Charles

former Blueflame noble

I was starting to think that maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to try to meet the intelligence behind this place. As my emotions cooled down and I had time to rethink my decisions a slow feeling of dread began to creep up my spine.

This thing, whatever it was, it ordered the dungeon monsters - because these were dungeon monsters, not some forgotten dwarven clan, and nobody would convince me otherwise - to exit their underground lair, and instead of butchering everyone present, sowing chaos and destruction… they… they were made to stand side by side with my troops.

Doing so designated it as an ally, a helping hand in these hard times - or so you would think. For me, the more important thing was that it did the unthinkable and my brain couldn’t stop creating insane scenarios in order to understand why. I was not so naive to think that its help was given freely without a price, from the kindness of one’s heart.

Maybe Captain Sohek was right, maybe we really had fallen so low that the only sensible option was to willingly perish and bury this place. What would we become? Was it wise to ally with a monster that brought forth other monsters? The sunken faces of the dungeon’s undead were a constant reminder of a possible future. But every time my thoughts wandered in this direction I thought about different words of the hypocritical vampire warrior - we do what is necessary to survive, no matter the cost. It was the Geinard Kingdom’s motto, burned in our minds, sculpted on our armor and shields. Turning into undead and using corpses of the fallen was somehow fine, but “consorting” with demihumans was not?

Hogwash.

Not to mention I had more at stake than mere morality. Even now Agnes, my light in the darkness, languished under the devouring curse made by the Kingdom’s greatest ally, Green Succubus - or Green Lady if one was more charitable. It was but another monster, this time in the guise of a beautiful woman. She, who devoured men as sustenance, enforcing the law in the darkest and dirtiest corners of the both noble and commoner worlds. The one who broke and bent minds as one would straw, weaving them into new forms.

I wasn’t allowed to fail against her. The consequences would be unimaginable, both for me and every living being in my demesne. I swore an oath the day Agnes was brought here, her power shattered and her face marred by the viridian curse. She was so defenseless, so quiet, so still - unlike… ever.

It was a foolish thing, my oath. Not one of my servants noticed the strings of mana encircling my soul. I would rather watch the world burn than leave her to die. To be devoured and spit out like a spent fruit.

And for that I needed power. Allies. Even blasphemous ones.

I was tired. I recognized this - the feeling of entrapment, of being cornered by the people and monsters beyond my imagination, where one wrong step meant inevitable demise. The hordes and the wild undead from the North. The Geinard Kingdom and its new undead force from the South. The Lunarian lunatics with their burning lights awaited us in the East, sure of their success along with the Dross Republic curled up like a half-dead spider and twice as venomous. And to top it all the scheming dungeon underneath us slowly extends its influence into our lives…

I scowled.

The cornered rat is the most dangerous. I was going to teach my opponents that truth.

My thoughts returned to the present, the rumination of despair quietened down with pure willpower… Still, there was something else, something that was making me nervous. It was long proven that the dungeon cores were no more sentient than a lion was but that didn’t stop them from being an insatiable, cunning swarm of locusts when it came to building their halls ever deeper and deeper. And of course, defending them. They were machines designed to infinitely devour our sweat, blood, and tears in exchange for generating items and materials, sometimes literally out of this world. Tools of survival crafted for their worshippers by the very gods themselves. Why this one was different?

But then, it hit me.

The Lunarian half-elves did say why, didn’t they? When they attempted to shatter its core. When they apparently “succeeded”. How the magical rock at the heart of the matter was not only remaking the technology of the ancients but also improving on it, integrating the found abilities and properties in existing designs or even creating new horrors from scratch.

I think they called it a transformative quality. That, and they also spoke of the highest - third - level of such ability? Master Vincent also mentioned something about their history with a similar dungeon being a source of bloodshed and near annihilation of the Luna Kingdom. Gah… I really needed to brush up on this knowledge… well, as soon as we leave. It wouldn’t be wise to confer about anything important in the earshot of the core.

Not that surface was safe, now that I think about it. The dungeon’s forces surged out much too quickly for that to be a coincidence. There was too much of a dramatic flair for that to happen naturally. That meant their leader had some means of spying on us surface dwellers. Great. Another thing to worry about.

There was something else too, something about a war machine? A paragon of the old era used to plan the ancient empire’s expansions? Gods damn it, I don’t remember!

Thankfully it wasn’t that important. At least I knew that behind the dungeon’s growth stood a clearly intelligent and probably malicious thing. Why? No sane being sits in a prison made of crystal for years, decades, or even millennia and comes out of that ordeal unscathed.

I was still on the first floor, being guided by a kobold and something that looked and smelled like a dwarf but most certainly wasn’t one when a runner from the surface caught up to us with more news and a need for orders. The poor fool nearly had been blasted by Master Vincent's magic. The helmeted mage forced his attendance (not that I regretted the presence of additional firepower during negotiations) after loudly demanding to be present on “this one-of-a-kind occasion”. He nearly bawled with relief when I allowed him to accompany me. At least his acolytes were forced to keep up with their duties during his absence. This should integrate them with Silver Oasis even more.

The second additional person attending this delve was Adam, my gray-haired butler. I was surprised when a supposedly harmless servant unsheathed some kind of a thin rapier from his cane, before eyeing the incoming man with suspicion.

“Master Charles! Master Charles!” The runner yelled.

“At ease, soldier. What is the problem?”

“C-captain Duree reports that the undead are n-not fighting back. A-a-as an organized force, I mean. They still defend themselves when attacked and that thrice-cursed drummer is getting on everyone's nerves. Sir.” The soldier gulped nervously. He didn’t look even sixteen years old, with a face more pitiful than menacing, with his hair cut short, and his smooth face slick with sweat. The boy’s eyes were wide open, his posture eager as he awaited my next words.

Captain Molan, always the soft one, must’ve sent him here to spare the young one from fighting. It wouldn’t work, not in the long run, not in the situation we’re in, but he’ll try anyway. That was just the kind of fool he was.

“Order the men to step back then, and tell the good Captain to nominate those with rare classes or useful skills to fight with them one by one. To the death of course, but provide them with a safety net.” I scratched my chin. There was something else I was forgetting… ah, yes! “And ask the mages to gather the ashes of that vampire. I don’t know what legends about the creatures are true but I’m not risking his resurrection because some doofus douses them in blood.”

“It shouldn’t be a concern.” Master Vincent interrupted and I breathed out with relief, then turned to hear out his opinion. “This type of ability was only found in high-level vampires and not the poor imitation the Shieldstar mooks sent.” He grinned viciously. “I would still recommend securing the remains, though. They’ve some worth as experimental material.”

The mage then moved his attention onto the nervous runner. “And I would be very disappointed if the ashes were suddenly diminished because someone had a bright idea to consume them to gain immortality or other such nonsense.”

“Would that even work?”

“Nobody who tried managed to survive, but truly? Who knows. The deaths were on the more gruesome side of the scale though, at least from what I’ve heard. Maybe it was a question of a level? More experience usually equals more robustness.” The rest of the murmurs were hard to understand but it seemed like Master Vincent started to consider recreating some of the experiments, now that he had materials at hand.

I should scoff at such notions, the noble pride winning over any potential gains, but we do what we can to survive.

“I see. You heard our wizard friend. Make sure that they recover the ashes and keep them in a sealed container. If they’re as dangerous as described I wouldn't want anyone to ingest them accidentally.”

“Yes, sir!” The suddenly paler boy saluted and instantly ran out of the room.

I sighed, thankful that the dungeon lowered its defenses, at least for a moment. And that it had enough subtlety to differentiate a runner from an invasion. My guides turned around and I nodded in response.

“Please continue and sorry for the delay.” I said politely. These were bonafide monsters after all. I didn’t want to get my face eaten because of a perceived slight.

“Of courssse. Pleassse, follow usss.” The kobold hissed out with a small bow, its mechanized armor filling the air with fumes and metallic sounds. The armored being next to him also nodded slightly and moved to the end of our little procession.

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“The firssst floor ssshould be perfectly recognizable to your forcesss, ssso we will ssskip the presssentation.” The monster continued. “The only room of note containsss the Golem-Sssmith, which you are well acquainted with.”

“Understood.”

“There will be one unexpected ssstop, however.” I stiffened. The word unexpected was never a good thing in a dungeon, guide or not. Thankfully the surprise seemed of a positive variety. “A great persssonage will lead you further down, once we dessscend to the sssecond floor.”

We wandered for a few minutes, familiar sights and sounds surrounding us. The first floor was still firmly under our control, with the frequently used training room and the mentioned earlier smithing golem, producing a variety of gear and providing heaps of experience for troops and non-combatants. I should probably even take some of the sentries off duty and allow a few of the lower-level monsters to respawn. They were mostly harmless and the additional experience would be helpful, not to mention some of the spawns were actually edible.

As a bonus, maybe a few more people similar to the runner from before would have a better chance at survival. Gods know we all need it.

Then a thought struck me.

I was laughing at that softie Molan a moment before, and now I was doing the same thing.

Pweh. So what? I never claimed consistency.

We arrived at the Floor Guardian’s arena located near the entrance to the second floor and I noticed the monstrous golem made from part flesh, part metal was simply staring at me with its empty eyes. It was good that we weren’t expected to fight our way through the levels.

While the core defender allowed our passing, I would still need to order or lead a party to purge it, and then post some sentries inside the room, so it doesn’t respawn. Any threat to my forces must be mercilessly eliminated, and if the monster got loose, with all of the civilians scattered on the first floor… I didn’t want to even entertain that thought.

After slipping by the lone monster we entered the second level and slowly trudged towards the lake contained in the middle of the central room. Our guides stopped, so we did the same, waiting for something unspecified.

Our patience was rewarded a few minutes later when the calm surface of the lake broke, and from the depths emerged an armored figure, calmly walking to the shore.

“Thank you for waiting, dear guests. Sergeant, I will take it from here.” It rumbled amiably, and the kobold leading us bowed deeply in response. “You are not needed anymore, too, creation. Return to your people.” The small dwarf-like monster straightened its back before tilting its head like it was listening to some silent orders. Then it also nodded and turned back the way we came before disappearing into the darkness.

Its measured steps echoed in the room for a long while, even as our new guide started speaking.

“We meet again, young Charles.” The deep voice sent vibrations up my spine. “It is a joyous occasion that we’re not trying to kill each other, right?” There was mirth in the otherwise solemn tone.

“I am sorry, but I don’t recall meeting a knight like you. Not to mention one in the service of the dungeon.” I probed hesitantly.

“Haha. My form was different then. Unlike before, when I was chained to the place where my madness was contained, now I walk free to defend my Lord’s demesne, true to my name.”

“I am Guardian, the reclaimed soul and one of the first vassals of these hallowed halls.”

“Once I was called Daniel Waltzer, but that name is no more. Only the Guardian remains.” The armored knight bowed subtly.

My mind was swarmed with thoughts as I stared at a living legend. While I didn’t recognize the name, the surname it described itself with… oh, the surname was known to even the foulest beggar in the Geinard Kingdom. An Immortal Blademaster, who died as he lived, defending humanity. A high-level warrior, that fought off the invasions of both dead and living alike for years, stabilizing the defensive line of the Kingdom.

This confirmed two things.

First, the dungeon was at least a few hundred years old, since the Waltzer line went extinct at least that far in the past. It probably shut down when no challengers arrived, only now rebuilding the place.

Second, it was unknown what magic was used to keep the Guardian alive all these years, but it was clearly still working. That meant the level of knowledge about the human body the dungeon it served possessed should be truly monstrous.

Agnes had a chance then. Even if she were to be chained to the walls for decades like the knight was.

I was ready for that sacrifice to keep my love alive.

“It’s nice to meet you.” I answered the dungeon’s slave while keeping my smile polite but not servile. “The Waltzers are revered in the Kingdom as true heroes. It’s great to meet one who carries their blood.”

While I exchanged pleasantries both of my aides were still reeling from shock. They reacted differently but neither managed to keep their calm. While Adam simply stood there, his hands trembling near the handle of his rapier, Master Vincent was instead busy glaring at the Guardian’s armor with a look of intense desire.

“It is a curious thing, young Charles.” The ancient one spoke in a cold tone. I trembled. Something was wrong. “Especially curious is how we’re revered since the Waltzer Castle and my father both fell to betrayal from within. The people who he protected stabbed him in the back and now are using his long-dead body as a shield to hide from monsters.”

“Preposterous.” He snorted in contempt. “It seems like mortals really never change. My Lord was right. They are as shameless and forgetful as always.” The further angry diatribe seemed to be cut short, as the knight tilted his head, listening to something we weren’t privy to and then huffing in disappointment.

“No matter. Those responsible are probably already dead. Let’s continue.” The man turned, and strode forward, without looking back. We hurriedly followed, but there was but one thing that kept bouncing in my head.

What if the betrayers were the Green Succubus, Iron Hand, or my own ancestor Hekkan of Ash? What if they weren’t dead? Would he cut a bloody swathe through the Kingdom’s land to avenge his father?

Would he?

Before I noticed, we were in an unknown part of the dungeon. We entered a rather spacious room, where a bunch of undead kept interacting with a line of items deposited on some kind of moving floor. I failed to understand the purpose of this place.

The monsters ignored us, just like they did before, and we stood there, stumped beyond comprehension. Our guide emanated a feeling of calm pride which we didn’t want to disturb.

“What is the purpose of this room, Guardian?” I asked sheepishly.

He turned to look at me with incredulity. “Isn’t that obvious? It’s a factory! Or, if you want to be completely correct, a manufactorum.” He answered while spewing words I didn’t understand. Was it knowledge from his time, or maybe a rare design stolen from the ancient civilization? Factory? Manufactorum?

“What does it do, though?” It was Master Vincent who broke the silence, asking a question we all wanted to speak out.

The guide sighed in exasperation before explaining.

“It’s a production line focused on using many people - in this case, the tireless undead - to shorten and standardize the production of weapons, parts, or alchemical solutions. It’s an interchangeable platform of industrialization.” He spouted a bunch of words, half of them seeming like a babble. We respectfully listened to the rest of his explanation. ”The overall efficiency allows for an end product to be of the same quality, and more importantly, shortens the time needed for the creation of such items tremendously. It’s part of the industrial revolution!”

“But… why go to such lengths?” It was Adam who asked this question and had unknowingly drawn the Guardian’s heated gaze.

“What do you mean?” It answered angrily.

I coughed up before speaking up hoping to stop any argument before it began. “What my retainer was trying to say is… how such knowledge can be used?”

The armored figure tilted its head before answering. “How about weapon and armor production?”

Master Vincent strode closer to the dead and observed them for a few moments. “Most if not all of our arms and armor need to be made by accomplished smiths. It would be hard to achieve acceptable quality using this production line you speak of. These undead seem pretty clumsy.” He scratched his chin, wondering aloud. “Ah, I guess arrows or quarrels could be made in such a way, but still, it's of limited use.”

“Then how about mixing alchemical solutions? The speed, cheapness, and complete immunity to fumes or other dangerous substances would be an advantage, right?”

“Aren’t these mostly benefits of using the undead though? Would it be impossible to train a few of them to the higher level and order them to safely create potions, oils, and other alchemical goods?”

“Common items then? Chairs, pans, nails, doors, dry food, and similar creations?”

“Silver Oasis’ population is barely in a few hundred. We don’t need a manufactorum to produce them. Especially since it would need to change…”

“Retool!”

“Yes… retool their lines every time. Not to mention that people wouldn’t be keen on using undead-made items, even if you would give them out for free. Especially when talking about food.”

“I see.” The Guardian grumbled, before turning away. “It’s too bad, that you can’t see the chance this technology represents. I am not in the business of preaching though. My Lord should be better outspoken in this matter.”

“Let’s go to the next level, there should be something more interesting for you there.”

“And what would that be?”

“Food, of course.”

I smiled in response, before asking a question that burned brightly in my mind. A very uneasy question.

“About this factory of yours…”

“Yes?”

“What it is currently producing?”

“Lebir Exploders.”

“A what?”

“Lesser Exploding Abominations. The undead who die in a fiery explosion? I think your people had already encountered them.”

“Yes… yes, we did. And pray to tell, Guardian, how many of them you already produced in this manufactorum of yours?”

“A thousand or two.”

“A thou---!”

“They weren’t being used as fast as we were making them, so my Lord kinda distributed them here and there. Sadly, you can’t recognize His genius. Monsters making monsters. Revolutionary.”

“You mean…”

“Yes, they’re pretty much everywhere. Some are being used as mobile excavation devices, or even being borrowed on excursions. The Ratlings are fascinated with them.” He whispered the last sentence before returning to a full-strength voice.” The dungeon can always produce more bodies and more metal, it's just enough for this little factory to work wonders, no matter what the outsiders think.”

As he continued the descent, I followed the Guardian, while feeling a cold sweat gather on my back. I wanted to scream. My two companions weren’t in a better condition, their keen minds also understood the consequences of what was being said. Adam was hyperventilating, and Master Vincent walked slowly and cautiously like a stray step could end up in a disaster.

I take it back, this dungeon core was a maniac! There is no intelligence to be found, malicious or otherwise. Because, who, by Brighton’s sweaty balls, produces enough explosives to bury his own demesne ten times over?!