John’s blade hurtled towards one of the exposed weak points of the skeleton - this particular one being the shoulder joint where the arm met the torso, and a gap in the iron armor was present. His strike was successful and its arm was sheared off, but he couldn’t take time to enjoy his minor victory, as the second skeleton had immediately started back towards him.
Even ‘disarmed’ (he took a moment to laugh at his terrible pun) the creature was still dangerous. The bony claws on its remaining arm were still perfectly capable of ending his life if he wasn’t careful. He knew the Dungeon wouldn’t try and kill him, but it explicitly stated in its rules that it would only do that - try.
Even spars could turn deadly if someone wasn’t careful, and this was pretty far away from his definition of a mere ‘spar’. The foes he faced would, for all intents and purposes, try and kill him. If they thought they were about to strike a mortal blow or even a serious one, they would abort their attack. If they were in a position where they couldn’t do that, however, then there was little either party could do.
John knew the dangers, and despite the inherent risk was more than willing to take them. His growth since he’d started training in the Dungeon had outstripped the nearly two years of practice he’d had with Dutch. Despite that, he still valued the time spent with the grizzled veteran. The amount of time spent perfecting his basic forms and guards helped him significantly, beyond what merely gaining experience would.
Sure, levels helped in countless ways, but having the foundation and skills necessary to use his increases in strength and endurance to their maximum potential was just as important.
He raised his shield up to block a strike from the second skeleton, letting out a grunt as it connected. Using his shield like a battering ram, he charged forward, bowling over the much thinner and, despite its armor, lighter figure. He immediately turned to face the one armed skeleton he’d left and re-engaged it, swarming it with quick blows designed to open a hole in its defense.
With its one remaining arm, it quickly folded under the blows and lost its head to a quick slash, causing it to collapse into a ‘boneless’ heap. John snorted again, idly thinking that if he had time for such inane thoughts then he was probably ready for the next difficulty level the Dungeon wished to bring against him.
Which was another whole jar of worms just waiting to be opened - unless John was completely and totally reading things wrong, the Dungeon was actively challenging and helping him grow. He was led to this conclusion by several happenings and facts.
Firstly, since the Orchard and newer practice room simply weren’t enough of a challenge for him anymore, he’d been moved to the primary hallway that would eventually lead to the Dungeon’s core, if he made it that far. Which, if his experiences to date were any indication, would be a very, very long time from now.
The monsters in the primary halls did receive upgrades, but the ones in the first couple of rooms were still the base forms. What they did get, was padded iron armor that prevented him from simply slicing them in half with ease. He had to very intentionally go for the joints and exposed sections of armor.
This added difficulty meant that he’d gone from being able to take on a pack of five skeletons with little difficulty to barely managing two at first.
If John’s suspicions were right, the Dungeon was not only making sure he was challenged adequately, but actively gauging and testing his skills to make sure it knew how difficult to actually make the experience.
The very first time he’d entered the first room, he’d been quite worried. John had seen a single pack of five armored skeletons, at least two packs of zombies, and a pair of ghouls that eyed him hungrily.
In that first moment, John figured he’d be beaten rather quickly and sent back out with a pat on his back wishing him better luck next time, but instead, something incredible had happened. The various monsters mostly remained meandering about as they had been before his entrance, but several of the skeletons and a couple zombies approached him and formed a rough semi-circle around him, leaving his path to the exit unhampered.
A single skeleton stepped forward and hefted his weapon in preparation. John had immediately understood the implication, and stepped forward to engage his opponent.
When it became immediately clear a single armored skeleton wasn’t going to truly be a challenge or put up a real fight for him, two stepped forward, and the intent was clear. From that moment onward he’d been practicing against two at a time, and upwards of seven to eight zombies since they didn’t have the same protections the skeletons did whenever it was their turn.
This time, however, three skeletons stepped forward at once, and he realized he’d grown enough to move on to yet another higher difficulty. Sometimes the zombies and skeletons would be mixed together, and occasionally the geist he knew was running around would mess with him. It all added up to become an incredibly varied and great learning experience, as nothing he faced was ever quite the same.
Sometimes a ghoul would get involved, and those were extra challenging - their speed was higher than both the skeletons or zombies, and they had a certain level of aggressiveness that meant he had to either match them or retreat, leading to frenetic, fast-paced battles.
It wasn’t like he won every single time. Sometimes the numbers would be too much, and if John was knocked to the ground without enough time to recover, they would simply back off. If he was still good to continue he would stand and assume a ready stance, and they would begin again.
Sometimes a ghoul would get a scratch in, and if enough time passed without him achieving victory, whatever limb received the wound would be too numb to continue using and he would inevitably fall.
He’d even lost consciousness once, and he’d woken up near the front entrance stairs with his wounds bandaged. His idle curiosity made him wonder who exactly had bandaged him, but those thoughts were swiftly blown away by the realization Dutch was going to have his hide. What was it Dutch said? Something about overconfidence and the deceptive, insidious way it wormed its way into one’s decisions.
Well, John had learned, and he’d progressed to facing three armored skeletons. Beyond that, he was close to reaching a new level breakpoint and adapting to a new class. He was quite excited to see what he got.
Despite Dutch’s warnings, John was pretty convinced that the Dungeon was actively trying to help him. That fact engendered a certain amount of trust within him, despite the rather frightening nature of the monsters inside the place. Seriously, he never thought he’d be facing a literal army of the dead. Or that he would start to like them.
The first few skeletons he fought each day he decided to name Benny, Jimmy, and Boney because he wasn’t particularly creative and it furthered his cause of making terrible puns. Once or twice the skeletons had even helped him up, to his great confusion. At the time he’d thought he was about to be struck down for good, only to have a bony hand stuck in front of his face that he hesitantly grabbed onto. It had then hauled him up and dusted his shoulders off before stepping away and preparing its weapon.
To describe John as confused was a severe understatement.
Dutch’s words rang in his head… To always be aware, constantly be watching for the ax to fall, and to never let his guard down. Yet John couldn’t find a single instance where he’d ever truly felt like his life was in danger. When he was done fighting and training for the day he would visit the kitchens and listen to the inane chattering and hissing of the skeletal chefs, and laugh as they jerkily moved back and forth, attempting to juggle meat cleavers that, as often as they succeeded, also frequently lopped off a limb or lodged themselves into their skulls.
Oddly they never used their juggling cleavers to actually touch food with, those were kept separately in a pristine wood case. They also judiciously cleaned their blades in boiling water regularly that was then changed out just as often, and though he didn’t understand why he appreciated whatever they were doing since it seemed to work. Their food was really good.
John had also wondered where they got said food from, but shortly after he’d thought that a group of skeletons equipped with bows and a wide array of hunting equipment had marched into the kitchen with a large deer being carried by two of them.
He shook the idle thoughts out of his consciousness, it was time to focus on Boney the 8th. As he prepared his sword and shield for imminent combat, the familiar rush of adrenaline flooded his veins. His hair stood on end and he prepared to dart left or right to go for a weak point and end the fight as fast as possible, or at least to take out one of the three skeletons he was set to face.
A familiar dance began again as his muscles strained to keep up with his rapid movements, and his feet did their utmost to stop him from toppling over onto his face, something that had, much to his chagrin, happened multiple times during his spars with Dutch.
He’d just get a little too excited, step slightly too quickly, and tangle himself up. The opportunity to face ‘real’ combat had really helped, since the aspect of danger was still present, and he treated it with the gravity it deserved.
In fact, seeing and experiencing the Dungeon had helped him form a rather strong opinion about the ominous hole in the ground. His family understood - they got to see him come back, all smiles and growth as he visited the place nearly every day. A lot of his fellow villagers who had experience dealing with Dungeons were torn, however.
Those who had gone on delves before were in one of three camps - waiting for further information from Dutch to finalize an opinion, thinking all Dungeons were the spawn of pure evil and needed to be destroyed (not just restrained), and those that leaned more towards the elven or dwarven methods of treating Dungeons.
He’d spoken briefly to Anya, the now lone survivor of that adventurer team that had apparently tried their luck with Rule 1, and learned that the other races were far more lenient with Dungeons. Their policy was more along the lines of ‘cull the evil ones, help the good ones’. They treated young Dungeons like newborns - they were taught by a sort of heavy-handed guidance, not unlike training a dog.
It wasn’t like John had gotten the full rundown on how they ‘trained’ the Dungeons, but it seemed like they punished them somehow for straying towards ‘bad behaviors’, and gave them rewards for being ‘good’. Again, the specifics escaped him, but it seemed to work for them. Their Dungeons that didn’t need to be culled grew up and eventually gained sapience.
Apparently the other races' kingdoms were dotted with many beautiful and otherworldly places, that while still dangerous, weren’t a blight against all living things. Which was to be expected - they didn’t think the Dungeons were going to become docile animals or truly ‘trained’ into friendliness, they just needed to make sure it was as beneficial as possible for the locals as it could be. In exchange, they would delve into it and occasionally offer ‘sacrifices’ to it. Something like animals or monsters? That part wasn’t clear, but it made some sort of sense to the young warrior.
It was a… symbiotic relationship? He thinks that’s what Anya said.
It wasn’t perfect, but as Dungeons grew even older and more intelligent, and gained the ability to really feel, not just experience superficial emotions, they could take a liking to the people that supported them. Some of the things Anya mentioned were truly amazing…
Unfortunately the local population of elves was nowhere near the size of Iruvel, and the dwarves were more often inside of mountains than out, so their stories weren’t exactly widespread. In fact, from what he’d heard, John wouldn’t be surprised if such tales were suppressed in Iruvel.
John dispatched the first skeleton and quickly moved to eliminate a second - without having an ability that affected a large area he was stuck simply dispatching them as fast as possible while dodging around the other’s blows.
Before he reached his intended target, however, all of the undead creatures in the room halted their movement and turned towards the opposite door, the one that led further into the Dungeon. It creaked open ominously, and John tensed as something unknown occurred. The unknown was as much a killer as the expected, Dutch always said.
Before he could theorize too much the door finished swinging open, and a robed figure with a hood covering their face stepped out. His opponents were no longer facing him, in fact their weapons had dropped out of a combat stance. John knew he was on Rule 2, and like Dutch had drilled into his head, he’d checked them for changes each and every day. Outside of the new addition of the ‘Rule 1 people get risen from the dead’ bit that had appeared after Anya’s team died, nothing was different.
With that in mind, he wasn’t worried about his own life, but sudden changes in the Dungeon’s behavior was still alarming.
The robed figure seemed to eye him for a moment before marching forward. John was completely fine merely observing whatever was happening until a series of large skulls emerged from the darkness behind the strange figure, condensing themselves down into a smaller shape so they could fit through the smaller entrance before re-extending themselves once they made it through the door frame.
After that, the rest of the skeletal body appeared, and John realized this was the strange Bone Hydra Dutch had referred to as ‘Timmy’ before. He figured that was a personal anecdote, because no Dungeon would name their incredibly frightening Hydra-like creature that ripped the bones from other creatures to bolster its own strength something as benign as ‘Timmy’...
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
The large monstrosity made its way through the room, trailing behind the robed figure towards the opposite end and the exit. Its exceptionally long tail whipped through the air, weaving about as though it had a mind of its own, the bony segments looking particularly intimidating to the young man who’d just learned to start properly assessing threats.
His burgeoning tactical mind practically screamed at him that the tail was perhaps one of the most dangerous parts about the beast - its length and flexibility meant it could likely reach unexpected places very quickly, with more dexterity than most would think.
Before he could think on the matter any further they’d reached the opposite end and left the room. John stood for several moments before coming back to himself, turning to find the skeletons all staring at him and seemingly waiting for his attention to return. “Heh, sorry about that fellas. Not something you see every day, am I right?”
Of course, the skeletons might see such a thing every day. They did live here after all.
In response, the foremost bone construct simply shrugged, earning a snort from John, before it resumed a ready stance and they continued their contest in earnest.
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Katrina exited the room, passing by the young man practicing against the skeletons, the first foes an adventurer would face as they entered the halls of the Dungeon. It always amazed her that despite the nature of the place, drenched in death and decay as it was, it still managed to feel so… warm.
The recent lack of sun for long periods of time was slowly getting to her, but it wasn’t as though she was trapped here. In fact, she’d had quite a lot of fun - helping with the Dungeon’s designs was relaxing. It allowed her to flex the creative muscles she never knew she had. Expanding Biyaban’s great wall was also always a pleasure, since he reacted with guttural oo’s and ahh’s.
Despite his rotting flesh and harsh voice, the first floor boss was a delight to be around, and loved telling stories.
Was there a certain irony to be found in the fact that a flesh-eating creature was better company than most of the people she’d known? Though, that wasn’t quite fair. She couldn’t allow herself to get close to anyone that didn’t deserve it, lest they suffer unnecessarily, so the pool of people she was familiar with in the village wasn’t very large.
Which brought her back to wondering who was asking for her. The Dungeon’s impressions weren’t very clear, likely due to the specific nature of the thoughts, but the Dungeon monsters knew immediately that there was an ‘invader’ and that she should head to the front. It always seemed the impressions and directions they received were much clearer than hers, though she wasn’t upset by it.
The close attention she often felt from the dungeon was nice… It made her feel special. But the separation, despite the contract she’d accepted, of not being completely like another Dungeon monster was also pleasant. It left her feeling at least somewhat independent. Somewhat like the deal she had taken hadn’t actually taken every bit of free will away.
The nature of her bond should have been utterly stifling and yet it was not.
Katrina finally reached the front entrance and discovered the Iron Knight himself. A wistful look raced across her face, but was quickly banished. Perhaps, once upon a time, Dutch had been her hero. Not because of what he did, no, though he was the primary defender of the village and worthy of that praise. He had also tried, with the limited tools available to him, to help her out without outright invading the Gargaren estate and questioning them.
Rather, it was because of his strength. The raw will and talent that had forged him into the man he is today, one who stood head and shoulders above the other defenders of Home, was something she truly admired. If not for her cursed existence, she would have delighted in getting to know him - listening to the tales that made him into the warrior he was today.
But she wouldn’t do that to him. Couldn’t, lest Home lose its strongest member.
But whether there was truly a thing he could do or not… Katrina had grown rather resentful of problems that were labeled ‘impossible’ to fix. As one of the people trying yet unable to help her she couldn’t help but paint him with the same brush. Perhaps it wasn’t fair, but she’d been helpless for so much of her life, that finding the symbol of strength she looked up to for so long was just as helpless as she was hurt. That great power… rendered inert by what? Village politics?
Whether he knew without a doubt or not, on that final day before she accepted her fate and took the Dungeon’s deal, he suspected she was in danger in her own ‘home’. That suspicion… resulted in nothing. Perhaps, if given time, it would have led to more, but the consequences of her rash decision had been swift. That time that he would have needed was something she wouldn’t have had… Before one of the very few things she had left that was solely under her control was taken from her.
The young, scarred woman decided to simply jump right into things. She gently pushed the hood off of her face, revealing her fiery hair and sharp features. Dutch acknowledged her with a nod of his head. His expression was best described as melancholic, once her face was unveiled.
“I’m glad to see that you’re safe, Katrina.” Dutch started. “Once I delivered you to your home and you failed to re-emerge, I was incredibly worried. Could you tell me what happened?” His expression was open and he seemed to be genuine.
Katrina had debated what to do, or say, to Dutch if she was discovered for quite some time. She had no doubt it would happen at some point, and that it would most likely be by the man before her. She wanted to stall, but the Dungeon offered no further insight, only giving her the sense it would support whatever decision she made. At least, that’s what she derived.
“My self-proclaimed… ‘family’ decided that my interaction with the thing that killed their idiot son was the final straw. They elected to move beyond simple beatings and withholding meals to something… worse. I’m not sure what happened on the Dungeon’s end of things, but I was given a choice.” Dutch’s face grew taut as the implications became clear. For everything.
“I take it you accepted then?” Katrina simply nodded. “Are you happy?”
The simple question caught her off guard. She’d expected several others, perhaps in regards to her safety, or maybe if she was trapped. Perhaps even an offer of help to try and get her out.
But instead Dutch had sidestepped her assumptions. “... Yes. Not in a way I would have ever originally expected, but I find myself happy regardless.”
His eyebrows rose slightly, as though in disbelief, though he didn’t give voice to any doubts he might have had. Katrina felt obliged to defend her protector, to explain the truth of the situation.
“It might not be normal, or usual, or whatever word you might use to describe such an arrangement, but… I am afflicted by something that the Dungeon is uniquely equipped to deal with, as far as I am aware. And before you say anything, yes, this problem can’t be solved through any means Iruvel knows of. Trust me, it's been tried. So it is beyond just protecting me, but protecting Home as well. This is what is best for everyone, Dutch, including me.” She tried to impress upon him the truth of her words - he needed to understand, even if she refused to tell him everything.
“This… Situation could have been terrible, I agree, but I promise you, there is nothing wrong with how things are now. I thank you for your concern… But I am okay. I would recommend keeping an eye on the Gargarens, of course, because what is left of their family aren’t the kind ones, nor the intelligent ones. They are incredibly bitter and are the type of people who would go any length to validate their beliefs.”
Dutch grimaced but nodded in acquiescence. “I see. Though it pains me, from what I’ve seen, I can’t say you’re wrong. I will say this though - if you need anything, please just let me know. I’m not sure what the living conditions are like in a Dungeon, since most tend to reject intruders rather vehemently, but if there is anything I can get you to make them better, all you have to do is ask.”
Katrina’s eyes widened slightly, as once again, Dutch proved himself to be exactly the kind of person she hoped he was. A smile graced her face and she sketched a small curtsy towards him. “Your words mean everything, Dutch. I appreciate your offer, and I will let you know if there is anything we require.”
After all, what the Dungeon gained she gained. It had never shown any reticence towards acquiring and providing what she asked for. In fact, she was fairly confident the newest contingent of crafting skeletons wouldn’t have ever existed, at least this early on in its life, if she weren't present. She hadn’t even had to ask about clothes in that instance - the Dungeon had simply written on a sign one night that it was trying to get her something besides the rather ratty dress she had to wear.
Dutch sighed. “Well, that answers my most pressing of questions. So long as your health and wellbeing are looked after, and you aren’t trapped in here and miserable, then I am… Perhaps not happy with the situation, but I’m not overly worried. Not with what I’ve seen so far.”
Katrina smiled. “I did have a quick question, before we part ways. Might I be able to go about visiting the village? I was sort of planning on it, wearing a hood and cloak to disguise myself, but if you have any advice on what time to visit the craftsmen and shops I would appreciate it.”
The Iron Knight pondered for a few moments before responding. “We have been getting more travelers recently, so a ‘new’ presence in town wouldn’t be unheard of. If I was to recommend a specific day, however, it would be in two days. Kurell will be hosting a town hall meeting and most of the villagers will be there. As long as you act like you belong, even if you wear a hood, no one will really question the situation.”
The young woman nodded. “That sounds reasonable. Thank you for your advice. It will be nice to hear what has been going on with the town in my absence. Talking to the townsfolk was one of the few things I had to look forward to in the past…” She trailed off as she realized the difficulty she would have in trying to actually disguise herself before dismissing it.
She wasn’t the scared little girl she had been when she was first taken in by the Dungeon. She had power now. Not that she was the best at using it, but she wasn’t utterly helpless now. In fact couldn’t the Dungeon simply summon her back to it if she was in danger?
So even if she was recognized, people wouldn’t necessarily think anything of it. If the Gargarens decided to announce she was missing it would be quickly apparent, but she doubted they would take that route.
Her worries assuaged, she shook her head. “Thank you again Dutch. If you want to talk again just let the Dungeon know and I’ll find you.”
Dutch gave her a small nod, his face still in a neutral mien, but Katrina was realizing that was just how he was. It didn’t mean he cared any less, she thought, he just wasn’t very open with his emotions or expressions. “I appreciate it. In that case, I’m off to face whatever new terrors the Dungeon has prepared for me and to make sure John isn’t being an idiot.”
A grin split her face at the thought of the newest changes Dutch had yet to see. “I think you’ll find them most enjoyable. I was told that if you yell ‘Uncle’ then the Dungeon will help you out of the third floor, or maybe give you a vine to drag yourself out with.”
“What in the world does yelling ‘Uncle’ have to do with getting help?”
Katrina shrugged. “No idea, but I get a very clear sense of amusement each time I ask, so I think you’ll be making the Dungeon happy if you do actually say it.”
Dutch let out a small snort. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Katrina stepped out of his way and let him enter the Dungeon. A slight rumble from her stomach reminded her she had yet to eat, so she headed towards the kitchen to see what the rather boney chefs had made today. The irony of having undead making food was not lost on her, but their cleanliness was unmatched. They were quite thorough when it came to health and safety apparently.
There had never been any issues with her food so far, in fact quite the opposite. As they learned, something she didn’t even know they were capable of doing, the skeletal chefs got even better. They didn’t have much to practice with beyond meat, specifically the few types of animal the rangers could catch in the nearby forest, but they made do.
Pulling out a chair to sit down, she let out a small hiss as her aching muscles protested against further use. As it turned out, rapidly leveling up put a strain on her body that they hadn’t expected. Granted, neither the Dungeon nor Katrina had expected the small infusion of mana he’d started with to cause her to level up so rapidly, but now they knew.
That wasn’t what was causing the aches and pains, however. No, that was because she’d gotten it into her head that if she was part of the Dungeon, and someone managed to threaten the core, or perhaps monsters invaded again, that she would be able to help.
That was a great idea in theory. In practice, the young woman was learning just how difficult that would prove to be. Based on her skills, she was a magic caster, with both offensive, defensive, and supporting capabilities.
The increase in power was noticeable - though her strength and endurance were increased by more than she’d originally thought, and conversely her intelligence and wisdom weren’t as high as what she’d have expected, based on the assumption that she would be casting spells regularly.
She wasn’t going to complain, but it was still strange.
Despite the increases, however, she found herself utterly struggling against even relatively basic creatures like a pack of skeletons. Sure, she could make an entropic shield, but its ability to dull blades and straight out eat smaller things that remained within her vicinity was nowhere near fast enough to save her if she was about to be stabbed.
So she was learning how to dodge, and how to actively use her magic while in a combat situation. It turns out that wasn’t exactly easy.
In fact, despite her several bouts and practice sessions, she still hadn’t moved on beyond a singular mob of skeletons. They weren’t exactly affected by her ‘karmic fire’ spell, they had no water to drain away with Ebb and Flow, and Draining Bolt didn’t do as much damage as a normal spell of its tier due to its life-draining secondary effect.
After the first few tries the Dungeon had given her a sword. Katrina had nearly tossed it aside after yet another attempt resulted in frustrating failure - her complete inexperience with weapons of any sort meant the addition of the sword didn’t actually help her. Well, using it to try and block or deflect strikes came instinctively, though she was probably doing it horribly wrong.
Despite that, something had been… Different. Better or worse, she couldn’t tell, so she kept on trying. These days she continued using the sword, despite still not knowing whether or not it helped, but she felt slightly more confident with a weapon in hand.
Her magic wasn’t really affected by holding a weapon, and casting each spell didn’t require her to open up a hand so she could shoot out a Draining Bolt without dropping her sword, or use Ebb and Flow on herself.
Despite the relatively large increase in power from where she was, she still felt weak. At this point in her life, for once, she actually had the capacity to change that fact, so she continued to push herself. John and Dutch both showed up nearly every single day. Sure, they got Experience and drops for clearing the Dungeon, but they also needed the training and combat experience to actually use their skills.
Which meant even if she couldn’t level up or in fact do things the way the average adventurer did, that was no excuse to not get better. The Dungeon could supply her with levels, but only she could put forth the effort to improve herself. Both to defend the new home that had rescued her, and to simply better herself because she could.
Was that not what the Dungeon itself did? Constantly bettering itself that it may survive and prosper in a world that would see it restrained and tied down.
At least, that was her opinion of her Dungeon. It constantly tried new things, redid monster and trap setups that didn’t work that well, and improved itself in a myriad of ways.
It also helped those who needed it. She wasn’t even talking about herself, though it was likely the biggest example. The fact that Dutch trusted John alone in the Dungeon to train and gain Experience was likely the most telling factor. In fact, without the Dungeon’s practice rooms, the few other people who might have even wanted to become guardians of the village would never have even been able to dream of such a thing.
So she had decided to be a little more like the Dungeon, and a little less like the old Katrina. The one who couldn’t help herself, and who had to rely on the good will of others.
Maybe one day, she would be able to step out from the shadow of the Dungeon and become an entity worth knowing all on her own - but that day would not be today, nor any day in the near future.
But maybe one day.