POV : FORT BONE

The sun rose over Fort Bone, its bright rays announcing the start of a new day. After breakfast, Atlas and the Portal Crushers left the fort in search of the Slime Dungeon. Atlas had formed everyone into groups of twenty five.

"Remember," he said, "green flares mean we found the dungeon, and red flares mean trouble."

Everyone nodded in agreement. No one wanted to deal with a surprise attack.

The Portal Crushers spent hours combing through the wasteland, taking down stray slimes wherever they found them. The slimes were easy enough to deal with—squishy, slippery blobs that posed no real threat to the experienced team. If they were still new to the wasteland, the slimes would have presented a much more difficult fight. But now they were easy mobs to put down. The Portal Crushers got frustrated though, because despite the numerous slimes they encountered, the dungeon remained elusive.

"Still nothing?" Alexander grumbled, wiping the slime off his great sword. "Feels like we're wasting time."

Atlas frowned, glancing at the sky. "Keep looking. It’s out here somewhere."

The hours dragged on as the Portal Crushers continued their search, frustration building with every step. The slimes were everywhere, bubbling up from the cracks in the ground, oozing out from behind rocks, even falling from trees. They weren’t dangerous, but they were relentless.

“Again?” Stu growled, smashing a slime with his mace. "These things are like cockroaches."

Isabella, slashing at two slimes with her twin swords, sighed, "I swear if I step in one more puddle of goo..."

Atlas could feel the irritation spreading through the group. It was hard to keep morale up when every five minutes someone was getting slime stuck to their boots, armor, or worse, in their hair.

"Eyes forward," Atlas barked. "We’ll find the dungeon soon enough."

But even he was starting to feel the weight of it—hours of fruitless searching, constantly being pestered by slimes that offered no real challenge, just a sticky annoyance.

Wilfredo swung his mace through a slime, shouting, “Dios mio!” before grumbling under his breath. “I didn't sign up for this. Should be cracking skulls, not... whatever these are.”

Wang Bo playfully twirled his staff, knocking another slime away with ease. "I wonder if they reproduce by annoyance alone."

Alexander kicked at a slime, his patience clearly wearing thin. "This is ridiculous. I’m ready to fight something that actually fights back."

Atlas didn’t respond. He scanned the landscape, his jaw clenched. ‘Come on, where are you?‘ He knew the dungeon had to be close, but with every passing hour and every squelch underfoot, it felt like it was slipping farther away.

A splatter of slime hit Hank’s shield, and he groaned, "If we don't find this dungeon soon, I'm gonna lose it."

Titus, ever the comic relief, slipped on a patch of slime and went down with a thud. "Dungeon? I’m starting to think we’re in it already! This is the Slime Dungeon!"

A few chuckles broke the tension, but the frustration still simmered beneath the surface.

Atlas gripped his swords tighter. "Stay sharp, everyone. The real fight's coming."

Lark, leading one of the porter crews, trudged over to Atlas, her hands resting on her hips, exhaustion clear in her voice. “We’re all full,” she said. “We can’t carry any more slime bodies.”

Atlas sighed, glancing at the overstuffed carts behind her, each one piled high with the remains of their slime hunt. The sticky goo dripped from the sides, leaving trails of slime in the dirt.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"Alright," Atlas said, running a hand through his hair. “We head back to Fort Bone.”

A collective groan came from the group. No one wanted to admit defeat, but the weight of their collected slime—both literally and figuratively—left them no choice.

"Great," Alexander muttered. "Dragging back a cartload of goo, and still no dungeon."

Stu kicked a patch of slime with a snarl. “We’re heading back empty-handed. Except for... this." He gestured to the squishy pile of corpses.

“Could always sell it as a new fertilizer,” Isabella quipped, smirking.

"Or use it to prank someone," Titus added, his voice playful but his face showing signs of the same exhaustion as the others.

Atlas shook his head, trying to push the frustration aside. "We’ll regroup, dump the slime, and come back out tomorrow."

The Portal Crushers turned back toward Fort Bone, dragging their slimy haul behind them.

‘‘‘‘

POV : FORT BONE

Randy, seeing Alexander walk into Fort Bone, waved excitedly, "Alexander, your armor's done!"

Alexander, previously frustrated from the failure to find the slime dungeon, perked up in excitement. "Is that right? I didn’t wanna count my chickens before they hatched, but I’m sure excited to see what you’ve come up with."

Alexander had spent some of his spare coins commissioning a set of armor he could wear around town. He was tired of either wearing plain civilian clothes or his functional but unattractive gear. He had asked Randy to make something that wasn’t the most practical but looked damn good—worthy of his name as the Golden God.

Randy beamed, "It turned out great. Oh, and Titus, yours is ready too. Both of you should follow me."

They made their way to the crafter's area uptown, and as soon as Alexander laid eyes on his new golden armor, his jaw nearly dropped. It was perfect—gleaming, regal, and fit for a god. He tried it on with a wide, satisfied smile.

Fort Bone town was doing well. And when any town does well, there are problems. And most of those problems stemmed from one of two places—the Wasted Tavern or the Fort Boned Brothel. One such problem was unfolding now.

Titus wearing his shiny new fantasy armor was in a heated argument with a Chinese tourist over the attention of a young lady working at the brothel.

"Bro, I was here first," Titus said, crossing his arms.

The tourist, clad in a luxurious purple and white robe scoffed. "That doesn’t matter. Do you know who I am?"

Titus raised an eyebrow, with a confused look. "Oh no, you’ve lost your memory? You don’t know your name?”

The tourist’s eyes flared at the insult. "Fuck you!”

"Your name is Phuk Yiu?” Titus asked.

"Insolent!" the tourist spat. "I’m a prince! Do you know who my father is?"

"I don't know who your father is," Titus replied, glancing around in confusion. "Is he here? He might be looking for you, Phuk. Sounds like you’ve got amnesia. You don’t know who you are or who your father is. Mama says when your head gets real hard that can happen.”

"Scoundrel!" the tourist shouted, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword. “My father is a minister of the Celestial Empire!" he declared, hoping to regain some dignity.

People were laughing as they watched the exchange between Titus and the so-called prince. The prince, still fuming, glared at Titus.

Mini faeries flew into the area, attracted by the growing crowd.

Titus scratched his head. "Oh, the minister of the Celestial Empire? Huh. Wang Bo likes to call himself the Celestial Emperor who slays the heaven. You guys related?"

The crowd erupted in even louder laughter, the prince’s face turning a deeper shade of red.

"You should ask him at the next family reunion.” Titus said with an amiable smile.

Titus eyed the “prince” with concern. "Should I get you to the doctor or the medipod?"

The man’s face reddened even more. "Insolent!" He drew his sword halfway, the metal gleaming in the brothel's dim light. "If you refuse the toast, then—"

"Toast?!" Titus interrupted, grinning. "I don't refuse toast. I’ve always loved toast. My favorite is toast with butter, cinnamon, and sugar on top. What about you?"

The entitled princeling, seething in fury, looked as though he might faint on the spot.

"It looks like you're getting your memory back if you remember you like toast, That's good," Titus said with a confused look. "Do you still want to go to the Medipod?"

The man clenched his fists, his voice shaking with barely contained rage. "I don’t need your help, peasant!"

Titus shrugged. "Alright, just trying to help. Memory loss is a serious thing, y'know."

The man’s face turned red….his eyes wide open, nostrils flaring. He had never been so aggravated in his life.

"Prince! Prince, don’t faint!" one of the bodyguards cried, rushing over to drag him away before anything happened.

The crowd, still laughing, watched as the prince’s bodyguards hurried him out of the brothel.

Titus gave a small wave to the departing trio, chuckling to himself. "See you later, Phuk.’"

Titus stood there, scratching his head. "Man, I hope that guy gets some rest. Looks like he’s had a rough day."

After the conversation, Titus turned back to the brothel and took the hand of his favorite girl with a grin. Without wasting another moment, they slipped into Fort Boned and Titus couldn’t help but think the place definitely lived up to its name.

‘‘‘