{Malus received from the Curse of the Legion of the Unliving! All Stats decreased by 2 for 24 hours.}
Clay shivered as he felt the power drain from him. It was a miserable way to start an already terrible experience, but there was no way to avoid it.
The corridor they had entered seemed to be the same as before, all darkness and dust. Once again, they set out through the maze in search of their prey. This time, Clay told himself that they would finally find their enemies and destroy them.
Yet aside from the ever-present serfs, the Undead were nowhere to be seen. They passed through empty passages and walked by fields full of that disturbing red grain, but there was no sign of a knight, priest, or saboteur. More importantly, the centurions weren’t there either. Clay gritted his teeth as he walked, wondering if the Undead had simply decided to handle the problem of adventurers invading their realm by simply hiding.
Eventually, however, Syr Katherine appeared to have had enough of the lack of contact. She called for a brief halt at the end of one corridor, her eyes showing a hint of the same frustration that Clay had been feeling. “The enemy is obviously avoiding us. I do not know why, but we will need to draw them out if we want to accomplish our mission.”
The other two adventurers looked grim, and Clay frowned. He looked back at Syr Katherine. “So how do we do that?”
Orn spoke first. “We’re going to start destroying serfs, young hero.” He shook his head. “Are you sure this is wise, Syr Katherine? You know what can happen.”
Syr Katherine looked back at him and nodded. “We are still close enough to the entrance to escape if needed. I believe it will be an important lesson as well.”
“I’m sure you do.” Taylor sighed and looked at Clay. “Dungeons don’t approve of anyone messing with their denizens, Sir Clay. So if we start attacking serfs, the Dungeon itself will send a response.”
“Meaning they’ll come looking for us.” Clay looked around and saw confirmation on their faces. “How many will there be?”
Syr Katherine hesitated. “It depends.”
The answer sounded evasive. Clay frowned. “Depends on what?”
Taylor grimaced. “On many factors, Sir Clay, ranging from how active the Dungeon is, to how many denizens are harmed, to how strong the adventurers are. It’s impossible to know for sure what will happen before we do it.”
There was a rumble of discontent from Orn as the Armsman folded his arms. “So again I say, Syr Katherine, is this wise? We could find ourselves outmatched by the real powers that guide this place.”
Hearing the Armsman mention even stronger monsters within the Dungeon caught Clay’s attention rather quickly. The idea that they had only been fighting the weakest of the Dungeon’s creatures put the situation into very clear perspective.
Yet Syr Katherine was shaking her head. “We cannot afford to wait much longer. If we do, the Malus will make it almost impossible to continue.”
The others grimaced, but they nodded. She looked at Clay. “Sir Clay, we are taking a risk here, but it will be for the best. Be cautious about doing so in the future.”
It sounded all too much like the reasoning the Guild used to justify half of what it did, but Clay nodded. Then Syr Katherine pulled open the door and stepped through. “We’ll start by—”
She stopped, and Clay looked past her to see what had brought her to a halt. His breath caught for a moment as he got a clear view of the ground beyond the door.
It had opened into another courtyard, though this one held neither farming space nor busy machinery. This time, it was a parade ground of some kind, with the entire cleared space covered in bone-white cobblestones. Walls rose on all four sides, higher than they had at any other point in their exploration of the Dungeon.
Standing in the distance were three centurions, their banners waving in a breeze that howled in Clay’s ethereal senses. Their horns were idle at their sides; instead, they were watching as Clay and the others stepped out into the strange light of the hollow sun to face them. They weren’t alone, of course; a veritable army of legionnaires surrounded them, their shields up and their swords ready to stab and slash.
Beyond them, however, was a familiar trio. A knight cut the air with his sword; a priest held his staff motionless and ready. Behind them, almost even with the legionnaires, a saboteur was leering at them as it prepared its weapon. Three enemies stood between them and a chance at driving back the Dungeon’s power for years.
It was all Clay could do to think rather than simply charging. The centurions weren’t withdrawing; if anything, they seemed to be preparing themselves to fight. Why would they be so confident, if the last time the heroes had fought them, all three of their defenders had died?
Guardians weren’t like normal monsters. They didn’t react out of sheer instinct. He’d seen them plan and strategize. The oldest of them could outthink adventurers easily; the ones in the Tanglewood had designed a trap that had almost killed them all. There was a door directly behind them. Why weren’t they leaving?
Syr Katherine had drawn her sword and claimed the center for herself. Orn was already squaring off against the knight; he was also just as obviously planning on giving the saboteur a wide berth. Taylor had lined up in a similar fashion to fight the priest. Why were the Undead allowing them time to plan and maneuver? They should have attacked by now.
Clay shook his head. He spoke in a low voice, trying to keep his words from crossing the courtyard. “Wait. This doesn’t feel right.”
Syr Katherine glanced back at him. There was a hint of incredulity in her eyes. “Sir Clay, our targets are right there. We cannot pass up this chance.”
“Exactly.” Clay narrowed his eyes. He remembered all the traps the monsters had set for him, both in the Tanglewood and at Rodcliff. It was a love that monsters and people often shared. “I think they’re bait. This feels like a trap.”
Taylor scoffed, but Orn paused. He looked around the courtyard cautiously. “You… may be right, young hero.”
The [Artifactor] stared at the [Fighter] in surprise. “What? How could you say that now?”
“The situation is just a little too perfect.” Clay’s mind was racing; he’d just now noticed the other two doors in the courtyard, on either side of them. “We haven’t seen a single enemy this entire time, and now we find three Guardians? Guarded by a group that we’ve already destroyed before? And they aren’t retreating or calling for aid? No, something’s wrong.”
Orn nodded, and Taylor blinked. She looked around, her gaze pausing on the two other doors. Her expression went from confident to concerned in an eyeblink. “What do you think they’re doing?”
Clay looked back at the monsters. They were shifting in position, but they weren’t charging or retreating. Did they know how much their patience was giving away? “I’d bet that we’re closer to getting a new level of Malus than we think. There’s probably a lot more enemies on either side of those doors, too. So as soon as we charge out to fight that group…”
“They come out and cut us off from retreat.” Syr Katherine’s voice was thick with remorse and self-reproach. She shook her head. “They’ve even arranged to fight us out in the open, where there’s little chance of you repeating your… tactic from last time, Sir Clay. I believe you are right.”
The monsters were starting to get a bit less patient now. Clay could see the knight edging its way forward; the saboteur and the priest were fingering their weapons as well, as if debating whether they should use them. If they delayed too much longer, the Undead would probably just charge and give up their perfect ambush. “We can’t just stay here, though. They might have another group trying to come around and cut us off from behind.”
“That’s if they aren’t there already, Sir Clay.” Orn’s hands, false and real, tightened their grip on his hammer. “We might be surrounded as we speak.”
Taylor grimaced. “Don’t talk like that, you oaf. The boy might have an idea of how to get out of it. He’s certainly tricky enough.” She looked at him expectantly, her eyebrows arched as if she’d just asked him a question back at the Academy.
Clay grunted and glanced backwards. “I can block the door. It’ll give us time to get back through the hallway. Once we make the next room, we can bring the passage down on them. Even if it doesn’t kill them, they’ll have to stop and go around. If there’s some of them ahead of us, we’ll just fight our way past them and get back to the gateway.”
Syr Katherine tilted her head. “You’re sure it will hold?”
“I’m sure.” Clay put up his spear and drew out his bow. He smiled as he set the first arrow. “Start the [Chant] for the Drums of the Earth, all of you. Between the three of you, you can probably bring half the place down if you wanted.” The Undead were stepping forward, their eyes glowing a vicious red. “We’re out of time. Go, now!”
He didn’t wait to see if they listened. Instead, Clay drew the arrow back and shot at one of the Guardians, hoping it seemed like an act of bravado that was doomed to failure. Under his breath, he started one of his brand new minor [Chants]—the reverse of the Mule’s Dismay.
The thing hadn’t been given a formal name by Olivia’s notes, but Clay had privately been calling it The Convenient Nail. When he’d grown up on the farm, he’d gone through a period of time when he couldn’t seem to avoid dropping things. Tools, baskets, the occasional sibling; he’d dropped them all, for various clumsy reasons. His father and mother had started to wonder if the only way to keep things from falling would be to literally nail them down.
This Nail would have been perfect. Once it was finished, it could fix an object in place for as long as Clay kept it going. It seemed like it would have been handy for making sure a tool didn’t fall off a roof or slide off a table. Now, however, the simple thing might just save their lives.
He shot a second arrow, even as his companions started back through the doorway at a run. Neither projectile did anything; both bounced off of the banner-shields the Guardians wielded. Clay stayed long enough to risk a third shot—a fact that let him see even more knights, priests, and saboteurs boil out of both sides of the courtyard—and then he stepped back through the door himself and slammed it shut behind him.
There was a pair of metal bands, obviously meant to hold some sort of drop bar so that the door could be locked shut. The bar was missing, however, so Clay was going to have to improvise. He pulled out a handful of arrows, wrapped a bit of rope around them, and then slid them into place, wedging them between the door and the wall.
Then he finished the [Chant], and the arrows went abruptly still. Clay tugged at them experimentally and found he couldn’t have moved them if he tried. Suppressing his own shout of victory, Clay turned and ran for the end of the hallway, seeing the adventurers up ahead of him.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He made it a handful of steps before the door shook behind him. Clearly, one of the Undead had thought they would be able to ram their way through by sheer brute force. Clay grinned and ran harder, feeling the strain against his spell as the door held fast against more blows. All he needed to do was buy them enough time to—
{Malus Refreshed and Reinforced! All Stats decreased by 4 for 24 hours.}
The notice arrived at the same time that he felt the shocking blow to his Soul. Despite it, he held onto his [Chant] and kept running. Now, more than ever, he couldn’t afford to lose concentration.
Up ahead, he saw Orn lash out with a fist as the [Fighter] lost the [Stats] he needed to use the Drums of the Earth. The impact left a slight dent in the wall, and Clay shook his head. Taylor gestured to a support beam as they passed it, and the [Fighter] paused long enough to smash it with his hammer. By the time Clay had caught up to the trio, half the hallway was littered with broken pieces of support columns.
They paused as they reached the next room, a place that had been filled with stacks of crates. Clay spun around and slammed the door behind them. He glanced back at them and ended his [Chant]. “They’re going to be coming now. If you can still use the [Chant], then do it. I’ll block this door, and we can keep moving.”
He started the Refrain, grabbing a nearby crate to lean against the door. The adventurers looked at each other, and then both Syr Katherine and Master Taylor finished their own [Chants] and focused. A rumbling sound roared in the next hallway. It seemed to stop all too soon, and Orn shook his head. “Did you kill any of them, Syrs?”
Syr Katherine shook her head, as did Taylor. Then Clay completed his [Chant] and gestured for them to run again.
Behind them, the door was already beginning to shake.
The next hour continued with more of the same. Clay did his best to lock each door behind them, while the others damaged the passages and rooms they ran through, trying to block them off for the Undead pursuing them. Syr Katherine led them through the Dungeon, guiding them back along the corridors that would take them home, with Orn close behind.
At one three-way intersection, they reached the turn just moments before a trio of Undead. The monsters seemed surprised to see them there; the knight had only a fraction of time to stab at Syr Katherine before the [Calculator] had darted past it and unleashed a wall of ice to block them. One gauntleted fist had smashed through it a heartbeat later, and a priest appeared on the other side just in time to be smashed aside by Orn. Taylor had dodged a trap set by the saboteur, firing off her own spell in a blaze of light that must have blinded the enemy long enough for them to turn the corner and escape behind the next locked door.
From then on, each turn or twist in the passage hid another group of Undead. Every room they crossed seemed to grow shadows that would hide ranks of ambushers. Clay felt his breath growing ragged; even his bonuses to resist fatigue had their limits, and he wasn’t nearly as bad off as the Syr Katherine was. Yet they all ran for their lives; they had no other choice.
It was a miracle to burst through one last door and find the archway waiting for them. The light of the real world was waiting for them, a shimmering paradise just beyond those curved stones. Clay felt a burst of hunger for that freedom, something beyond anything he’d expected to feel for just the sight of sunlight.
There were Undead marching behind them. Clay locked the last door, and they ran. He glanced back just as they crossed the boundary, in time to see a massive sword smash partway through the barrier.
Then they were out and in the sunlight again. They were free.
Syr Katherine kept them moving. After their narrow escape, she didn’t want the Dungeon’s warriors to think they could finish the job by just stepping outside their home. Apparently, they could leave the Dungeon, at least for a very short time, but any extended pursuit was beyond them. Even staying too close to the entrance for too long would hurt them in the long run.
By the time they all stopped running—more accurately, they all half-collapsed from exhaustion, with the arch a long way behind them—Clay thought his lungs might be about to burst. He had no idea how Syr Katherine had made it that far, and the prospect of fighting their way home sounded like an additional nightmare.
For a time, they all simply sat there gasping for air, trying their best to fill their lungs and avoid moving muscles too sore for words. Then, as Clay felt his racing heart finally slowing down, he heard Taylor start to speak up. “Syr Katherine. It may. Be too. Dangerous to continue.”
Orn shook his head, looking for all the world like a bull. He appeared the least affected by their journey, though his face was still flush with exertion and covered in sweat. “You give up too easily, Syr Taylor.”
The [Artifactor]’s eyes flashed with irritation. “I do not. You oaf.” She drew in a deeper, shuddering breath and shook her head. “We’ve finished our main goal. There’s no… need to push things further.”
Syr Katherine was still suffering more than any of them. As she shook her head silently, Clay took the chance to break into the conversation. “What are you… talking about? The Guardians… are still alive.”
Taylor speared him with a glare, but Syr Katherine finally managed to get a word out. “Sir Clay… is correct. However… Master Taylor… is not wrong.” The [Calculator] looked at him, her gaze cool despite her obvious exhaustion. “Lesson nine. Sometimes… we fail.”
Clay looked at her in shock. Had she lost her mind? “We haven’t… failed yet. They just… surprised us. Once.” He looked around at the others, searching for support. Taylor looked away. Orn was tinkering with his false hand. “We can… do this.”
Syr Katherine grimaced. It was odd seeing the expression on her face. “There is… too much.. at risk.”
He opened his mouth to protest, but Orn spoke first. The [Fighter]’s words were calm and even. “You’re putting the Council’s plans first, then.”
The [Calculator] shot him a look, but the Armsman looked unimpressed. He glanced at Clay and sighed. “I am sorry, Sir Clay, but there is more at risk than you know.”
Anger spiraled through Clay’s chest. “Then tell me.”
Taylor somehow summoned the breath to laugh, though the bird-like chirp still seemed short of strength. “Fine then. If you must know.” She glanced at Syr Katherine before she continued. “The Council has decided that you are important. Your ability to train new adventurers and help them survive means that you are too valuable to risk. They aren’t going to let you die against a random Dungeon in the middle of nowhere when they could have you bringing up entire generations of adventurers.”
Clay blinked. The words made sense, considering what he knew of the Guild and its priorities. They were desperate; the fact that he’d brought back an entire group of level one adventurers, not only alive, but several levels higher than they should have been, must have seemed like a miracle.
At the same time, he was just one person. Expecting him to do the same thing with an entire year’s worth of adventurers was insane, especially considering how much work he’d put into it. Why did they think it was even possible?
A hint of the answer lurked in the shadows of his mind as he shook his head. “How is that going to work? I can’t exactly take the entire next class of initiates out with me, now can I?”
Orn grunted. “One batch at a time, perhaps. They likely would want them cycling through the process with you.”
“That still doesn’t…” Clay frowned. “What makes them think that would work? I wouldn’t have enough time. Unless…”
Unless he started running things the way the Guild wanted him to, the way they had always done it. Do the work as quickly and straightforwardly as possible, without assessing the risks. Rush in, and trust in his abilities to compensate for any surprises.
Taylor must have caught sight of his reaction; she raised an eyebrow. “They have every confidence in your success, Sir Clay. After all, you have [Mentor], and you gained [Leader] on top of that. All you would need was one more [Experience], and you would have the [Achievement] that would make your students practically invincible. Which I assume you already received.”
Clay thought back to Syr Katherine asking about his level. He turned to her and saw confirmation in her eyes. Then he looked back at Taylor. “That’s insane. My [Experiences] helped, but they weren’t the reason the Ruffians survived.”
Syr Katherine spoke, her breath now much more under control. “The Council believes differently.”
“The Council wasn’t there!” He shook his head. “I got a different result because I did a lot of things differently. They can’t just throw dozens of new adventurers at me and trust that a few bonuses will keep them safe.”
“That is an argument that you can have with the Council directly, then.” Syr Katherine shook her head. “We need to move. Whether we continue or not, we cannot stay here.”
Her words, while true, left Clay feeling incredibly angry. It was like she was assuming he was just going to go along with whatever the Council had planned. He hadn’t fought his way out of the Academy and then gained the rank of peer within the Guild just to dance along with whatever tune they played.
As they headed south, a plan began to form. It would take a little luck, but he had no intention of letting the Council—or anyone else—put him in a cage. Not when he still had something he could actually do to make things better. The Eternal Seal, the [Chant] that would kill a Dungeon, was out there, waiting to be found, as was the Rogue that had nearly destroyed Rodcliff. He wasn’t going to be able to go after either of those missions if he was frantically trying to keep up with the Council’s desperate refusal to change.
All of which meant that he needed to prove that they had to change. They couldn’t keep doing the same thing and expect a different result, even if he could make it work just a little better than before. It meant that he needed to get the chance to prove his own ideas in a way that they couldn’t deny.
One chance would be all he would get, but hopefully it would be all he needed.
The journey back to camp was an eventful one. While the greater Undead within the Dungeon did not chase after them, the other, lower ranked creatures still gave it their best effort. They had to fight another ambush from the middle rank Undead, and three more from the lesser ones, before they finally made it back around Sarlsboro.
Seeing the dead village did nothing to improve Clay’s mood, and the others seemed to sense his lack of good cheer as they made ready to rest for the night. Dinner was a somber affair, and soon enough, Clay bedded down for the night, his plans still whirling in his mind. While he felt he could handle Syr Katherine and the others here, what was he going to do about the Guild as a whole? Just ignoring them wasn’t a good solution in the long term; he’d have to become a Rogue in all but name, and he’d never be able to visit his own home again. There had to be some way to change the course that things were following.
He kept chasing his own thoughts around his head, until exhaustion finally outweighed his frustration, and sleep claimed him. Even then, the dreams he could remember had him arguing with mirrored versions of himself, using words that made no sense.
It was not a restful experience.
The next day, Clay woke early and started to prepare. While the others noticed what he was doing, they didn’t say anything as they ate breakfast and tended to their camp.
When he began to tie up his supplies, however, Syr Katherine approached him. “Sir Clay, are you ready for your training?”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then he smiled. “You could say that.” He tugged on the rope until his pack and extra supplies were once again suspended in midair. “I’m going hunting, actually. I’ll be back tonight.”
The adventurers all paused. Orn raised an eyebrow; Taylor was staring at him like he’d just cursed her name. Syr Katherine, on the other hand, just studied him with narrowed eyes. “There are no beasts in this place, Sir Clay.”
“Not hunting animals, Syr Katherine. Just monsters.” Clay picked up his spear and adjusted his armor. “I won’t go near the archway, but I am going to do my best to wipe out a bunch of the Undead between here and the Dungeon. At the very least, I should be able to reinforce [Corpsebane] a few times.”
He stepped away, but Syr Katherine moved to block him. “You are putting yourself at risk, Sir Clay.”
Clay shrugged. “That’s part of the work. It has been long before I met you, and it will always be part of it until I die.” Then he grinned. “At the same time, I’d place my bets on the way I do things more than the way you’re planning on doing them. With all due respect, of course.”
Taylor spoke up from where she sat tending the fire. “You remember you are still under the Malus, don’t you? You aren’t going to be able to do nearly as much.”
He glanced at her. “I was still able to fight the lesser Undead well enough yesterday. Besides, the Malus will run out by afternoon at this point. I will be fine.”
Syr Katherine shook her head. “The Council wanted us to stay with you.”
“Then come along. Or wait here until I get back. Either way, I’m going.” Clay met her eyes without flinching. His grip tightened on his spear.
Orn shook his head. “You know we are heading back to Pellsglade soon. What is the point of this, young hero?”
Clay broke off his stare to look at the Armsman. “The point is that even if your job is done, my job isn’t. I mean to drive back the Dungeon for a year or two at least, and I haven’t finished that yet.”
Taylor snorted in disbelief. “You can’t be serious. I don’t care how much you reinforce that [Achievement], you won’t be able to do it alone.”
When he looked at Syr Katherine, the adventurer was still studying him seriously. “Syr Taylor is correct. You can’t do this alone.”
“Again, feel free to join me, then.” Clay smiled. “Here, I’ll make it easy for you. We can spar once I get back tonight. If I win, we go about one last assault on the Dungeon, my way. That way you can see exactly how I worked in Rodcliff and keep me from getting killed at the same time. If you win, we go back to Pellsglade.”
He heard Orn grumble something under his breath, but he ignored the [Fighter] and focused on Syr Katherine. She had to know he was planning something, but she couldn’t know what. The [Calculator] studied him for a long while, and then nodded.
“So be it, Sir Clay.” She looked up. “Be back before the sun touches the trees, or we will come after you and consider it a forfeit on your part. Do you understand?”
Clay nodded and loosened his grip on the spear a little. He had a chance, now. “I do. Have a good morning, Syr Katherine. Syr Taylor, Sir Orn.”
He offered them each a small bow. Then he turned south and started towards Sarlsboro. The Undead were waiting.