(AS) B4 - Lesson 25: "Terms And Conditions."

Maggy sighed as she led the expedition down the path, wondering for the third time that morning how she’d let herself be talked into this role.

Not that she didn’t understand the reasoning.

Of the four people who had explored the first version of the Dragon’s Garden, Bert was tied up with Guild business. Antchaser was a goblin and openly served the Dungeon Core, which made him a poor choice for an independent liaison.

And Robert…

Maggy’s mouth tightened.

No one had seen him since his escape after the battle with Magnus.

That alone had put more than a few people on edge. Robert had been the strongest member of their original expedition. If anyone could cross the Crimson Mountains alone and make it back to Halirosa, it would’ve been him.

Yet several weeks had passed since he should have arrived, and no one had found so much as a trace of the man.

Not the Guild.

Not the City Watch.

Not even Alpha.

Maggy released another quiet breath and adjusted her glasses.

She still felt foolish whenever she thought about him. The man had smiled, offered a helping hand, and played the dependable senior adventurer so convincingly that she’d never thought to question him until it was too late.

Idiot.

She shoved the thought aside and led the expedition around the final bend.

The entrance to the Dragon’s Garden came into view, and several adventurers stopped outright.

Others slowed, heads tipping back as they stared.

Strom, the man taking over for Bert, didn’t freeze, but his stride shortened enough that his friend Cindy nearly walked into him. She caught herself at the last moment, then leaned around his shoulder for a better look.

Maggy understood the reaction.

The gate had been impressive the first time she’d seen it. Even then, it had stood as a vast monument to the supposed ‘conflict’ between the Dungeon Core’s ants and slimes, crowded with overlapping stories, hidden arrays, private jokes, and artistic choices best described as… aggressively enthusiastic.

That gate was gone.

Or rather, it had grown.

The new doors rose several times higher than Maggy remembered, large enough that the expedition could’ve walked through the smallest figures carved along their base. The surrounding wall had expanded with them. Broad supports arched away from the entrance, transforming what had once been an oversized gate into the façade of an ancient fortress-temple.

It’s central design had been refined as well.

The Mud Drake that had once dominated the right side had been replaced by its evolved form.

The Kigendoro coiled across the gate, its long body twisting through carved mud and shattered stone. Layered fins and ridged armor ran down its length, framing an eel-like head crowned with branching horns. Tendrils writhed around its face and tail as it loomed over a mass of mud-covered creatures gathered beneath it.

Opposite it stood Alpha’s Guardian.

The original carving had been almost playful: a classical dragon clad in ant-like armor and fitted with transparent insect wings.

This version looked less like a creature born and more like something built for war.

It towered on powerful dragonoid limbs beneath overlapping plates of carapace. Vast insectoid wings spread behind it, filling nearly the entire left side of the gate. Its forelimbs ended in weapons that only vaguely resembled claws, while a heavy, spiked hammer crowned the end of its tail.

The two monsters faced one another across the divide between the doors, where the swirling image of the Dragonpool held the gate locked tight.

It was… magnificent.

Which only made it all the more annoying.

Maggy adjusted her glasses again and studied the carvings as they approached.

The larger scenes were easier to follow now. Each section flowed into the next with clear intent, guiding the eye across the battle rather than forcing the viewer to untangle every detail at once. Even so, the entire structure radiated an aura of age and legend. Had she not seen the original entrance, she might’ve believed it had stood here for centuries.

Alpha’s craftsmanship was improving faster than she’d imagined possible.

Unfortunately, he still hadn’t learned restraint.

The battle between the Kigendoro and the Guardian occupied the center, but countless smaller scenes crowded every available edge.

Ants marched beneath tiny banners. Slimes operated siege engines of questionable practicality. A line of goblins ran a food stall directly behind the front line, apparently unconcerned by the battle unfolding only a few carved steps away.

And there were ducks.

Ducks perched on ledges, on helmets, wagons, supply crates, and one narrow outcropping where no duck had any logical reason to be.

Maggy exhaled through her nose.

She remembered standing before the first gate with Garrelt and Robert, notebook in hand, proud that she could tease meaning from the chaos. Now, it only… frustrated her.

At the time, she’d thought the design excessive. She hadn’t known Alpha well enough to understand that excess was less a flaw in his work than a declaration of intent.

Behind her, the adventurers began murmuring among themselves. Some pointed toward the larger carvings. Others were already trying to identify the smaller scenes hidden along the edges.

Maggy gave them another moment.

Then she stepped forward and raised one hand toward the doors.

“Welcome,” she said with the tired dignity of a woman introducing someone else’s extremely elaborate problem, “to the Dragon’s Garden.”

The murmuring faded as the expedition turned toward her.

Maggy lowered her hand.

“Before we enter, there are a few things we need to cover. You won’t be moving through the Garden as a single expedition. Instead, you’ll be divided into teams of no fewer than four and no more than eight.”

Several adventurers exchanged looks.

“Though you’re free to interact and cooperate as you wish,” she continued, “each team will be expected to operate independently while inside. Performance and rewards will be judged on a team-by-team basis, so don’t think you can ride someone else’s coattails once you’re in there.”

She gestured toward the familiar goblin woman beside her. “Storyteller will help register your teams and coordinate the order and timing of entry.”

Storyteller took that as her cue. She stepped forward and began herding the adventurers toward the dais before the entrance.

As she did, Strom moved closer to Maggy and folded his arms.

“What can you tell us about what we’ll find in there?”

Maggy hesitated.

“That’s difficult to answer.”

Strom’s brow furrowed. “I thought you were part of the first expedition.”

“I was,” Maggy said. “But what I saw then may not be especially useful now.”

His gaze shifted toward the gate, then back to her.

“What do you mean?”

Maggy adjusted her glasses.

“The Kigendoro incident caused considerable damage to the original dungeon,” she said carefully. “And the Dungeon Core used the resulting disruption as an opportunity to… renovate.”

For several seconds, Strom said nothing.

“Renovate,” he repeated, one brow lifting.

Maggy nodded.

“Yes.”

His expression tightened, and he looked ready to press the matter when Cindy let out a light laugh.

“Come on. I know dungeons can change a little after some major event, but it’s not like you found another Eternal Labyrinth down here.” She giggled and nudged Strom with one elbow.

Maggy didn’t respond.

Cindy’s laughter slowly thinned into an awkward silence.

Several heartbeats later, her eyes widened.

“Wait. You can’t be serious. Is this really—”

Strom moved before she could finish.

One hand clamped over her mouth while his other arm hooked around her waist, pulling her firmly against his chest. Cindy jerked in surprise, her muffled protests sharpening as she kicked at his plated shin and tried to pry his fingers loose.

Strom ignored her. His gaze swept the courtyard, tension tightening his features.

Maggy followed it to see -Storyteller had already gathered the rest of the expedition near the gate, some distance away. She stood before the carved doors, directing their attention toward one of the smaller battle scenes while the adventurers crowded around her.

Across the clearing, Storyteller met Strom’s eyes and smiled before turning back to the group.

Only then did some of the tension leave Strom’s shoulders. He sighed and released Cindy, letting her drop back to the ground.

She glared up at him, fire in her eyes, then drove a sharp kick into the side of his leg. Strom winced despite the thick armor covering his shin.

Maggy sighed, her shoulders slumping. She’d known this was the plan from the beginning, but that did nothing to make the next words easier.

“Yes,” she said. “The Dragon’s Garden is a growth-type dungeon.”

Strom went ramrod straight, his eyes locking on Maggy with sudden intensity.

Cindy went pale. Her second kick halted halfway through as the fury drained from her face. Slowly, almost jerkily, she lowered her foot and turned to stare at Maggy as well.

Growth-type dungeons were rare even among the world’s greatest inheritances.

Most dungeon spirits weren’t truly alive, after all, at least not in any way Maggy understood the word. They could speak, react, and even appear intelligent within the boundaries of their design, but those responses were closer to recordings than the thoughts of a living mind.

They were automated custodians left behind by their creators, built to maintain an inheritance, enforce its rules, and judge trial-takers according to strict requirements. Most could respond to specific actions. Adjust difficulty within predetermined limits. Reward success and punish failure.

But they didn’t truly think.

Each followed the framework it had been given, preserving its creator’s will long after that creator was gone.

Nothing more. Nothing less.

Growth-types were different.

Their cores were closer to living beings than constructs. They could think, judge, and make decisions according to their own understanding rather than merely enforcing their original rules. More importantly, they could alter the dungeon itself.

They could strengthen or evolve the creatures placed under their care, redesign trials, and reshape entire sections over time to reflect changes in the cultivation world beyond their walls.

The materials required to construct and maintain a growth-type dungeon exceeded those of an ordinary dungeon by an order of magnitude. Most conventional inheritances had been created by low- or mid-tier Third Realm experts seeking to preserve their teachings after death.

Growth-type dungeons, by contrast, were almost exclusively the work of peak Third Realm cultivators preparing to break through the Firmament and ascend into the Celestial worlds.

They weren’t merely tombs or preserved legacies.

They were inheritances designed to keep growing long after their creators were gone.

That made them almost impossibly valuable.

It also made them extraordinarily dangerous.

Maggy watched the realization settle across Strom’s face.

His gaze shifted toward the gate, then beyond it to the impossible city rising through the cavern, as the implications fell into place one by one.

The man swayed on his feet. Beside him, Cindy looked as though she might be physically ill.

Everyone dreamed of discovering a growth-type dungeon. Of being among the first to plunder its depths and return home carrying untold riches, just like the heroes in the stories.

But those were only stories.

Reality was far crueler, and the two adventurers before Maggy were likely reaching the same conclusion she had months ago.

A growth-type dungeon wasn’t merely a treasure trove.

It was the kind of resource nations went to war over.

Not petty disputes between neighboring clans or brief clashes over mining rights.

Kingdoms had risen and fallen over lesser inheritances.

Great sects would cross continents for the chance to claim one, leaving entire regions scorched and blackened in their wake. Such conflicts became stories whispered in dark taverns or shared around campfires by dead-eyed veterans warning horrified recruits.

Wars of legend, where heroes rose and fell by the dozens and history turned upon a single battle.

Suddenly, the secrecy surrounding the cavern made far more sense.

The Guild knew what would happen if word escaped before they could secure their claim.

Hell, it might still happen.

The Adventurer’s Guild might be one of the continent’s Great Pillars, but its power was scattered and divided. Yon Stonewall, Guildmaster of the Halirosa Hall, might have been enormously influential, but the individual Guild Halls operated largely independently, barring the occasional meetings to voice grievances or update policies.

“Why are you telling us this?” Strom asked, his voice gone quiet.

Maggy adjusted her glasses.

“You’re the expedition’s acting leader, for one,” she said. “You were also personally vetted by Guildmaster Stonewall and Bert.”

She paused.

“More importantly, the Core has extended an offer to you.”

Strom blinked. “An offer?”

Maggy nodded.

His eyes narrowed, suspicion tightening his expression.

“The Core wants one of his people to accompany you for training as a temporary addition to your team,” Maggy said.

Strom’s frown deepened.

Dungeon diving was dangerous even for experienced teams who had spent years learning one another’s habits. A skilled stranger could disrupt formations, misread an intention, or force everyone else to compensate for habits they didn’t understand.

He folded his arms and opened his mouth, clearly ready to reject the request.

Maggy raised one hand, cutting him off.

“In return, the Core is offering your team the chance to test an area of the Garden that hasn’t been opened to anyone else.”

Cindy’s horror vanished beneath a surge of unrestrained excitement.

Strom froze.

Maggy watched the conflict war behind his eyes as his jaw tightened.

An untouched section of a dungeon was difficult for any adventurer to ignore. Dungeons constantly generated new resources and rewards to lure challengers back, but the first teams into a newly opened area almost always found the richest prizes.

If they survived.

Before Strom could settle on an answer, Cindy stepped forward.

“We’ll do it.”

Strom turned and glared at her.

Cindy answered with a roll of her eyes.

“Oh, don’t look at me like that.” She folded her arms. “If the Core personally wants this person tested, they’re probably strong enough to take care of themselves. Besides, if it’s sending us into a new area, it won’t throw something at us that we have no chance of surviving. It wants information, doesn’t it?” She shrugged. “You can’t get useful feedback from corpses.”

Strom’s expression remained flat.

Apparently taking his silence as permission to continue, Cindy pressed on.

“Look, you’ve got the forward position covered, and I can handle range. I’m on good terms with one of the expedition’s support specialists. She’s competent, doesn’t panic, and is a damn fine healer in her own right. We bring her in as our fourth, and no matter where the new person fits, we’ll have a balanced enough team to face just about anything.”

Silence stretched between them.

Strom glanced once more toward the gate. Temptation, suspicion, and caution passed across his face in turn.

At last, he released a long breath.

“Fine.”

Cindy grinned.

Strom raised a finger before she could celebrate.

“On one condition. We meet this person first and take their measure ourselves. If I don’t think they can work with us, the deal is off.”

Maggy smiled.

“That won’t be a problem.”

She turned and gestured toward one of the broad stone pillars flanking the entrance, as a figure stepped out from behind it.

For an instant, the newcomer seemed to shimmer into existence, their outline separating from the pale stone as though they’d been part of it all along.

They stood slightly taller than Strom, a few inches over six feet, though their build was slimmer beneath the black armor covering them from head to toe.

At first glance, the armor resembled the suits worn by the cavern’s goblins.

The same dark plates. The same fitted construction.

Yet the proportions made it immediately clear the figure was human, even if nothing revealed whether they were male or female.

Faint azure lines traced the armor’s edges, briefly illuminating joints and reinforced plates before fading again. The helmet differed most from the goblin design. In place of the usual featureless helm sat a smooth, expressionless mask bearing six glowing eyes, arranged in two vertical rows of three.

The figure approached without a sound.

Strom and Cindy stared, open-mouthed, disbelief plain on their faces as Halirosa’s latest urban legend stepped into the waking world.

Maggy’s smile widened as the armored figure stopped before them. She reached up and patted one plated shoulder.

“May I introduce you,” she said, unable to keep the smirk from her voice, “to the Azure Phantom.”