A faint echo of rhythmic footsteps travelled across the dungeon as a lone goblin scurried at a steady pace.

Defend the dungeon.

Slay the intruders.

Familiar commandments continued to ring out in Marcel’s mind. But now that he chose to obey the call of the dungeon, the invisible pressure that was weighing on his mind these past few days had finally relented and he welcomed the relief.

His feet easily navigated the maze of intersecting corridors.

It was the first time that Marcel was able to really study the dungeon from a human perspective.

The main thing that he noticed was the everpresent will of the dungeon, secretly guiding him every step of the way.

The sensation was uncanny. While the call to protect the dungeon couldn’t have been more conspicuous - the words literally rang out in his head - the influence of its will was almost imperceptible.

Marcel would have never noticed it if not for his increased intelligence. And even that alone probably wouldn’t have sufficed.

It was like trying to listen for a sound that always remained hidden in the background. If not for his memories of the time when there wasn’t an outside force subtly influencing his every move, he would never have detected it.

But just being aware of the phenomenon wasn't enough to counteract it. Switching to his human perspective lessened the influence of the will, but it also left Marcel with no protection against the instinctive fear that these dark walls instilled in him.

Moreover, it made him feel a sense of rejection.

It was as if the dungeon disliked being looked at.

Marcel couldn’t shake the feeling that if he didn’t avert his eyes, the dungeon would somehow recognize him. Mark him. And the next time Marcel crossed a long shadow, there wouldn’t be anyone stepping out on the other side.

He tried to push such thoughts away, but it was no use.

Abruptly, Marcel came to a stop. His face was only inches away from slamming into a wall.

A dead end…

He stood frozen in place, too frightened to turn around. His breathing came out in shallow gasps. A dreadful thought took root in his mind. The dungeon knew. And even if he turned back now, he'd find the corridor through which he entered blocked off. He was completely entombed, his only choice to await the arrival of his kin, coming to destroy the intruder...

In such moments, Marcel didn’t have any other choice than to let him take over.

The sense of rejection evaporated. His breathing resumed its steady rhythm as Marcel turned back and carried on with his patrol, instinctively finding his way within the labyrinth.

There wasn't any need to expend energy trying to memorize the baffling layout of the corridors. All that was required of Marcel was to let the will of the dungeon patiently guide him to his destination.

He could sense the members of his team, but they were a good distance away.

But there was someone in the vicinity. Two entities. And they were getting perilously close to the core area of the dungeon.

Fulfill your purpose.

Defend the dungeon.

Kill the intruders.

Defend me.

The will of the dungeon descended on Marcel with terrifying force. It was no longer like a gentle stream, imperceptibly pushing apart fine grains of sand. It came down on him like a roaring river, flooding Marcel’s conscience with the full might of its wrath and indignance.

Marcel sped up.

***

The two intruders were markedly different from the pair he had encountered before.

For one, they didn’t carry a torch. But even in complete darkness, they didn’t seem to have any difficulty navigating the corridors. They walked at a steady albeit unhurried pace.

The older man walked in front and seemed to be explaining something to the teen following him. Marcel’s ears pricked up, but unfortunately he couldn’t recognize any of the words. The language they spoke in wasn't one his teachers had taught him.

The will of the dungeon seemed indignant at his momentary lapse in attention. It increased the pressure mounted on him, urging Marcel to immediately attack the trespassers.

Using the noise of their conversation to hide his footsteps, Marcel slowly advanced towards his target.

***

“Well then, Alex,” the man asked. “Do you know what you have done wrong?”

“Yes, mister Carter,” the teen answered. “I became too focused on the two goblins in front of me, and didn't realise when another one had circled around to attack me from behind."

"Mhmm," the man grunted in agreement. "So what is it that you lack most of all?"

The teen fell silent. His face was scrunched in a deep frown as he seriously pondered the question.

“I think it’s awareness, mister Carter,” the boy finally answered. “Numerically, I was at a disadvantage, but with the reach of my sword, I should've been able control the flow of the battle.”

“Right,” the man agreed. “Awareness is crucial. And not just when you’re on the battlefield. I’ve personally known an adventurer who could boast conquering several high ranked dungeons. His team was nothing to scoff at either. Bastard was so full of himself that he even snubbed an invitation from a Marquise.”

“Do you know how he died?”

“No, mister Carter.”

“A serf drove a pitchfork through his back when he was busy ploughing the poor sod’s wife.”

A brief silence followed.

“Well, what does it teach you boy?”

“To always stay alert and never lose your awareness!”

The man didn’t reply. They walked in silence. Finally, he let out a long sigh.

“Alex,” the man said resignedly.

“Yes, mister Carter?”

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

“There’s been a goblin sneaking up on you for the past thirty seconds.“

The air whistled as the dagger darted towards the teen’s neck. But just as it was about to connect, the man, who looked like he was enjoying a lazy stroll through a park, moved. The sword jumped out of his sheath and deflected the dagger with such force that it flew to the side.

Marcel’s eyes widened in shock. He scrambled to pick up his weapon, already envisioning another swing coming down to slice his body in half. But the expected attack didn’t come.

The man remained where he stood, seemingly unconcerned with Marcel’s actions.

“Listen up, Alex,” he said in a flat tone. “Stay at least six feet away from me and don’t try to help under any circumstances.”

“Yes, mister Carter," the teen answered. But then, seemingly unable to stop himself, he argued, “I know you had to rescue me before, but that was three goblins at the same time! I’m sure I can manage a single one.”

“Alex, can’t you even see what almost killed you?”

A look of surprise flashed across the teen’s face.

“It has a knife!” The boy exclaimed. “So it’s a variant?”

"Correct," the man answered patiently. "And now that you know that, what else should come to your mind?"

"Variants…" the teen mused. "They often possess unique skills. Also, they only ever appear in groups--" as realization dawned in the boy’s eyes, his face revealed a trace of panic. He abruptly turned around and looked behind in fear.

“Took you long enough. But before you start running, there aren’t any other goblins in the vicinity."

“How come?”

"Who knows. Odds are, some poor bastard has managed to kill off its squad only to fail at the last step. Still, it makes it easier for us."

The man relaxed his stance, letting the tip of his sword slump towards the ground. It didn’t make Marcel any less vigilant. That sword made him think of a snake, ready to pounce at any moment.

The blade was short. It allowed the user to wield it freely even in the tight corridors of the dungeon. But its reach was still many times greater than that of a dagger.

Marcel wanted to run, but the call of the dungeon was overwhelming. It wouldn't allow him to retreat.

There was also another reason.

The way that man looked at him. The expression in his eyes was perfectly placid. It lacked even the revulsion Marcel saw in his nightmare. It was as if Marcel’s whole being didn’t merit recognition one would accord to a living being.

Don’t look at me like that.

Marcel narrowed his eyes and darted forward in a series of short steps.

The sword drew a quick arc in the air, cutting off his path.

Marcel gasped and jumped to the side.

“The reason why you panicked when faced with those three goblins,” the man said, lazily swinging his sword. “Is because you didn’t know your enemy.”

The sword moved again, rushing towards Marcel's torso with great speed. He took several steps back and looked with horror at the man in front of him. But the intruder didn’t continue his attack, seemingly more interested in whatever he was saying to the teen.

“Study the moves of that goblin, can you see a pattern?”

Marcel advanced again. He noticed that the intruder always left a tiny opening, it was barely enough to allow him to sneak past and close the distance.

The man took a step forward. The sword which was moving in a wide arc abruptly whirled, and before Marcel could retreat, its tip shot through his left arm.

“Dungeon bound creatures," the man continued, “are all limited to the same set of moves bestowed upon them by their dungeon. This rule doesn’t extend to the free roaming monsters, however, so don’t make that mistake.”

“Once you learn their patterns, there isn’t anything they can threaten you with. They will fall for the same feint, time and time again.

Another exchange took place. This time the sword pierced Marcel’s leg.

Marcel stared hatefully at the intruder.

“Can you see how easy it is? Take note that I’m not using any skills and restricted my strength to that of an unawakened human. That is why I always extoll on you the importance of knowing your enemy.”

The man continued his demonstration. Although Marcel couldn’t understand a word they were saying, he didn’t need to speak their language to sense the calm atmosphere. Even the teen had visibly relaxed. His eyes calmly studied Marcel’s reactions with a look of a diligent student examining a rare specimen.

[Empowered Thrust!]

Great power rose in his body. He only needed to block one attack. That would give him enough time to close the distance and sink his dagger into the man’s chest.

Sparks flew off as the two weapons collided. The force of impact had pushed Marcel a few steps back. His wounded leg flared in pain as it struggled to support his body.

“Hiding a skill after all, are we,” the man remarked merrily.

For the first time since the battle began, the intruder’s eyes revealed a trace of genuine emotion as he looked at Marcel.

It was greed.

Marcel stared back at the monster facing him.

Before, Marcel was forced to step back and let him take over. The call of the dungeon was too strong, and it was asking for its captain and not a ten years old boy.

There was also that placid look with which the man regarded him. It made Marcel instinctively shrink back and recoil. He didn't want to be looked at like that.

But now he recognized the expression on the man’s face. It wasn’t different from the looks he saw in the eyes of his kin when the scent of blood took away their reason.

It was a look with which a monster regarded its prey.

The beast didn’t notice the change in Marcel's aura. It was still as composed as ever. Keen to play with its prey a bit more, stabbing it here and there, until the toy finally broke, at which point it’d eat it up.

“The night darkens… the blade of light shall…” the small goblin muttered incoherently under his breath.

Marcel Deschain moved forward.

The man smiled and swung his sword in a familiar way.

Although his father had never agreed to hire him a fencing instructor, he did relent a bit after Marcel received a sword from his grandfather. The lessons he received were completely unstructured, but Marcel was free to pester his tutors for any tips they were willing to share.

This amounted to a haphazard hodgepodge of various training regiments and exercises, designed to sharpen his instincts and reactions, rather than impart any concrete knowledge. But it was enough.

Marcel saw through the feint. And when he discovered it, instead of backing down, he pushed forward.

The man was surprised, but reacted quickly. He instantly tightened the grip on his sword, using his inhuman strength to forcefully correct its path.

The blade came down with great force.

But it didn’t hit anything.

[Empowered Thrust!]

Marcel yelled in his mind as he heard the enemy’s blade slice the air inches away from his body.

The air whined. Marcel saw his dagger penetrate the leather clothing, sinking its tip into the man’s heart.

And stop halfway in.

The man dropped his sword and grabbed the hilt of the dagger with both fists, preventing it from reaching any deeper.

Pain contorted his face in a vicious snarl. He glared at Marcel with deep hatred in his eyes.

But Marcel didn’t look at the man’s face.

He let go of the dagger and used his claws to tear through the exposed artery in the man’s neck.

The wound burst open in a fountain of blood. Its scent quickly filled the air.

The man instinctively let go of the dagger. His hands moved to cover the open wound in his neck, futilely trying to stop the blood from gushing out.

As soon as he did so, Marcel pushed on the dagger with all the weight of his body, sinking its blade down to the hilt.

The man’s eyes widened in complete surprise. It was as if he still didn’t understand how he could end up in such a situation.

They collapsed to the ground.

Tears that Marcel had to hold back throughout the fight, finally burst free and flowed uncontrollably from his eyes.

He retrieved the dagger and raised it over the man’s face.

“MY NAME IS MARCEL DESCHAIN!”

He roared and stabbed down.

‘SON OF VERDGAR AND ANASIA FELBORN!”

The dagger came down again, raising a cloud of red droplets into the air. Marcel roared and sobbed. His tears mixed with the blood. He had utterly lost himself. All he wanted was to completely eradicate all traces of the monster which made him experience such anguish and despair.

[Level Up!]

[Level Up!]

[Level Up!]

Alex’s hand tightly gripped the hilt of his sword, but he realised that he couldn’t even draw it from its sheath. He stood completely petrified. His ears were filled with the insane howl of the maddened goblin. The creature kept stabbing his teacher’s body, tearing it limb from limb, until it transformed into an unrecognizable slab of meat.

Finally, the horror stopped.

The creature raised its head to look at him. Its whole body was covered in blood and viscera.

Alex’s vision started to swim. His knees buckled under him. He fell to the ground and watched helplessly as the monster slowly made its way towards him.

He could hear the harsh noise of its labored breathing. The goblin heaved for air like a man after a long run. Its eyes stared at him with barely constrained hunger.

The monster observed him for what seemed an eternity.

And then it asked, spitting out each word with great difficulty.

“Can..”

“..You..”

“..Understand me?”