Weylan breathed in deeply... and out. In... and out. Good. His teacher Jago had told him he tended to breathe too little under stress. This reduced his performance. He examined the surroundings again. The next row of squares had a safe square. He had already tested that. The square he was standing on was also safe. Were all the light green squares safe? He didn't know. He looked at the pattern. Would he get through if they were safe? Maybe he would. Yes. He could imagine a way. Zig-zag jump to there... Push off against the wall at that point... Then double-jump into the room. Preferably high up, there was almost certainly a tripwire on the floor. The room had a smooth, seamless floor. The task for the room was surely to open the chest. After staring at the floor for a while, something would probably come from above. Maybe some of the stranglers.

But that was still a distant problem. He had to get through the net of wires. He could extend his sword staff and cut through it.

Weylan struggled to stop himself from slapping himself for having completely forgotten about his magic weapon. An extendable staff would have been extremely useful.

Don’t get distracted, he told himself. He had to trigger the pitfall, there was no recognizable way around it. The tips were very short. Decoration? Or did Malvorik just want to make the trap less lethal? Heroes in the stories always had ropes, throwing hooks, long poles and in Bags of Holding often even long wooden planks with them to overcome pitfalls and similar obstacles.

He drew his short sword and extended the handle. As he bent down, he was able to reach one of the metal tips with the fully extended pole of the sword staff. He pressed on it. It sank into the ground, practically without resistance. He heard something behind him and bent down even lower before turning around. However, there was no danger. Only a few stones on the wall were being pulled upwards. The net of wires tightened on the ceiling and cleared the way.

As soon as he took the bar away, the metal tip went up again via a spring or something similar and the net was lowered. Too fast to get through.

He took off his backpack, attached it to the short crossbars of the sword and lowered it onto the tips until his weight released one. With some back and forth, he got the short sword loose and retracted the hilt to about a step and a half. Enough to serve as a spear weapon, but short enough not to hinder him too much.

The net was up again until he turned around. This time it stayed there. "The backpack contains the dried herbs you wanted. How you get them out of there now is your problem. I expect the backpack back before I go back up."

<...>

"Put a few gold coins or something in there. After all this stress, I deserve a reward."

After one last look in all directions, he jumped from one bright green tile to the next. He stooped low under the net. At the exit, he noticed a trap wire at chest height at the last moment. He barely managed to duck and get past it. Then he stood in the room with the chest.

A square room with seamless gray granite walls, ceiling, and floor.

Behind him was the entrance through which he had come.

There was a large iron door on the right-hand wall. He looked at it more closely. Instead of a continuous surface, it seemed to have been made from hundreds of rectangles. He knew that Malvorik could easily create complex objects from a single piece. Had he tried to copy the look of the corridor, with its walls of slightly offset stone blocks and the irregularly laid stone tiles? He went through the rest of the dungeon in his mind. No.

The dungeon heart had no particularly artistic aspirations when it came to interior design or architecture. Malvorik always had purely practical reasons for protrusions and shapes. Otherwise, he preferred clear geometric shapes. The surface of the door had to mean something.

In the middle, the door still had a round raised section more than the size of a hand with a large keyhole in the center. The lack of a door handle made it clear that he could not simply open the door.

In the middle of the room, three steps rose up to a platform with a wooden chest with iron fittings.

He walked around the pedestal. Poked with his sword staff. Knocked. Pressed on the crate from below. It did not move. Neither did the floor or the steps.

He walked to the nearest wall and circled the room, looking for irregularities. Nothing.

The key for the door was safely in the chest so he couldn’t just ignore it.

Ready to jump away at any moment, he stepped onto the first step... Nothing. He went to the second step... No reaction. He bent over the crate. Actually, he had thought that Malvorik had learned enough wood samples by now to avoid that hideous patchwork carpet style. A wild jumble of rectangular pieces of wood. But no visible lock. No inlays or metal fittings. No keyhole. No hinges. He looked up at the exit. The pattern of the metal resembled that of the chest, but the chest formed a seamless smooth rectangle, while the metal pieces of the door jutted out in all directions. He looked at the chest. The height-to-width ratio of the top of the chest was similar to that of the door.

He measured the chest with hand widths. Then the door. The proportions were exactly the same, except that the door was larger. The rectangles of the door were also larger.

He paused and then counted. It took a while, then he gave up and just guessed. Both probably had the same number of rectangles.

He compared the two patterns. The rectangles on the door were arranged differently. He had to... It took him a while to find the right place on the chest, then he pressed on one of the rectangles on the edge. Nothing happened. He pressed his finger against it and pushed. The rectangle could be moved outwards a little. From the side, you could now see the joint and groove on which the piece of wood was supported. He grinned, compared the pattern on the door with the chest and continued to move the pieces of wood against each other until they formed the pattern on the door. With the last piece of wood that clicked into place, a free round cylinder slid up from the center.

Now all he had to do was push the cylinder down.

Or pull it upwards?

Turn?

He walked around the chest. There were no clues. He had to approach this differently.

What would be the biggest surprise effect...

Would the whole chest and pedestal fall down? No. Too obvious. But he would prepare himself to jump down. Just in case.

Something would happen when he opened the chest.

He climbed onto the chest and stepped onto the cylinder. He sank down slightly. There was a click. All four sides of the chest folded down and a swarm of fireballs was fired in all directions. Explosions thundered so close together that it sounded like a single, drawn-out hiss. Glowing shards of granite flew across the room. Weylan crouched down and held his arms protectively in front of his face. He felt a few light impacts. Then it was quiet again.

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He straightened up and looked at his injured arms. Small splinters and scratches everywhere. His clothes had also taken a beating. But he had no serious injuries. He climbed down from the chest and looked into the open side. In addition to some stone blocks covered in runes, with round projection runes pointing in all directions, there was an open area in the middle. A large key lay on a velvet cushion. Next to it was a vial. He carefully pushed the cushion out to the other side with the sword staff and was pleased to hear the soft hiss as several blowgun darts passed through the area. If he had just grabbed the key, at least one of them would have hit him.

The vial was neatly engraved with “Healing Potion”.

He took the key and went to the gate. Standing next to the gate, he inserted it into the lock with his arm stretched out to the side. It fitted perfectly. Weylan put it in all the way and immediately jumped back. He looked around... Nothing.

Carefully testing every step, he went back to the door and turned the key. Something clicked in the gate. Weylan somersaulted backwards, followed by a series of flick-flicks. His short sword drawn, he whirled around, looking in all directions for enemies or traps. Nothing. The metal gate opened.

Pact offer:

Malvorik offers you the opportunity to seek permanent refuge in his sphere of influence.

In return, he demands that you swear not to deliberately harm him and to keep his secrets.

Accept Yes/ No?

Weylan’s legs trembled as the tension eased. He lowered himself down and accepted the pact. Now he was safe again. The short sword fell to the stone floor with a clatter.

Dungeon obstacle course passed.

Skill increases were suppressed for the duration of the challenge.

Display increases now?

The assassin let himself slide backwards and lay flat on his back as he looked up at the ceiling and accepted the offer.

Skill learned: Trap Lore (Layman I)

Skill increased: Trap Lore (Layman II)

Skill increased: Trap Lore (Layman III)

...

Skill increased: Trap Lore (Apprentice VII)

Skill increased: Acrobatic evasion (Layman V)

Weylan straightened up and looked doubtfully at the destruction the impacts had caused in the room. “I’m relying on your superior knowledge of magic and human anatomy. Leaving a healing potion there was a nice gesture.”

Weylan stood up and went to the crate. He leaned into a side opening. “There’s nothing there.”

“I see...” He felt around in the chest and suddenly felt something soft. Screeching, he pulled his hand back. He looked around quickly. A slight blush rose to his face.

He looked in the chest again. But there was nothing there. He felt carefully again. His fingers came across a piece of... cold skin... soft leather? Two separate pieces. Invisible, but felt like leather. Extensive feeling around showed him that it was a pair of gloves. “Invisible gloves? Really?”

“What can they do?”

“They don’t react to mechanical traps?”

Weylan put on his gloves and moved his hands. There was absolutely nothing to see.

“You mean the mana control that almost killed me to learn?”

The dungeon heart ignored the allusion.

“Quite good. I’m getting better at moving shadows.”

“I don’t know any spells at all. And what is mana infusion?”

“Let me think... Pain... Pain... By the way, you can use a complex technique based on the infusion of affine mana into similarly affine objects... Pain...” He waved his hand vaguely: “Yes, I think I remember now.”

“Maybe...”

“Where can I get one of these?”

Weylan’s shoulders slumped in disappointment. Then he lifted his head and his eyes flashed: “Wait a minute...”

“Wait... They can locate my dagger?”

“You wouldn’t happen to have...”

Weylan concentrated on the gloves. Then on his magic. He focused his will on the shadow he was casting. The shadow grew darker and longer. Nothing happened.

“I’m trying.” His mind shifted and twisted. He groped around in the dark until he found something. Then something flowed through his body. He winced, expecting the pain he had suffered when he opened his mana channels. Something pulled, like leg muscles after a long hike. Or his hands after shearing sheep. Then he felt a connection with the glove. His hands began to vibrate rapidly. He pulled back the magic and raised his eyebrows, “I can make them vibrate. Is that all?”

A few heartbeats passed before he was able to channel his magic into his feet. Then he felt the assassin’s shoes. His heart stopped beating. He paused and placed his hand on the vein in his neck. The pulse could still be felt.

He whistled through his teeth. No sound rang out. He said a few words, but nothing was heard. Grinning, he withdrew the mana connection again.

“Wow. I can control the silence spell.”

Weylan did not listen and drew his shadow dagger. The hilt and the rusty blade lost all color and became the darkest of shadows. He held the blade before his eyes. A dagger-shaped hole in the world. He channeled mana into it and felt... a connection. He held the dagger in his hand and... also held it in another way. He took his hand away. The dagger wavered, but continued to float. Black mist of shadows rose in thin lines from the dagger.

“It’s smoking!”

The dagger moved slowly and haltingly.

Skill increased: Mana control (Layman IV)

“I’ve even increased mana control!”

“Layman IV.”

The dungeon heart fell silent. Weylan looked up, “What?”

“I could do nothing except pushing shadows around to practice mana control.”

Weylan had a few ideas, starting with a cozy dinner with Trulda. But this could save his life in the near future. He sighed: “No. Not really.”