Recently, Serf Clerenbald’s son has taken an interest in academics, and as such Serf wishes to gift him with a Sorcerers Textbook for his upcoming name day. As Serf is responsible with his job as a lumberer –spending his spare days hunting local game for their meats pelts to fuel the communities’ economy –paying the hefty price of a leather-bound book is not unfeasible. It doesn’t hurt that lumbering pays generously, as trekking the forest around the winter months is a dangerous and taxing endeavour.
But with that upcoming winter, Serf will need to have thirty gold –at the minimum –for the wood prices alone; so with this year’s haul of about a hundred gold, he can’t afford it. As the market price for a general explanatory Sorcery Textbook is thirty gold by itself, that would leave Serf and his family with forty gold for the winter rations and taxes; barely scaping it by –even with the possible discounts.
So to amend this, Serf is pinning his hopes on finding an Iron-Wood Tree. The wood of an Iron-Wood Tree –a rare variant of the exceedingly common Kael Tree –was as hard as low quality iron, and as such sold very well. If Serf scored the thirty to thirty five gold a log of Iron-Wood would reap, he could pay for his sons textbook and have enough left over to treat his family with some nice food from the city.
As the village soldiers hail from atop the village gates, Serf looks up from his thoughts. A man –features unseen under a baggy, unkempt hard leather trench coat –is already approaching; trekking the slight incline of the exceedingly muddy road. The man’s coat –stained with watery mud –drips water, seeping moisture unto the rusted ring mail beneath.
The man reaches Serf –eye level despite the incline –and shifts his weight onto one leg; his thickly gloved hand reflexively resting atop the sword pommel by his waist.
“What ar’ you doing out in the cold?” The man groans in a highly recognizable, gravely gruff of a voice.
“Cold?” asks Serf, mirroring the man’s posture. “It’s not even winter” he replies, lifting his brow.
The man goes to rebuke him; eyeing his light hunters attire “We’re not all highlanders Serf” he says. “Some ov’ us feel the cold ya know?”
“I feel the cold” Serf replies immediately, puzzled. “But only when it’s actually cold.”
The man’s frown lines deepen as he lets out an exasperated sigh –hand leaving his sword to rest at his side. “Whateva’ you say Serf” he says, straightening his posture and turning on his heel.
“Open the gate!” he calls with a quick had signal. “Serf’s going outta ‘gen”
Watching as the man known as Henry returned to the checkpoint booth by the gate, Serf waits patiently while the wooden gate creaks open. The gate, matted by mud and moisture, soon collides with the wooden stumps serving as stops with a thud.
“Go ‘n” Henry calls from the booth window, almost pleading as he slams the shutters.
Serf shakes his head, quickly jogging out of the open wooden gates. The following mudded road winds into a close by miry forest populated by tall decrepit trees –their leaves analogous to retted hemp. Serf picks up his speed and begins to run down the path, his breathe steady and strong.
Several hours and a few hundred leagues later, Serf is currently out of luck. Not only had he not found an Iron-Wood tree –though that is not all that surprising in itself –but he also found a fairly fresh direbear trail during his shameful return.
Dire creatures; academically known as Greater Mana Enriched Mammalia, are a sub family of mammals which –aside from greatly increase size and strength –possess magical ability varying from minor to moderate. To an adventuring party below Adept –or worse, a solitary beau sabreur –they are a danger of mortal proportions.
Serf being a regular human –even if blessed with a highlander heritage –is subsequently forced to take a substantial detour, adding another two hours to his trip and ensuring he misses his morning shift. Aside from the deduction from his salary, he will have to explain to his worried family why he was gone so late.
“There goes any hope of nice food” Serf says aloud with a grimace.
In his horrid mood, Serf treks through the pathless forest –his legs tired and sore. Misidentifying a fern in his exhaustion, he strides right through a mature bladed-thorn bush and lacerates his forearms. He eyes the dark green leaves jutting from his skin with frustration.
“Shit” he curses through gritted teeth, beginning to delicately pick the leaves from himself while leaned against a tree –lines of bloody sap stringing off his arm. As he carefully removes the infernal plant from himself, a dull maniacal laughter rings out from the depths of the earth and he cuts his forefinger.
Eyes wide, Serf rasps with haggard breath.
“Dungeon” he says.
As my laugh echoes throughout my stone confines, I realise that I have projected my voice.
[Skill – {Open Telepathic Projection} Learned
‘Interesting’ I muse –not all that interested. ‘Now! Let us begin’ I announced to myself once more –quickly stifling another laugh.
First, I check my status, looking away from the monster list.
Name: Enriched Newborn Dungeon Fledgling (N/A)
Titles: Newborn Fledgling, Mana Enriched, Necromantic
Age: 0
Level: 233, 72%
Race: Dungeon
Sub-Race: Mana Enriched Dungeon
Form : Crystal
Fame: 0
Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
Reputation Lvl: 0
Health: 555/555
Life-force: 555/5,000
Stamina: ∞/∞
Internal Mana: 2,370.5/2,370.5
External Mana: 2,534/5,250
Mana Potency: 75
Strength: 0 (13 – 100%)
Constitution: 16 (11 + 5)
Endurance: ∞ (∞ + 0)
Defence: 7 (2 + 5)
Dexterity: 5 (5 + 0)
Agility: 0 (5 – 100%)
Intelligence: 36 (31 + 5)
Wisdom: 28 (24 + 4)
Willpower: 31 (26 + 5)
Perception: 14 (14 + 0)
Charisma: 7 (6 + 3 – 2)
Life-Span: ∞ (∞ – 1)
Skills:
{Mana Vision} – Lvl: 1, 2%
{Raise Dead} – Lvl: 1, 6%
{Mana Enriched} – Passive Lvl: 2, 12%
{External Mana Endurance} – Passive Lvl: 1, 34%
‘Hmmm…’ I pause ‘It seems like Internal Mana regenerates substantially faster than External’ I realise.
Looking back to the monster list as I close my status, I command the summoning of another roach –fingers crossed.
I feel the energy leave me and re-join my surroundings as three hundred mana is taken from me, taking me down to two thousand and seventy and a half Internal Mana. I quickly take note of how expelling my internal mana does not cause my external mana to grow, focusing on the ground just in front of my crystal.
A vortex of dull silver forms close off the ground where I’m looking –eerily similar to my crystal formation –and the air splits; a thin line forming against the torrential light. This line quickly expands, forced aside by the forthcoming creature, and another giant roach emerges from the elliptical crack like bursting through shōji.
My new monster lands lightly upon the sandstone, its portal closing with a clap. Looking identical aside from being slightly smaller, the new roach begins to wander immediately.
Checking its status, I note that is lacks the Mana Enriched title.
‘Well there had to be some drawback’ I comfort myself. ‘Anyway…’
On impulse once more, I summon another six roaches –emptying my internal mana pool. The novelty of their portals fading unnaturally quickly, I begin to think of how to expand my domain. My mind coming up blank, I rely on instinct –on what I felt I need to do.
My consciousness fades into half presence as I am entranced. I feel at the external mana swirling around my abode –their particles colliding onto the confines of my sandstone construction. I compel those particles to become faster, more energetic. Soon, countless collections of mana collided with the walls to seemingly no effect. Those impossibly small balls of energy seep between the gaps of the stone, and lodge themselves within.
The foundation of what was me expanded with these particles –slowly reaching out in all directions. More and more mana confided into the stone, until like glue they surrounded and held the atoms together –replacing the already present mutual attraction. With this, I gain incredible insight into what makes up the stone, and I am able to control the individual atoms –rearranging them to whatever my wishes dictate.
As my influence spreads further throughout the walls, I push the assimilated mana closer together; pulling atoms along the way and increasing the density. The sandstone rapidly transforming to be of an impenetrable hardness, and glows a dull purple.
Satisfied with my upgrade, I quadrupled the size of the room by tearing apart assimilated stone at the molecular level –the cockroaches upon the walls removed falling to the ground with a squeak. I ignore irritated clicking of my creations as well the fact that the room is now full of impossibly the thick debris, creating a hazy smoke.
Continuing, I carve out a straight ten by ten tunnel into the distance –directly opposite to my crystal –and stop after a few hundred metres. Next, I create smaller paths off from the tunnel, creating a room of equal size at each of their ends.
Now with six chambers, I direct the eight roaches into groups of two and fill four of the chambers –two in each one. I now go check my status once more, but pause –my line of sight crossing a pair of roaches as they follow their commands.
‘That’s… peculiar’ I think.
As they walk, the mist that is mana is transforming around them. The once smoky blue energy is seemingly being leeched of colour and changing into a dull grey –much like the roaches themselves. Instinctually, I shift my perception out of my crystal and to the other insects –already on the way to their enclosures –and find that they too are transforming mana at an incredible rate.
Enraptured, I zoom back to my original pair –now a ways down the tunnel. I stare intensely at the mana being transformed, and my vision magnifies unconsciously. I find that it’s constantly moving particles are being compelled to vibrate at a very low, sporadic rate –like the twitching of a dead animal –and as such are letting off a different colour.
This discovery leads to another one –that the different forms of mana are the same, only vibrating differently.
‘This has to be Death Mana’ I conclude, soon assured of this decision.
[Death Mana Discovered –Details added to Status]
[Congratulations, due to you advancing your understanding of something (Mana) to a previously unreached level, you have earned the title –Scholar]
On somewhat of a high, I quickly find those details –briefly checking on the nature of Scholar.
[Scholar –Title given to those who explore and expand their own understanding in academic pursuit.
+3 Intelligence
+1 Wisdom]
[Death Mana –de-energized Mana caused by contact with the dead or undead. Used in
Necromancy and some Dark Magics.
Pleased with the added stats, I get to work on finding out what to do with this death energy.
Serf –after a mad dash home through territories of many a horror –is waiting in the village chiefs’ office. He nervously taps his foot on the varnished planks, trying to distract himself by inspecting the various paraphernalia strewed out on the desk in front of him.
The chief was a somewhat strange man, and as such had nothing like a token sign saying Chief, but instead his space of work had items of a more peculiar sort. Candles of various sizes were atop the edges of the desk, causing the room to be aloft with the smell of burnt wax and a light layer of smoke, along with multiple stacks of books with perplexing titles. Those titles –such as ‘Scuttling Habits of the Swucran’, and ‘17 recipes you can prepare at home’ –were nothing compared to the shelfs behind them.
As Serf was getting up to inspect a rather unusual telescope by the desk side window, the door behind him scaped open, causing him drop back into his chair –painfully striking his thigh upon the arm rest.
“Chief Maggus! How unlike you to be so punctual!” Serf panicked.
Friedreich Maggus paused as he backed up into the room. Turning quickly –causing his frizzled grey hair to moult –he eyed Serf with a crazed expression.
“Who are you!? What are you doing in my room?!” He spurted out accusingly, raising a book he was holding as if to throw.
Before Serf could defend himself a voice chimed in from the hall outside the door.
“It’s Serf Clerenbald. He has an appointment” the familiar voice of Ida the receptionist said.
The old man blinked and lowered the tome –eyeing Serf in suspicion.
“Are you sure Edna? He looks suspicious to me” he replied.
Serf heard Ida sigh as she responded.
“Yes Chief.” She said patiently “He says he found a Dungeon”
Upon hearing this, Chief Maggus’ demeanour changes completely.
“A Dungeon you say?” He asks, closing the door and walking to his desk in a brisk movement. “Where is it? How did you find it?” He inquires urgently –pulling out his chair with a joyous face.
“Umm…” Serf is dumfounded.
“Come now spit it out boy” the old man insisted with a suddenly stern expression.
Serf nervously begins to talk.