Inside the rapidly liquefying forest clearing, the Kigendoro roared again. Walls of black mud surged upward, forming barriers to block a barrage of white beams that lanced from the treeline in every direction. The Kigendoro twisted, its maw gaping wide as several super-compressed jets of black, muddy water blasted outward at erratic angles. The chaotic streams carved into the forest, leaving rotting and decayed wood wherever they touched.

  A dozen shadowed figures scattered, hexagonal energy shields flickering as the muddy beams clipped their edges. The Kigendoro unleashed another rolling wave of mud. Bert stepped forward, driving a gauntleted fist into the air with such force that hurricane-strength winds tore through the clearing, scattering the mud wave before him. On the opposite side, Robert vaulted over the surge, slashing at grasping tendrils of earth that reached for him. Small gems embedded in his armor cracked as he landed, their dull fragments falling away.

  Three massive lances of glowing blue fire streaked across the battlefield, slamming into the eel-like beast. Explosions of brilliant flame turned the oozing black mud encasing the Kigendoro into brittle, crumbling stone. More white beams shot from the treeline, striking the dark stone and causing it to flake away, revealing slick, grey flesh underneath. But before anyone could capitalize, black mud flowed down, sealing the vulnerable spots.

  Robert cursed. “Nothing’s getting through! I thought Kigendoros weren’t physical types!?”

  “They’re not,” Bert bellowed. “It’s the mud. It’s acting like natural armor!”

  Everyone had given their all. The goblins wielded strange artifacts; Robert burned through talismans at a reckless pace; Bert pushed his techniques to their limits, at no small cost.

  Even Maggy had revealed a surprising amount of power.

  Bert glanced toward the floating girl at the clearing’s edge. Maggy hovered, dozens of orange sparks swirling around her as her eyes glowed white. Three sparks spiraled into a hovering blue orb above her frost-rimed hand. A piercing screech echoed, and another trio of blazing blue lances erupted from the orb, racing toward the Kigendoro.

  Despite her relentless assault, Bert could see the toll. Each barrage came slower than the last. The girl shivered violently, as though trapped in a snowstorm, even as the air shimmered with heat. She was nearing her limit.

  They all were.

  But the Kigendoro was only getting stronger. With every passing moment, it grew more accustomed to its form — flexing its power in new ways, its responses sharpening.

  Boarslayer burst from the treeline, [Megaton] raised high. Boosters on her armor’s legs roared, propelling her far beyond a natural leap. “LET’S SEE HOW WELL ITS ARMOR DEALS WITH THIS!” she bellowed.

  The Kigendoro’s eyes widened. As Boarslayer plummeted, hammer poised to strike, a massive stone wall surged from the mud to intercept her.

  BOOM!

  [Megaton] slammed into the stone wall with such force that the air itself combusted in a flash of heat. Not satisfied, Boarslayer activated the hammer’s piledriver. The ground quaked as the array-reinforced piston struck the barrier with another deafening boom. Cracks spider-webbed across the stone’s surface… but it held.

  “Oh…” Boarslayer muttered beneath her helmet.

  An instant later, a black spike erupted from the wall, spearing toward her chest. A hexagonal energy field flared to life, bending and warping under the sheer impact. For a moment, it held. Then, with the shattering wail of breaking glass, it failed. The force of the blow sent Boarslayer hurtling backward nearly as fast as her own boosters had launched her at the beast.

  “Lass!” Bert bellowed, his legs surging with Spirit energy as he leaped into the air. Later, when reviewing the battle footage, Alpha would realize the man had actually kicked off the air, as if stepping on invisible floating stones.

  Bert caught Boarslayer mid-flight and landed with a controlled thud, exhaling in relief. The strange armor had taken the brunt of the hit, bearing only a small dent in its chest plate. Boarslayer’s helmet folded away, revealing a furious snarl. She shoved free of Bert’s grip, already turning back toward the Kigendoro with clenched teeth and burning eyes. Every fiber of her being screamed for retribution.

  Bert’s hand clamped onto her shoulder, pulling her back. “The others have already escaped!” he barked. “We need to retreat!”

  Boarslayer whirled on him, her glare promising violence if he didn’t unhand her immediately. “We can’t let that thing go,” she snapped. “It’ll tear the cavern apart!”

  “This beast is beyond us, girl,” Bert said grimly. “We need to evacuate the village while we still can.”

  Nearby, Robert landed in a crouch, frowning. “Are you suggesting we abandon the dungeon?” he demanded. “The Kigendoro will only grow stronger over time. This is our best shot at stopping it before it turns this goldmine into a festering swamp!”

  “Exactly,” Bert countered. “It’s already getting stronger by the second. We’re throwing everything we’ve got at it, and it’s still standing. If we stay too long, people will start dying.” He turned to Boarslayer, his tone firm. “Gather the hunters and fall back to the village. With any luck, it’ll rampage in the area and not chase after anyone.”

  Robert stepped forward, jabbing a finger at Bert. “Hold on, I’m the leader of this expedition! You don’t have the authority to make this call.”

  Bert’s gaze darkened. He held Robert’s stare for a long, weighty moment before slipping a hand into his pocket. When he withdrew it, a jade tablet the size of a finger gleamed in his palm.

  “Yes… I do.”

  Robert’s eyes widened, his expression twisting between shock and fury. His mouth opened, then snapped shut, face reddening. “You’re a Guild Investigator?” he hissed. “They planted an investigator in my expedition?!”

  “Standard practice,” Bert said flatly, sliding the tablet back into his pocket. “You’re smart enough to know they wouldn’t let a venture like this proceed without oversight.”

  Robert’s face darkened further, his lips pressing into a tight line. His fingers flexed over the hilt of his sword while Bert’s hands curled into fists. Tension thickened between them, an unspoken challenge hanging in the air.

  In the distance, the battle raged on. Maggy and the goblin hunters loosed volley after volley at the Kigendoro, their attacks keeping it distracted but doing little actual damage.

  Then, a voice cut through the charged moment.

  “How about option three?”

  Both men’s heads snapped toward the sound.

  An ant.

  No — a giant silver ant.

  Bert’s eyes narrowed. Robert scowled. “So you can leave the dungeon,” he muttered.

  The ant tilted its head at him. “Puppets are rather convenient for going places you’re not supposed to,” Alpha said.

  Bert glanced between Robert and the ant. “I assume this is our Dungeon Core?”

  “Yes… They are.” Robert exhaled sharply before straightening. His tone turned wary. “What exactly do you mean by a ‘third option’?”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  Alpha’s mandibles twitched. “I have a surprise for our muddy friend here. All I need you to do is lead it toward the Dragon’s Garden entrance.”

  ——————————————————

  Garrelt stood frozen, unblinking, as he took in the vast expanse before him. He had seen the inner workings of many dungeons in his lifetime — Halirosa worked tirelessly to prevent dungeon breaks, but they still happened. And yet, nothing he had ever encountered compared to this.

  There were no grand halls enscrolled with elaborate arrays, no dazzling displays of treasure and artifacts. Instead, the clean, surgical corridors he had traversed felt... eerily mundane.

  But to those who knew what to look for, the truth was impossible to miss.

  The strange, glowing lights dotting the ceilings. The inhuman precision of the architecture. Even the sheer alien nature of the materials used. Even more unsettling — Garrelt could barely sense any Spirit energy from the structure itself. The simplistic arrays scattered throughout the walls seemed to serve only as conduits, sensors, or security measures.

  The Dungeon Core wasn’t even trying to hide the fact that it was scanning them.

  And perhaps, Garrelt thought, it simply doesn’t feel the need to hide at all.

  The deeper they went, the more labyrinthine the complex became. Hugo had already led him through multiple sections, each filled with strange, whirring machines and tireless automatons that exuded both familiarity and an unsettling alien quality. If Garrelt hadn’t meticulously mapped the upper dungeon levels before, he would have been hopelessly lost. As it was, he estimated they were now beneath the main entrance.

  At last, they arrived.

  A turn in the corridor revealed a gargantuan hall, stretching high and wide like the entrance to a forgotten god’s tomb. To the right, an immense vault door loomed, similar to the ones above but absent of engravings. Instead, it stood as a sheer, unyielding monolith that even a Cultivator of vastly superior rank would struggle to breach.

  To the left, a tunnel stretched far beyond sight, two parallel metal rails running down its center before vanishing around a distant bend.

  Garrelt’s brow furrowed as he stared into the abyss. How far does this dungeon actually reach?

  It wasn’t unheard of for dungeons to extend beyond their visible boundaries—after all, their resources had to come from somewhere. But normally, their influence tunneled downward toward the resource-rich Deep. This… this was beyond anything he had ever imagined.

  Hugo, unbothered, stopped before a smaller, human-sized door embedded in the vault. He removed his helmet and leaned forward. A panel slid open, and a red light flickered, sweeping over his eye in multiple, complex passes before flashing green with a soft ding.

  The door hissed open.

  Beyond it lay a stark white chamber, featureless but for three glowing yellow squares arranged in a triangle—and another door on the far side.

  Garrelt hesitated at the threshold, his instincts prickling. He would have suspected a trap, but Hugo calmly walked inside and stood in a square.

  The scout leader exhaled slowly. If this is a trap, it hardly matters. I’m already in the belly of the beast. There’s no fighting my way out.

  “Hurry up,” Hugo said, waving him in. “We have to go through decontamination before entering the Guardian’s room.”

  Garrelt inhaled deeply before stepping inside, following Hugo’s lead. The moment he crossed the threshold, the door closed behind them with a sharp hiss.

  “Arms out,” Hugo instructed, raising his own arms to demonstrate.

  Garrelt frowned but complied, stretching his limbs outward. A faint click echoed through the chamber as hidden slots in the walls slid open. Thick, white mist coiled into the room, curling around him like a living thing.

  His pulse quickened. Poison? He reflexively circulated his Spirit energy, bracing for the telltale burn of toxins. But none came. Instead, the mist clung to his skin, sending a peculiar tingling sensation across his body before vanishing without a trace.

  As if reading his thoughts, Hugo’s voice cut through the vapor.

  “Parts of the Guardian are still in production, and according to Mr. Alpha, the process is delicate. No foreign contaminants are allowed inside. This mist strips everything—dirt, blood, sweat, oil. Eats it up and leaves you cleaner than the first bath your momma ever gave you.”

  Now aware of its purpose, Garrelt observed the phenomenon with fresh eyes. It was uncanny. Wherever the mist touched, filth simply ceased to exist. He could see it, both physically and through his spirit sense — grime and sweat accumulated over months of travel, dissolving into nothingness.

  He exhaled sharply, shaking himself from his thoughts, and turned toward Hugo.

  “This is the second time you’ve mentioned this ‘Guardian.’ What exactly is it?”

  Through the dense mist, Hugo’s silhouette shrugged. “Dunno myself. Mr. Alpha is not the most… open with information. Can’t say I blame him, us bein’ bandits and all. From what I’ve gathered, though, it’s some sorta weapon. The name makes me think it’s meant to protect the dungeon. Bill would know more — he’s been the one helpin’ out the most.”

  A weapon? Garrelt frowned. That told him little.

  Dungeons, by nature, weren’t innovators. They served their function, rigid and unchanging. Stepping beyond those boundaries simply wasn’t done.

  Under normal circumstances, that was.

  Yet there were exceptions. Some dungeons could adapt — learning, evolving, integrating new knowledge and techniques gleaned from challengers, both willing and otherwise. These rare “growth-type” dungeons were coveted beyond measure, their power so immense that entire continents had gone to war for control over them. But their potential came at a cost. The resources required to sustain them were immense, and many collapsed under the weight of their own ambitions. Those few that endured became the stuff of legend.

  Before Garrelt could voice another question, the mist abruptly cleared. He glanced down at his own hand and froze.

  His skin was pristine. He flexed his fingers in disbelief. His other arm, though still useless, no longer resembled a rotting corpse. Instead, it appeared frail and sickly—like the limb of a man who had spent months bedridden, but alive nonetheless.

  Hugo turned with a grin. “Amazin’, ain’t it? Honestly, after everythin’ I’ve seen this past month, I think I’d have jumped ship for this alone. No way I’m goin’ back to the alchemical wash.”

  Garrelt blinked, then chuckled, shaking his head. He couldn’t fault the man.

  Alchemical washes got the job done—scrubbing Adventurers and their gear clean of the blood, gore, and grime that came with the trade—but they always left a faint, sticky residue behind. Barely noticeable but ever-present. Over time, most got used to it.

  This mist, though…

  Garrelt had never felt cleaner in his entire life. He doubted he ever would again, even after a hundred baths. Its sheer efficiency was unsettling in its own right.

  He didn’t dwell on it for long. A mechanical hiss cut through the silence, and a doorway ahead slid open.

  And then it hit him.

  A spiritual wave surged from beyond the threshold, hammering into Garrelt with such force that his knees nearly buckled. It wasn’t quite as overwhelming as the Kigendoro’s presence, but it was close.

  Grinding his teeth, he pushed forward, following Hugo into the next chamber—only to come to a stunned halt.

  The cavern before them was vast, its walls etched with an intricate web of glowing arrays, each thread of power woven into the next with dizzying complexity. Strange machines and blinking screens littered the space, humming and flickering in controlled chaos.

  Garrelt didn’t even try to understand it all. His gaze followed the convergence of energy and machinery toward the heart of the cavern, where a massive metal cylinder stood like an altar.

  Hugo strode toward it without hesitation, and soon, another figure came into view.

  Bill waved them over with a wide grin. “’Bout time you two showed up! Let’s get this show on the road! I’m pumped!”

  “…What?” Garrelt frowned.

  Hugo sighed. “Ignore him. He’s been watchin’ too many videos.”

  Bill rolled his eyes, but turned back to the control panel at the cylinder’s base. With a few quick taps, the metal plating groaned and slid downward, revealing a large glass tube filled with faintly green-tinted liquid.

  Garrelt’s breath caught.

  Suspended within the fluid was a man, his arms bound to his chest, his body bristling with glowing wires that snaked upward and downward into unseen depths. A thick, jointed appendage protruded from his back, anchoring him in place.

  The figure was emaciated, head shaven, features hollowed by time and suffering.

  Even so, Garrelt recognized him instantly.

  “…Is that Bosco?” he whispered, almost disbelieving.

  “Yup!” Bill replied, disturbingly chipper, despite the grotesque display.

  Garrelt tore his gaze away from the tube, his mind spinning. “I don’t understand. What happened to him? What did the Dungeon Core do? And why am I here?”

  His fingers danced over the console before pausing. He glanced up, eyes sharp. “Mr. Alpha’s had to… accelerate a project he’d been working on due to the Kigendoro. It’s not fully functioning yet, but if we can get it working, it might be just what we need to stuff the beastie back in the box. For that, we need someone more familiar with modern arrays. Specifically, we need someone who knows how different systems and methodologies work together…”

  Garrelt’s eyes narrowed. “…Someone like a Spellsword.”

  Bill snapped his fingers and pointed. “Bingo!”

  Garrelt turned, frowning as he studied the intricate arrays woven across the cavern walls.

  “What does any of this actually do?” His voice was low, measured. “I recognize some of it — energy gathering, distribution arrays, control systems — but other parts…” His frown deepened. “Some of these runes don’t follow any logic I’m familiar with. And others…”

  The longer he studied them, the stranger they became. Some sections bore glaring flaws. Common, almost rudimentary mistakes that suggested inexperience. Yet right beside them, impossibly advanced sequences wove together in ways that defied even his deepest understanding. The contradiction was maddening.

  It’s like this was designed by a child with the talent and knowledge of an Array Master, but none of the experience.

  Finally, Garrelt turned back to the floating Bosco. “He can’t be the ‘weapon’ Hugo mentioned. Even if the Dungeon did something to him, he was only late [Shackle Breaking] when the goblins last saw him. That’s nowhere near enough to stop the Kigendoro.”

  Bill smirked. “Oh, don’t worry.”

  He slapped the glass, his grin stretching wide.

  “Bosco ain’t the Guardian.”

  He chuckled.

  “He’s just the converter.”