there it is.”
Sable’s voice broke Clark out of his contemplations. Looking around, the group had spread out to investigate the hall. Some of the scouts had made it all the way across the room, climbing up the wreckage of the wall and surveying the lands below. Some, however, had been instantly drawn to the ominous-looking [Summoning Stone] jutting out from the polished floor.
Behind the stone, embedded in the wall, was another pair of doors, thrust open. The telltale glow of a dungeon portal could be seen radiating a faint purple light. The rest of the group abandoned their current endeavors and made their way towards the leader.
“Okay,” Sable began seriously, “We all know the drill. The guild wants the area scouted and secured so the [Breakers] can set up camp. They’ll be bringing their full support crew. Those people aren’t combatants, and my own preferences aside, we wouldn’t want anybody to get hurt unnecessarily.”
As always, the man’s smile made Clark’s skin crawl. It was a shame he was so competent at his job. A sentiment that was shared by most, as a few of the other scouts took the opportunity to put a little distance between them. Clark shook his head. In some ways, climbing up the mountain and finding their way to the dungeon portal was the easy part. Even the part that came next wouldn’t be so bad, though it would take a lot of work. They’d need to send someone down to retrieve their mounts, which would most likely need to be returned to base camp. Construction crews would need to come in and widen the mountain path into a proper road. The guild might even want to consider putting in some sort of guard and customs booth near the portal…but judging from how the giant maid was observing them all carefully like an overgrown bird of prey, Clark has a hunch the guild might not get their way. At least inside the mansion.
No, all the physical work, as exhausting as it could be, was easy. The hard part was right now. Waiting.
Sitting in his hands, bored out of his mind.
Being on overwatch, making sure nothing unexpected started happening, like random monsters spawning just because a group of Humans started camping out at the entrance to a dungeon, was an important job. That didn’t mean Clark had to like it, since this was going to be his life for at least the next week.
He found a decent enough spot between two statues hidden in the shadow of a large chunk of fallen stone that would work well enough for a shelter. Clark pulled out a bedroll, a small wooden stool and a table, and started assembling a makeshift camp. He could perch on top of the stone itself and get a good view of the ballroom, and it looked like most of the others were doing the same, preparing for a long vigil.
A few, however, were staring at the entrance portal. Clark shook his head. He knew all too well what they were thinking.
“Why not take a quick look?” One of the scouts asked, and Clark had to revise his earlier condemnations about the room’s acoustics, as he heard them quite clearly.
“Dungeons always have a safe zone at the entrance.”
“That might be true,” the [Rogue] said. Wade, was it? Was that his first name or his last? “But I didn’t empty my inventory before coming here. I’d rather not die and lose everything to my name in the process, thanks.”
“Please,” the first man said. Possibly some sort of [Fencer] or [Duelist], judging from the rapier hanging on his belt. “I heard the group that discovered this place was a bunch of kids. Rank twos. If they managed to get out alive, so can we.”
“We don’t know that they got out alive,” Wade countered. “They could have respawned.”
“Or, for all we know, they’ve got insane gear and they got lucky,” the [Fencer] said.
“Sure, but what’s your point? How’s that an argument in your favor?”
“Just saying, maybe they could all turn invisible. Or [Stealth]. Hey! Maybe they’re a group of [Rogues] or niche classes dedicated to slipping in and out unseen!”
“No,” Sable inserted himself into the conversation ruthlessly. “They are not. You see, I’ve taken notice of [Sunrise] for various reasons I’d rather not go into. They have a [Paladin], a [Hunter], a [Mage], and an [Alchemist]. But that doesn’t matter. Because when they went in, they weren’t alone.”
Again, Clark saw the man cast a subtle glance at the maid, standing like a statue near the doors leading back into the mansion.
“However, if you read the report from the guild, you’d also know that the first room of the dungeon is a hub. All the monsters are supposedly neutral. That doesn’t mean they aren’t dangerous. If you want to go in without a tank, I’m not going to stop you,” he finished with a grin.
Clark stopped caring. He pulled out a slightly dusty book from his inventory and frowned. The cover was getting smudged, and one corner was slightly bent. The Library was going to charge him, weren’t they? A worthy expense to relieve some of the boredom of the next few days.
Eventually, the [Pathfinder] left the mansion to retrieve the mounts and report back to Abbyton. Everybody else got settled in. The lack of monsters was nice at first, but after a week of this, they might be begging for a sudden attack just to have something to do.
A noise near the portal made Clark look up; he did so just in time to see some legs disappear into the swirling vortex. Looks like somebody lost to the temptation to explore. Clark wasn’t the leader and Sable had already given his “blessing.” A quick headcount suggested 4 out of the remaining 14 people went inside, leaving 10 on watch.
Fine by him. Let them roam around and tempt fate. It would need to be done eventually, but that’s what the [Breakers] were for. They’d be thorough. When the group came back out, Clark would make sure they took all the night shifts.
But even after several hours, they hadn’t come out.
Author's note:
Good morning! Here's an extra chapter, bringing us to 13 out of 16 chapter ahead of Royal Road. I'm not sure when the other three will be posted, but it probably won't be next Sunday, as I'll probably need to spend more time this week working on Supervillain.
Have a great day!