Weylan writhed on the ground in agony, as something large moved towards him. Multicolored streaks ran across his eyes, but he could vaguely make out a huge figure moving towards him. There was only one thing in the dungeon that was that big. The rat minotaur. What was that damned dungeon crystal up to now? Was he going to give him the coup de grace? Weylan was not entirely reluctant. His entire body felt like it was on fire. He was finding it increasingly difficult to think coherently. The huge figure leaned over him and held out his hand. He wasn't holding a weapon. Something he noticed immediately, despite the pain. An effect of his class as an assassin that he had noticed several times before.

The boss monster bent down and reached for the amulet on his chest. He pulled the band over his head. The burning pain subsided. He took a deep breath. Then his veins began to burn again and the pain returned. He squeezed out a quiet "What?".

The assassin raised his head and let out an unintelligible groan.

Weylan curled up and laboriously hunched into a sitting position. "Can't..."

Weylan's voice was brittle: "You're a great... motivator..."

Weylan gasped, "Can't feel… my chest…"

The shepherd's son remembered the days of his youth. Days spent herding sheep in the meadow. In the rain. In the cold. Running after the sheep. Breaking his ankle and limping his way home. He wasn't a spoiled city kid. He had fought his way through an army of revenants. Surely he could manage something easy like breathing. No matter if it burned like someone had shoveled red-hot coals onto his chest.

Skill acquired: Resist pain (Layman I)

Skill increased: Resist pain (Layman II)

Skill increased: Resist pain (Layman III)

Malvorik noticed that Weylan's breathing was becoming more regular.

"The burning river of excruciating pain?"

Skill increased: Resist pain (Layman IV)

Weylan sat there silently. His expression relaxed. The flow of mana calmed down. It didn't hurt any less, but at least the fire was now confined to narrow paths through his body.

Weylan concentrated on the pain. The burning. He imagined a tree trunk falling into the stream, blocking the water's path. The tree disintegrated under the pressure.

He constructed a dam of stones in his mind, but the mana shattered it.

He needed something else. Maybe ice? Ice that stretched across the lake. The small stream next to the village that always froze over in winter. Cold. Immobile.

The mana refused to cool down. It didn’t respond at all. It didn’t even seem to listen. He was supposed to be able to control his mana. But was this mana even his? He felt for it. Ignored the pain, just concentrated on the mana itself, not the way the arcane fire burned new channels through his body. The mana was full of sensations. He felt warmth, like the summer sun on an old body, sitting on a rocking chair on a balcony. Smelled old books and dust. Heard the crackling of a hearth fire. Saw crimson light, sparkle and reflect on crystal facets. Malvorik. It was Malvoriks mana, not his. There was the problem. He had to take it first. Convert it into his own. But how?

“You have to… let it go…”

“Mana… let go…”

Weylan felt the stone shift under one of his hands. He felt around and noticed sharp lines indentured in the floor.

Something around him started to flash every ten heartbeats. Weylan felt the taste of mana change. It became completely bland. He tried to take control, but couldn’t concentrate nearly enough with the feeling of rivers of acid still racing burning paths through his veins. The magic slipped through his numb mental fingers like lukewarm water.

He heard hasty steps nearing. Princess Ulmenglanz stormed in close behind the dungeon fairy and immediately threw herself on the floor next to the shepherd's son. She pushed his chainmail and undergarments up and slipped her hands under them on his bare chest. He could vaguely feel some prickling, as tiny roots dug into his skin. Healing magic pulsed through his body. Searching and analyzing.

Without interrupting her spell, the dryad looked at Malvorik's crystal: "What have you done to him? His body is riddled with internal scorch marks, ruptured blood vessels and inflamed nerves. It's like he's been struck by lightning multiple times. It's a miracle he's still alive!"

Malvorik unconsciously steered his final boss so that he stood protectively between the dryad and the entrance to Malvorik's heart room.

Soothing and healing magic flowed into his chest and saturated his body. The pain didn’t disappear, but got bearable enough so he could try again to take control of the mana in his channels. He ignored the golden motes of healing mana that streamed through him and concentrated on the bland and colorless mana that still increased in power and threatened to destroy everything the dryad was just healing.

He needed to stop the power. No, he had to claim it first. What did the old mage Hephtagan tell him about shadow mana? Darkness, cold… He begged for the power to cool, to dim. After another wave of healing magic, he focused his will and commanded! Mana became dark as night, cold as ice and slippery as a greased ball. But he didn’t need to hold it, just order it to just… stop!

The darkened mana slowed and cooled. Black ice formed on the surface, then clogged his channels… and finally stopped. Everything went dark.

The dungeon heart turned his attention to the dryad healer:

Ulmenglanz looked up at the agitated glowing crystal and hissed at him: “I’m the healer! I decide who lives and who dies!”

A final wave of golden healing magic flowed through Weylan's body. He seemed to glow from within, then the golden light faded. Ulmenglanz pulled her roots out of his body, lifted her hands from his chest and stood up tired: "That's it. His body is healed. Magic flows freely through his channels. You didn't kill him. This time." With one last angry backward glance, she stomped to the wall next to the exit door and leaned against it, arms crossed, to wait for her patient to return to consciousness.

The first thing Weylan felt again was a pounding headache. Then he opened his eyes. The light bore into them like glowing pokers.

After a few deep breaths, the pain subsided.

Skill learned: Mana control (Layman I)

Feat acquired: Magic Talent (restricted to shadow magic)

Error!

Character class does not support arcane abilities!

Customization required...

A warm, pleasant feeling ran through Weylan's body. A new message appeared in his field of vision, before he finished mentally processing the first one.

Implementing new system: Character Class Evolution...

Character classes can now undergo an evolution after acquiring magical abilities through special quests or outstanding actions.

Determining further possible applications...

Implementing additional option for specialization or expansion of character class when advancing to level 11 and level 16.

Character class evolution: Assassin to Shadow Assassin

Feat acquired: Shadow Sight

Feat acquired: Shadow Manipulation

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

He concentrated on his body, no searing pain: "Seems to have finally worked."

The new shadow assassin lay there exhausted and didn't react.

Selvara hit the crystal with her flat hand: “Stop hounding him! He almost died! Let him recover first.”

Weylan slowly sat up: “It’s alright. I'm curious myself.” He looked down at himself in fascination, bent over and stroked his shadow on the floor next to him with his hands. "Feels damp or cool. Somehow smooth and slippery too. Hard to describe."

He stood up and waited for the dizziness to subside. Then he set off. As soon as he took his first step, his foot slid across the ground with almost no resistance. He tried to catch himself, but the other foot also slipped. Reflexes and acrobatic skills struggled to prevent him from hitting his face full at the ground. He whirled his arms wildly and his feet swept back and forth in a vain attempt to find footing on the suddenly slippery surface. Something hit the ground with a metallic sound and then something grabbed him by the right arm. His feet scurried away for good, kicking in the air as he was lifted up. His shoulder hurt, but at least he didn't hit the stone floor. He got his bearings and realized who was holding him up. The final boss grinned at him with a mouthful of pointed teeth. Then he carefully set him on his feet.

Weylan moved one foot slightly and realized that the shadows were back to normal and the ground was offering him the usual frictional resistance.

"Thanks." He kept his eyes on the huge monster as the final boss took a few steps back. He turned to leave.

Weylan reluctantly turned around and saw the strangler holding an elongated bundle. He hesitated and then moved closer until the boss held a paw politely but firmly in his way. The strangler unwrapped the bundle to reveal a short sword. He carried it to Weylan, who looked at it with suspicion: “Will it try to kill me?”

Selvara shook her head: “I’ve seen him make that. It should be safe.”

He reluctantly took the sword and held it in his hand, somewhat confused: "A short sword. Thank you. This looks a bit better than the one I found in the battle in the cave."

Weylan swung the sword around and looked at it from all sides. "I don't see any gems."

"Are you serious? I thought that didn't work. I only had the basics of artefact magic as part of my training, but they said you can always recognize artefacts by their gemstones."

"What can it..." He fell silent. The handle felt slightly warm. Without thinking about it, he let some mana flow into it through his hand. Something changed. The sword suddenly felt like an extension of his hand. He could feel the blade moving. Knew where the edge was pointing, its balance and momentum. Suddenly it was like a part of his body. He looked at the weapon with a completely new respect.

The assassin felt something that could move and... pulled. The handle could be pulled out like a long pole. He held the handle in front of his eyes. Slid the handle in and out. The long steel rod slid out of the point of contact with the cross guard, as if there was a hole there. He pulled it out further. Even further. Only at about five meters did it stop.

"Nice."

Weylan activated the magic mechanism and a double-edged blade extended from the end of the handle. "Are those two Bags of Holding effects?"

"It will be best with two blades and extended to about one meter. As a double lily. Or as a sword staff. Or as a spear." He fell silent for a moment, "Wow. That has a lot of uses. Does it have any other enchantments? I mean, just out of curiosity. I don't want to be greedy."

The assassin grinned and looked at the blade at the rear end: "Quite narrow. Wouldn't have fitted into the handle otherwise. Diamond-shaped cross-section. Not good for cuts, but it should pass through chain mail and light armor like a sharp stick through a dried-up wasp's nest."

"What?"

Weylan slid the narrow blade back into the pole with a thought. He then placed the long spear with the now blunt end on the ground and let the staff slide back into the blade. As soon as he reached the cross guard again with his hand, he slid the rest into it. He looked at the short sword, still slightly disbelieving. Then he took his previous short sword out of its sheath, put the new one in and laid his non-magical one on the ground.

"It's high time we did something useful. Outside. The only one who hasn't shown any signs of impatience yet is Princess Ulmenglanz."

Weylan turned to the dryad, who was scowling in vain at the dungeon crystal and muttering softly, "Tree my arse...."

"Did you really want a suit of armor made of wood or just one without metal?"

She thought for a moment and then said: "The main thing is no metal. It doesn't really hurt me, but wrapped in metal, I feel like I can't breathe. Do you think there are any other options?"

"Of course. Take a gambeson. Just several layers of thick fabric. Sometimes stuffed with raw wool. We couldn't afford anything else in our village." He stroked his hand over his new chain mail: "I only know chain mail from the body guards of the richest traveling merchants. Even the army uses gambesons as standard armor. Chain mail is used by special units such as the gatekeepers, or by officers and nobles."

"That sounds fitting. I could have thought of that myself. I've never asked the local warriors what exactly their armor is made of." She pulled a pouch from a belt pouch and pressed it into Weylan's hand. "This is my share of the reward for the quest. Can you get me armor like this? I need to take care of my tree. My last trip to the surface was a bit too adventurous for me too."

"Is the city guard still looking for you?"

"I don't know. I'd better stay out of sight for a few more days until things have blown over." She said goodbye a little hastily and walked away.

Weylan waved it off: "Nothing serious. She climbed onto one of the buildings to get better access to sunlight. Her hands dug roots into the plaster, which damaged the façade. The owner came home from shopping and screamed bloody murder until the city guard came running. Totally over the top, if you ask me."

"No problem. Do you know what her measurements are?"

"I can't ask a woman about her measurements!"

"Hello Princess Ulmenglanz, can you tell me exactly how big your breasts are?"

Weylan tilted his head and looked past the boss to the glowing crystal. "You haven't talked to women much, have you?"

Weylan blinked. Then he nodded: "Exactly."

"I'd better get going straight away. I should get some sleep before training starts again tomorrow morning. Master Jago wouldn't be pleased if I turned up with dark circles under my eyes."

"Doesn't it have any side effects?"

"Pass. Thank you. You'd help me more if you could create an entrance that isn't so cumbersome."

"Dungeons don't normally have a delivery service either. I've thought about it. In the legends, the biggest dungeons have portals that shorten paths. If you've already beaten a floor, you can bypass it later."

The voice turned in another direction, but let Weylan continue to listen in:

The high-pitched hum of fairy wings beating at maximum speed rushed through the tunnel until Selvara began to slow down just before Weylan and flew a few steps past him. She dodged the rat minotaur with difficulty. She fluttered and danced in the air on the spot. "I know it! I know something you don't know! Yeah!"

"Dungeon Portals are a feat for dungeon masters of level 10 and above. It also includes the ability to give boss monsters so-called tokens as loot. Tokens cannot be sold or passed on. They only work for the person who has picked them up as loot. Anyone who has a token can use a corresponding dungeon portal. You can usually use it to let adventurers skip a few levels that they have already beaten. The idea behind this is that strong adventurers can easily get through the first few levels. It only costs unnecessary mana to replace the monsters and traps."

"Even if it did, our friend the moderator would probably come by and correct that."

Weylan looked around in alarm: "Moderator? Friend? What are you talking about?"

Selvara whirled around so that he couldn't see her own worried expression. "Malvorik has already had two visits from a moderator assessing his very special combination of skills as a dungeon master and mage."

"Since the dungeon is still there, I assume he was satisfied?"

Selvara snorted: "Only because even the creator gods didn't reckon with your ideas and set up laws against them."

Weylan looked up curiously, but before he could ask a question, Selvara flew right in front of his face and put her tiny finger on his upper lip: "Not a word! Malvorik! There are secrets you must not reveal. How dungeon hearts are made is one of them."

The silence lasted exactly three heartbeats, then he continued.

It took him a few heartbeats to process this. "You have a portal? That's legendary magic!"

Weylan shrugged his shoulders and added it to the long list of things he wasn't allowed to tell anyone. Then he paused, picked up his backpack and rummaged around in it: "I almost completely forgot. You still owe me fifty gold pieces." He didn't even blush as he more than doubled the price he had paid.

Weylan held up the book. Then he stretched it far away from him as the rat minotaur came stomping up and ripped it out of his hand with its clawed paws. He carried it into the heart room and laid it on the floor. Sparkling magic shimmered over it and dissolved it. The mirror walls covered their surface with lists and formulas.

Spells learned (level 1):

Create light

Create fire

Create air

Create water

Create earth

Create stone

Create metal

Modular storage

Clean

Patch

Merge

Heat

Cool

Disconnect

Reinforce

Weaken

Learned artifact theses (journeyman level):

Self-cleaning

Self-repair

Durability

Convenience

Size adjustment (+/- 25%)

Weylan heard a rhythmic pulsing in his mind. Telepathic laughter. He took one last look at the part of the mirrored walls he could see through the doorway. Spell theses filled every empty space. Sketches and notes appeared and pushed others aside. When Malvorik no longer responded to his questions, he shrugged his shoulders, nodded amiably to the final boss and then walked away. He let his new sword swing around his wrist.