Weylan and Selvara freshened up quickly in the rest area and then collapsed into sleep, exhaustion overtaking them almost instantly. When they woke, they barely had time for a hurried strategy session before continuing.
Weylan stretched, loosening his muscles as he spoke. “You know, there’s no way we’ll survive this third floor with standard tactics. But I’ve been thinking. We could try something I once did in Malvorik’s training corridor.”
Selvara raised an eyebrow. “You mean when you just barreled through the obstacles as fast as you could, like a complete lunatic?”
“Exactly,” Weylan replied with a grin. “I talked about it with Trulda later, and she told me there’s a similar tactical method we could now use to survive.”
Selvara looked at him suspiciously. “I really hope you don’t mean what I suspect you do. What exactly is your plan?”
He drank some water to create a dramatic pause. “Basically, the plan is running. Fast. Faster than traps can activate, faster than monsters can react or follow. We don’t stop for anything. We just sprint straight to the end. It’s something the revenants use in their world for dealing with some game-like artificial dungeons. Or something like that. It did sound a bit crazy. The tactic is called speedrunning.”
Selvara frowned. “I was afraid you’d mean that. What happens if we’re faced with, I don’t know… a locked door?”
“We die. Plain and simple,” Weylan admitted cheerfully fatalistic. “Same if this floor is filled with another bunch of speed-centric monsters. But I’m betting against it. The dungeon’s already thrown Scourge-Squirrels and Minion-Apes at us. Thematically, it’s about time for big and tough but slow monsters instead. Repetition is boring, after all.”
Selvara’s frown deepened. “I hate to burst your bubble, but speedrunning isn’t some revolutionary tactic. It’s been a revenant trick since the last plague. Speed potions, teleportation spells, bypassing entire challenges with clever maneuvers. It’s nothing new. And it’s only viable in dungeons you’ve studied extensively and delved multiple times.”
“Yeah? So what do dungeons do about it?”
“Well,” Selvara said with a knowing smirk, “if a delver even mentions a speedrun, dungeon hearts are allowed to make adjustments at the last moment, which is normally frowned upon. They might swap traps, and add a riddle door to force the delvers to stop and solve areas they intended to just run through. Or even coat the floors with lard. That’s always good for a laugh if the plan includes some actual running.”
Weylan dropped into a series of warm-up exercises. “But they don’t have to adjust anything, right?”
Selvara tilted her head thoughtfully. “My fairy knowledge is still blocked, but I feel like that would be correct. Dungeons are rarely forced to do anything in a specific way. And with only two delvers, there’s no need for Trevisanus to scale up the difficulty for us. Though he can’t make it easier, either. There’s a hard limit at what a dungeon is allowed to change after delvers have already entered.”
Weylan grinned, his voice suddenly loud enough to echo. “Well, since we certainly do plan to speedrun,” he emphasized, “he could change around a few things to adjust the difficulty to suit our ‘unusual’ situation.”
“Like we don’t have enough probl… oh.” Selvara blinked, then her face lit up with a mischievous grin. “You’re right. It’d be terrible if they replaced obstacles and monsters to adjust for a speedrun challenge.”
* * *
In the dungeon's heart room, Galladressa buzzed around Trevisanus’s core like an excited hornet. “You heard them, didn’t you?”
“Trevisanus!” she screeched, her tiny face turning red.
“Remember the riddle door outside the boss’s chamber,” Galadressa snapped. “If you leave it, they’ll get swarmed by all those monsters chasing them!”
Galadressa darted to the crystal mirror, her wings a blur as she anxiously watched the delvers step onto the third floor. Time was up.
* * *
Weylan and Selvara stepped through the portal and emerged high on a staircase overlooking the new floor. It stretched before them: a massive industrial corridor ten steps tall and over fifty steps wide, running nearly five hundred steps to a steel wall with a single door at the far end.
The air was thick with fumes and heat. Pools and rivers of molten metal gleamed in the dim light. Tanks of toxic slag lined the walls, while pipes belched out noxious fog that curled upward to obscure the high ceiling. The thunder of forge work rang out. Bright carbide lamps, burning at their highest setting, illuminated the space, casting harsh shadows but giving them perfect visibility.
Selvara’s sharp eyes picked out the enemies below: alchemically enhanced dwarves, their muscled frames bulging unnaturally. They wielded massive hammers, smashing at anvils and shaping glowing metal. Others worked molten glass with their bare hands, sculpting intricate shapes. Turtles with bronze shells slowly patrolled in mechanical patterns, steam hissing from their backs.
Selvara climbed onto Weylan’s back, securing herself with leather straps tied to his cloak. “Ready when you are,” she said, her voice steady despite the scene below.
Weylan adjusted his footing on the staircase’s edge. “Good. Remember the plan. We stop for nothing. We slow down for nothing. If I fall, you fly and keep going.”
“And if you drop me, you continue alone.”
“Of course,” Weylan lied smoothly.
He channeled shadow magic into his boots, neutralizing most of the friction on the soles. With a burst of speed, he stepped onto the stone banister and slid down the staircase like a blur.
At the base, he leapt over the first Steam-Turtle, which upon closer inspection seemed to be a mechanical construct, powered by burning some hellish alchemical liquid. It hissed in surprise, its vents glowing brighter as it belched steam into the air behind him. Weylan didn’t slow, weaving between hammer-wielding dwarves with practiced agility. Their powerful swings slammed into the floor where he’d just been, too slow to catch him.
A river of bubbling liquid crossed his path, but a perfectly placed bench provided an ideal jump ramp. Weylan sprinted up and launched himself across the bubbling flow, landing in a roll on the other side. A tripwire activated a trap, that took a precious second to pressure up a tank before it released a jet of steam that scorched the spot he had just vacated.
He raced along. His feet seemed almost not to touch the floor. He jumped on tables and workbenches. Then he used the steel helmet of an armored dwarflike monster to launch himself on top of a thick pipe he then used to cross above a group of monsters. Turtle monsters blew steam at him, but they needed time to power up their attack. Long enough for him to be long gone by the time the short-ranged steam jets roared up at him. Some of the glassblowers threw balls of molten glass, but he easily dodged and the glowing orbs missed, shattering harmlessly on the floor.
Every enemy they passed turned to follow, a growing horde of lumbering dwarves and whirring turtles stomping after them. The Steam-Turtles’ shells glowed red-hot as they pushed their engines to the limit, their exhaust spewing black smoke.
When the massive door at the corridor’s end came into view, Weylan pushed harder, his movements a blur as he reached it ahead of the pursuing horde. He stumbled to a halt, increasing the friction on his boots just in time.
Selvara peered over his shoulder and cursed. “It’s a riddle door! What was Galadressa thinking? We’re doomed!”
Weylan chuckled. “Read the riddle.”
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Selvara read it aloud. “What is 1 + 1?”
She blinked, suspicion in her eyes. “That has to be a trap. There’s no way it’s this easy.”
“Two,” Weylan called out without hesitation.
The massive metal door slid open. The pair dashed inside as the first pursuers already started coming into ranged weapon range, and molten glass orbs splattered on the floor behind them. The door slammed shut with the heavy clank of locking bolts.
The circular chamber gleamed with the cold light of polished metal. Every surface was seamless, amplifying the oppressive atmosphere. In the center of the arena stood a towering figure, easily twice the height of an average man. Its bulging, grotesque muscles were encased in an intricate mechanical exoskeleton, a fusion of alchemical ingenuity and mechanical madness.
Strapped to its back were glass containers, reinforced with a metal mesh. Their interiors swirled with glowing, bubbling potions in various colors. A tangled system of transparent tubes connected the containers to key parts of its body. One thicker tube ran down to its left arm, which terminated in a nozzle instead of a hand. The right hand gripped a massive hammer, sparking ominously with arcs of lightning magic that crackled with every slight movement.
The entire exoskeleton bore the marks of hasty changes. The patchy bone-white paint covered most of the dull gray metal, as if the boss had been painted over in a rush. Two sections of its front armor featured peculiar additions: red dots encircled by two concentric rings, standing out like bullseyes. They weren’t subtle, and their purpose seemed almost too convenient to be mere decoration.
The boss raised its arms dramatically, turning in a slow, deliberate circle as though presenting itself to an unseen audience. The potion containers on its back hissed and churned, feeding a mixture of potions through the tubing system into his body. The spot where the thicker tube leading to his nozzle hand left the container was marked by another of the red decorations.
“Nigrufumi” Alchemical-Dwarf Smogsmith
Dungeon Boss Monster (Third Floor), Level 12
The creature’s lumbering turn brought it back to face the delvers. Its mechanical joints hissed, and with an almost casual motion, it raised its left arm. A roar of dark blue flame erupted from the nozzle, blanketing the area in a thick, black smog. The acrid stench of burning lamp oil filled the chamber, and the oppressive heat rose with every passing moment.
Selvara sighed inwardly. One of the strategies dungeon fairies were taught for dungeons in high demand was to increase the delvers speed with indirect time limits. The boss’s flamethrower would heat up the room, while the specially prepared fire potion would produce noxious fumes to make the air increasingly difficult to breathe. She could appreciate that from a professional standpoint, but it was annoying being on the receiving end of such a strategy.
Weylan reacted instantly, unsheathing his Sword-Staff with a practiced motion. He extended the shaft to a full step-length, flicking a switch that snapped out a secondary blade at the back end. The weapon gleamed under the chamber’s dim light as he took a combat-ready stance.
Selvara launched herself from his back, her wings buzzing furiously as she gained altitude. She arced around the arena, keeping her sharp gaze on the nozzle arm while steering clear of its fiery range. Once in position, she drew a deep breath and unleashed her Frost Breath. A cone of freezing air laced with razor-sharp shards of ice blasted toward the boss, enveloping its upper body in a frosty haze.
The result was underwhelming. The potion-infused tubes radiated too much heat for the frost to take hold, and the icy shards left only superficial scratches on the boss’s exposed skin. Even its face remained unscathed, the frost vaporizing almost immediately on contact.
Selvara cursed under her breath, banking sharply to avoid a follow-up flame jet. “Do you think those red circles mark weak spots?” she called, her voice tight with frustration.
Weylan ducked under a horizontal swing of the lightning-charged hammer; the air crackling dangerously close to his head. “ Probably, but I can’t punch through heavy armor! So, I don’t know how that will help.”
Nigrufumi grinned, revealing rows of unnervingly sharp teeth. He shifted his focus to Selvara, raising his nozzle arm. A burst of flame seared through the air toward her, forcing her into a desperate dive to evade the attack.
Weylan seized the opening. Sprinting behind the boss, he ducked low, maneuvering past the bulk of its exoskeleton. With a precise swing, he brought his Sword-Staff down on the red-marked tube at the back of Nigrufumi’s left arm. The blade sliced cleanly through, and a stream of steaming black liquid sprayed out, hissing as it splattered onto the metal floor. The nozzle sputtered; its flame extinguished.
Nigrufumi roared, spinning furiously to face Weylan. The assassin didn’t let up, darting in erratic patterns to keep ahead of the boss’s movements. He stayed close, forcing the slower boss to waste precious seconds trying to track him.
But Nigrufumi wasn’t mindless. He abruptly stopped mid-turn, reversing direction and swinging his hammer in a low, sweeping arc. Weylan barely managed to leap over it, the lightning grazing his boots as he landed. The nozzle arm, now useless, shifted with a grinding of gears. Within moments, Nigrufumi attached a gleaming axe head where the nozzle had been.
“Great,” Weylan muttered, retreating to assess the new threat. “Just what we needed. More sharp things.”
Selvara circled high above, watching the chaos below. Her gaze flicked between the glowing potions on Nigrufumi’s back, the remaining red-marked spots, and the tangled web of tubes. “Weylan!” she called. “He’s much too big to fight at such a speed for long. That only works because he’s constantly dosed with strength and stamina potions. If we you cut the other feeds from the containers, it might shut him down!”
“Yeah, easier said than done!” Weylan dodged another axe swing, gritting his teeth. “He’s learning my moves!”
He ducked another strike and positioned himself behind the boss again. His gaze sharpened suddenly. Selvara grinned. She knew that face. He had a new idea. He held his distance while still keeping behind Nigrufumi and casually started a conversation. “Say, this Trevisanus, would you say he’s clever?”
“He’s one of the most experienced dungeon hearts in existence. He’s famous for his intricate strategies in dungeon design and monster battle tactics.”
Weylan ducked under a vicious axe strike, sidestepped, and disengaged before the follow-up swing from Nigrufumi’s lightning-charged hammer could land. “So… he knows I can’t pierce plate armor with a sword?” Weylan’s tone was mock-casual.
Selvara’s eyes widened, then narrowed as understanding dawned. “Oh… I get it,” she muttered. Nigrufumi was clearly intelligent enough to adapt his tactics if Weylan outright communicated their plan. Selvara kept her thoughts to herself, flitting higher. Weylan meanwhile increased the pace of his attacks seemingly trying to get at the pipes at the back of the boss, keeping him spinning and his attention on him.
Above, Selvara studied the two red circles painted on Nigrufumi’s front armor. Her sharp eyes traced the network of tubes and potion feeds leading to them. “Time to get risky,” she whispered. The only way to hit the weak points was to fly directly into the danger zone between the boss’s massive, whirling arms. A single blow would turn her to pulp. Even a glancing strike from the lightning-charged hammer could end her instantly. Lightning magic could penetrate metal armor, so this was probably meant to be used against heavy armored delvers, while the flame jet would be used against more nimble enemies. She readied her next attack, knowing she’d have to time it perfectly.
Selvara took a steadying breath and dove, wings folded tight. She streaked toward the boss like a falling comet, aiming for the red-marked target on his chest. The Smogsmith hesitated for a split second, startled by the sudden attack. Selvara used the moment to grab a ridge of his neck armor with one hand, arresting her fall. Her other hand slammed against the painted target, and she unleashed Shock Grip.
Nigrufumi’s hulking frame spasmed violently as arcs of electricity coursed through him. Hidden tubes beneath the armor ruptured, and an orange potion sprayed from every seam and crack in the exoskeleton. The Smogsmith roared, the sound distorted by the mechanical growl of his suit. His hammer came down in a wild, retaliatory swing aimed at the tiny fairy clinging to him.
Selvara let go with her hand, dropped and opened her wings. “That did something!” she shouted, banking away to avoid the retaliatory strike.
The hammer hit the spot she’d just vacated and discharged a crackling arc of lightning straight into the boss’s own chest. The orange potion ignited, and flames burst from dozens of openings in the exoskeleton, bathing the chamber in fiery light. Nigrufumi dropped to one knee, his hammer clattering to the floor as he fumbled at a valve near his shoulder in a desperate attempt to shut off the flow of flammable liquid.
The moment the flames subsided; Weylan saw his opportunity. Without hesitation, he sprinted forward, leaping onto the boss’s lowered knee and scaling the exoskeleton like a ladder. The burning heat radiating from the metal made his hands and boots sear with pain, but he pressed on. Reaching the network of tubes at the boss’s back, he planted his feet firmly and drove his Sword-Staff into the central cluster with all his strength.
The blade pierced the armor, slicing through the thick, tangled tubes. A cacophony of hissing, bubbling, and sparking erupted as the potions mixed uncontrollably. The exoskeleton convulsed, and with a deafening boom, a surge of magical energy exploded outward, throwing Weylan across the chamber. He landed hard, rolling to a stop against the wall.
The room shook violently. Nigrufumi reflexively stood, his suit spewing smoke and sparks, before collapsing to his knees once more. With an earth-shaking crash, he fell face-first to the ground, motionless.
The chamber fell silent, save for the hiss of escaping steam. Weylan groaned, dragging himself to his feet. Selvara landed beside him, her wings drooping with exhaustion.
The both stared at the fallen boss. Waiting for the victory notification.
Selvara jumped when a deep voice started singing in Old Cathurian…
Then she paused, and turned to her teammate: “Weylan! That’s not funny!”
The song ended in a chuckle. “Sorry. Couldn’t help myself.”
“Also, your pronunciation is just awful.”
Weylan looked back at the boss. “Well? Where’s the victory notification? Do you think there’s a second phase?”
Selvara froze as the giant dwarf’s body twitched. His hands clawed at the floor, trying to lift himself up. A shower of glowing potions sprayed from his back, the liquids hissing as they struck the ground. Inside the exoskeleton, a series of rapid explosions erupted, rocking the frame. Nigrufumi spasmed one last time before crashing back down.
Enemy defeated: “Nigrufumi” Alchemical-Dwarf Smogsmith, Level 12
Bonus XP for defeating an enemy of significantly higher level.
Weylan realized he’d already been back in fighting position and slowly sat back down. Weylan exhaled and dropped back onto the floor, exhaustion overtaking him. “Finally.”
A burst of flashing light lit the chamber as a portal opened, and Galadressa shot through, crashing into Selvara in an exuberant hug. The dungeon fairy wept and laughed in relief, holding Selvara as if she’d never let go. “You did it! You actually did it!”
When she finally calmed, Galadressa released her grip, hovering above the floor. “Trevisanus and I were terrified the second phase would activate,” she explained breathlessly. “If it had, Nigrufumi’s body would’ve flooded with potions, making him almost invulnerable for a few crucial moments. The resuscitation potion would have kept him alive long enough to heal completely. Well, there’s a time limit since he dies again after the potion’s effects run out, but it was often long enough for him to completely wipe out whole parties. Cutting the internal tubes was genius. It forced the potions to mix into useless sludge.”
Weylan, still sprawled on the ground, groaned. “Glad we could impress. Now can we please get to a room with fewer things trying to kill us?”