The Dungeon Without a System - Chapter 68

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Layla’s Office, The Guild Hall, Medea Island

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“Wait. You said the dungeon is what?!” Isid exclaimed, shocked. The other two party leaders in the room were too stunned to say anything but obviously wanted answers too. Guildmistress Losat sighed.

“My final question was why the dungeon couldn’t answer the questions personally, as it had done before,” The Guildmistress answered her aunt. “The Kobold, though hesitant, replied that she believed it to be undergoing some kind of ‘metamorphosis.’ She didn’t know how long it would take and that it came upon the dungeon suddenly.”

The room was quiet as the assembled guilders pondered the implications. Haythem himself was almost overwhelmed by the information.

“But what does that mean?” Paetor asked, turning heads. “It’s doing something odd, which its creations think is a transformation. Fine. But what is it transforming into? Are the monsters misinterpreting this whole thing? The dungeon might not have had time to tell them what was happening, so how could they know.”

“We agree; they couldn’t know,” The Guildmistress replied. “We’ve had two days to think on this ourselves, and we have a theory.” She let the silence sit for a minute. Isid rolled her eyes and hand, prompting her to continue.

“Felin and I believe that Kobold’s explanation is partly true. Metamorphose implies a transformation, true, but where do such events take place? A cocoon. Like a Caterpillar becoming a butterfly. The dungeon could have retreated to its core; all its attention focused on that hunk of manacrystal. The Monsters don’t feel their attention, and it stops responding. They drew parallels, lacking any actual information, and found an explanation that made sense to them.” Guildmistress Losat paused to take a breath.

“They worship the dungeon. It created them, raised them, and gave them self-awareness and intelligence equal to our own. They think it is a God. We have dozens of records of priests and hierarchs misinterpreting divine instruction or miracles. Instances have been less prevalent since the gods started appointing Champions and taking a more active role in the world, but those wars happened. None can dispute it.”

“You think something similar has happened here?” Isid asked, leaning forward. “I can see it. The dungeon’s attention being occupied, and then being unresponsive to its creations… They draw the wrong conclusion. But if that’s the case, then what is the dungeon doing?”

The room was silent. No one answered.

“Putting that question aside, for the moment,” Haytham interjected. “How do we use this knowledge?” He got a few curious looks.

“The dungeon is occupied. You know what that means, right? It won’t be watching us delve. It can’t aid its creations in fights, nor guide monsters to our location, as we’ve suspected it’s done in the past. This is our chance to get as deep as possible before it changes things further. What was the info you got on its floors again, Guildmistress?”

“The Seventh is a tunnel system of some kind.” Felin recited from his notes, prompting stares. “The Eighth is mountainous, the Ninth a desert split by a canyon. The Tenth is plains, and the Eleventh is ‘largely coastline.'” He looked up at the group from his desk against the wall.

“The tunnels should be no problem. You’ve plenty of experience there. Draw on that. We’re not sure what the Kobold meant by mountainous but watch your footing. A desert could be tricky. That new armor you commissioned should help, but I’d recommend carrying plenty of water. Plains is… very vague. There are a dozen definitions and environments that could fit. Be prepared for anything. Coastline… worries me.”

Felin stopped and frowned, his mouth twisting into a grimace. Guildmistress Losat picked up where he left off.

“Coastline has a lot of implications,” she clarified. “It implies a great deal of water alongside a stretch of land. This dungeon has surprised us with strange and impossible environments before. As such, I don’t think we’re looking at a mere lake here. Either way, be prepared for underwater navigation and combat. Practice fighting on the beach and surf, just in case.”

“You think it has an ocean?” Isid said, incredulous. “Impossible. The cavern would have to be enormous and far too unstable without a ridiculous amount of mana to strengthen and support the ceiling. Where would it even find the water to fill it up? Just carving it would take far too… long…” She trailed off.

“I see you get the idea,” the Guildmistress stated solemnly. Haythem and Paetor’s eyes widened as they understood what she was implying.

“How long has it been carving out that cavern?” Paetor asked apprehensively.

Guildmistress Losat let out an explosive sigh.

“We’re not sure. One of the first questions we asked was its age. It said about ‘A hundred and twenty cycles.’ We assumed it meant years, as in the cycle of seasons, but I no longer believe that’s correct. What would a dungeon care for the season on the surface? It’s not affected by the cold of winter. It’s not spurred to harvest the crops in fall, lest the village starve. There are many natural things in the world that operate in cycles. It could even be the rise and fall of civilizations! We just don’t know.”

There was another bout of silence.

“Haythem, Paetor, I must remind you that this information is to remain private. I know you understand the implications of our contact with the dungeon and the reactions it would draw. The only ones who know are in this room, bar my Uncle. If it gets out, I’ll know it was one of you two, and the offending party will be ejected from the guild. Do I make myself clear?” Layla asked. Her black silk blindfold and the starfield beneath them stared right through the two.

Haythem also felt Isid’s identical sightless gaze when she turned to face them.

“Understood, Guildmistress Losat. I appreciate your trust in me and swear I won’t betray it.” Haythem answered. He did, in fact, comprehend the magnitude of this information and fully agreed with the albino woman.

“I as well, Guildmistress Losat.” Paetor agreed.

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The Eleventh Floor, The Dungeon, Medea Island

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Igna stared at their promised island from the shore. The dungeon had said it was making an ocean floor, but Igna hadn’t expected the sheer scale an ‘ocean floor’ implied. It was so large she couldn’t see the other side through all the atmospheric mana flying around. She wondered how long the dungeon had been digging to carve this chamber out.

As Wave had explained on the march down here, the water level was far from its future height, even accelerated as it was by the water sprites making portals to the surface oceans. Either way, even this much water was enough to block access to their island. No convenient land bridge, as she suspected the dungeon would have employed to get them there.

Most of the Court had set up a small camp atop the nearby dunes, leaving glassy trails where the heat from their bodies had melted the sand. Titan had molded himself a seat on a large dune, staring out across the ocean for hours now. The other Spirits designed sculptures from the glass created when they melted the sand, each more elaborate and delicate than the last.

The mana-star slowly moving across the ‘sky’ was at least ten times larger than any she’d seen in the dungeon. It was early morning, and the sky slowly lost its orange tint as blue overtook it. With one last longing gaze at the volcano in the distance, Igna looked down the long stretch of sand to where the water level rested. She could see the figure of Wave standing in the water; his arms stretched upwards and out.

It took about half an hour to reach the water’s edge from the dunes, and the trail of glass she left behind glittered in the light beautifully.

“Wave. Have you any insight on how we are to make the crossing?” She asked the monster. He sighed and lowered his hands, letting his staff hit the water and sand beyond.

“Some. My original plan was to avail the Water Sprites in the ocean to aid us, but they’re preoccupied. Plan B is to make a platform of ice, which we could float over on. The biggest problem is that it would melt rather quickly, given the heat you put off. Plan C is to walk along the seabed and use my magic to maintain a bubble of air. Plan D… I’ll let you know when I think of one.” He let that sit and continued staring out over the ocean.

“How large of a ‘bubble’ can you make?” Igna asked, curious. “It sounds difficult to maintain and mildly terrifying to experience.”

“Not large. While making one near the surface would be fine, the increasing pressure exerted on us would make it correspondingly difficult. I could move… maybe two or three spirits at a time. Given how far offshore Isla Fuego is, it wouldn’t be a quick process.” He took a deep breath. “I’d have to make a stop on the island there to rest,” he said, pointing at the island closest to the beach.

Said island was lush, covered in foliage, and Igna could barely spot a pack of large fox-like animals on one of the cliffs.

“This one is unnamed?”

“As far as I know, yes,” Wave explained. “He had no idea what to call it and figured the humans would name it eventually.” There was another minute of silence.

“When can you take the first group on the crossing?” Igna asked

“I’d need to test my methods first. I can survive submerging in water, but I’m not sure you can.” He replied. “In fact, I’ll try the iceberg method now. It’s the easiest to attempt, anyway. Might want to stand back.” He finished, motioning her to retreat a distance up the sandy slope.

Igna watched as the air around the monster cooled dramatically and turned misty near Wave’s body. He clutched his staff in both claws and raised it before him, showing that white-blue lines of mana were spiraling up the carved runes and delicate-looking spirals. The monster core set atop the staff, usually a transparent teal, slowly frosted up from within, turning white.

With a roar of exertion, A beam of white mana erupted from the head of the staff, smashing into the water with surprising force. Over ten seconds, a roughly thirty-foot circle froze solid. The beam continued, though, beyond a smoothening of the surface, there were no apparent changes.

Wave cut off the beam by waving the staff to the side. He was breathing heavily and hunched over slightly. After some time to recover, he spoke.

“Okay… That should be enough ice to stop it from capsizing. Ice magic isn’t my forte, but this should be good enough,” he stated. “I think we should add a layer or two of glass. It’s a poor heat conductor and should protect the ice decently enough.” He turned to Igna, and she noticed the tips of his hair and horns were coated in frost.

Igna nodded and, with a wave of her hand, set a large section of the sand ablaze. It was roughly the same area as the iceberg, but time would only tell if it was thick enough.

She signaled a few Sprites, ordering them to make their way down to the shore. They’d need a fire sprite to stand on the thing to test it and aid in putting the glass on the iceberg.

They had a lot of work to do.

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The Drake-Kin Village, The Seventh Floor, The Dungeon

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Kata lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling. She slowly blinked, then took a deep breath, letting it out as a sigh. Kata smoothly swung her legs off the side of the fur-covered slab and stood to stretch. She took her time going through her morning routine, taking almost three times as long to stretch, fix her hair, and figure out what she’d wear that day.

As she looked in the polished metal mirror, she noted how… different she looked.

Her hair was much longer and more… wild. Lacking her old hair-care products, she’d braided her hair to keep it out of the way. She often left it in the braid for days before deciding it needed cleaning. Said cleaning was a simple water wash and comb, which had resulted in her once straight and shiny hair becoming this mass of wild curls, split ends, and flyaways everywhere she looked. Once shoulder-length, it now reached the small of her back.

Kata decided she didn’t care to braid it today and moved on.

Her skin was rougher, covered in dozens of tiny scars and abrasions that had healed the hard way. While healing potions were great, they were only used for severe injuries, such as training accidents. You needed specialized potions to fix scar tissue, which weren’t often taken into the dungeon. Her eyes had deep bags, a product of recent nights spent tossing and turning rather than sleeping.

She looked… savage. Wild. Dangerous.

She had more obvious muscle than before, having done far more close combat since living in the dungeon than she ever had on the surface. She looked lean but not… unattractively so. Kata lamented the loss of what little chest she’d once had, the fat having been traded for muscle

Her clothes were simple Leather and cloth, roughly stitched and held together by buckles. She picked up the pants she usually wore and wrinkled her nose at the smell. Yeah, those needed a good cleaning. She put them to the side to take to the launderers later. She only had one other item of lower-body wear. A long skirt, one of Huea’s old ones, which they’d roughly tailored to fit the human.

She pulled it on and looked at herself in the mirror again.

The skirt was in three parts. A central panel, dyed with spiraling green designs, and two side sections split down the back. With the long-sleeved top, Kata could easily mistake herself for a peasant from the Kingdom.

After putting on her upper-body armor, boots, and sword belt, she left her home.

As always, the village was bustling. The training fields were full; every Warrior spurred to sharpen themselves in case the delving guilders reached the Seventh. Though she couldn’t see them, she knew the Shamans were practicing their magic privately. She spent the next several hours going through her morning errands.

She visited the market, much less busy than average, to pick up some more ingredients for dinner and a couple of pieces of fruit. She’d been surprised a few weeks ago to note that there were apples, oranges, and bananas alongside mundane, every day, non-addictive mandarins. The Kobold trader who brought them gushed about them and claimed her tree-top gardens on the third was the only one who grew all of them.

Kata also found tea leaves! The Capriccio who sold them said they were part of a trade with the guilders, which made her hopeful for future contact with them.

After exhausting the market, she watched the training Warriors for a while. Feeling the stirrings of pride in her chest alongside a pang of guilt, she knew well. While she didn’t want her students to die, they were training to kill humans—her old guildmates. Unlike the drake-kin, the humans weren’t bound to immortality-granting crystals.

While finding out about those had shocked her, she was more worried about… recent events. Kata’d considered the implications of the dungeons… transformation… and concluded that she didn’t know enough about the situation.

Her leading theory was still that Dungeon Cores were the seeds of Deities, but there were others. The monsters still didn’t know exactly what was happening; they just equated whatever the core was doing with a manabeing’s transformation.

They might be wrong. But they might not be.

She didn’t know. So, until she had confirmation one way or the other, it just made sense to hedge her bets. If the dungeon… the Creator… was turning into a god? Committing blasphemy by claiming it-he- wasn’t…. was a bad idea.

As she was walking to Heua’s home, the low noise of the busy village was interrupted by a Kobold rushing into the cavern.

“Guilders are here again! They going for Sixth’s Boss!“

It took Kata a few seconds to translate the foreign word. It was what they called Guardians.

That meant… A party of guilders was going to attempt to beat the Sixth’s Guardian? Then… They’d be on the Seventh.

Kata was out of time to make her decision. Did she ask to be rescued? Now would be the perfect time to ask, with The Creator unable to prevent her from leaving.

On the other hand, all of her old friends were dead. She’d lost track of time at some point and needed a point of reference to tell precisely how long she’d been down here. She’d made new friends down here. It’d be a betrayal of them and their trust. Huea’s trust.

When she got home, she sat on the bed and stared at the mana-nullifying cuffs on the shelf.

She needed to decide. Soon.

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