Chapter 49

Forest

"Hey, Ayre," I ask the thought that's been iggling about in my brain as the carriage rolls along, "during the whole coffee fiasco, Zeiya mentioned dungeon drops. Is that really a thing? How does it work?"

Ayre's ears flop down and do this sort of vibrating motion as the elf's bottom lip juts out. "Why do you always ask the tough questions?"

I, in reply, beam a gigawatt smile across the cabin. "Because I don't know any better!"

"Can you at least not act so proud of it?" Ayre sighs, then straightens back up. "Yeah, they happen. They're kind of rare, though, and I don't really know how it all works, exactly. The gist as I understand it is that, sometimes, some aspect of the defenses of a dungeon are denser in mana than others. Dense enough that they survive the destruction of the creature to exist independently."

"And dense enough that it can be removed from the dungeon and used?" I surmise.

Ayre nods. "Exactly. Don't get your hopes up, though. It's usually things like a tooth or a strip of hide. It takes an insane amount of luck for something like a whole weapon to survive. More commonly, our profit is going to come from unique plants or minerals that only form inside of the dungeon environment."

"Oh, Zeiya mentioned those, too," I recall as I tap my cheek in thought. "She assumed the beans were either drops or that we found a coffee plant inside of a dungeon."

Again, Ayre nods. "And she rejected it, too, because they were called Essence Arabica. It's possible for such a thing to happen, though. In fact, I've got a list of known herbs and fruits from this dungeon to bring back with us."

At that, I wrinkle my nose. "I don't want to go to my first dungeon just to complete more Wood missions!"

My friend giggles at my objection. "Well, the pay's way better than the Wood ranks, and are you forgetting that you have a collection ability now? You'll be able to know what's around us and just grab it up!"

My scowl shifts into a more thoughtful frown. "Yeah, I guess that won't be so bad, since we're there anyway. What kind of stuff is on that list?"

Ayre spends the rest of the trip going over the list with me and making sure I have a good idea of what we're looking out for.

Eventually, the forest grows too thick for the carriage and we disembark. I pay the coachman we hired to drive us out here. Apparently, the nearest check-in station to Dabun has an entire route taking people out this way and back. It's not run regularly, or there would be no need for us to come out here, but it's clearly common enough for the route to be known.

We could have just rented one of their wagons, too, and they even have offers for supply kits. When they heard all we needed was the driver, they assumed we were independently prepared. They weren't wrong, but the coachman sure had second thoughts when he found out he was driving a carriage that looks like it belongs to a noble instead of a supply wagon.

Still, he'll keep it and the horse in good company while we're in the dungeon. The coachmen for this run are all at least level 30, so he'll be able to fend off bandits and beasts alike to protect our supplies ... though the ones we left are mostly for him.

And if we aren't out in three days, it's his job to go back and report that we've gone missing.

Ayre and I bid him good camping and leave the last clearing behind.

We're walking for quite a distance through thick underbrush that seems like no one's ever been through this way before. This doesn't seem like a path to a known dungeon. And for someone who claimed someone else needed to do the tracking, Ayre always seems to have a firm sense of where he's going.

Doubly so now that he actually has Wilderness Survival.

I finally give in and ask. "So how long before we actually get to the dungeon?"

Ayre giggles, ears wiggling in amusement. "We've been in the dungeon for a while! Didn't you notice?"

I frown, trying to recall any moment of transition. "Depends. How long is a while?"

The elf frowns, too, for the same reason of thought. "Half an hour, maybe? Right about the time we stopped hearing wildlife."

I nod. "Come to think of it, I have been noticing a weird lack of birdsong. Is the whole dungeon like this? I kind of expected some kind of System notice."

"Oh, there is one," Ayre confirms. "I may have misspoke a bit when I said we're in the dungeon. It's more accurate to say that we're within its domain. Each dungeon exercises influence a distance beyond its own borders. You can think of it like the entrance hall."

"This domain, is that the territory it'll grow into if we don't cull it?"

"Exactly."

I cast my gaze around us. "All I see is trees and underbrush in every direction. How do we find the actual dungeon, then?"

"Ah, that's actually the first trial. This particular dungeon tries to confuse people who enter its domain. If you get too far off track, you end up back where you came in, but if you keep walking straight forward, you reach the dungeon."

"Huh, so we're literally in the Lost Woods," I muse.

I prop my arms up behind my head as we walk, and a grin steals over my face. "Though, you know, it's a proven fact that people don't walk as straight as they think they do without environmental reference points. One test had someone thinking they were walking in a straight line, and they were actually doing full loops in a gradual drift away from their dominant side. How do you know we're not heading right back to the carriage right now?"

Ayre frowns in annoyance at my attempts to psych him out. "Because I have an excellent sense of direction. Also, the mist closes in if you get too far off course."

"Definitely the Lost Woods."

Ignoring my meaningless prattle, Ayre glances back to me with a different topic. "Speaking of the carriage, that was the smoothest I've ever ridden in. And that wasn't just because it was a noble-grade carriage, was it? Was that your doing, too?"

I shrug. "What can I say? I was stuck in that thing for two weeks straight. I had to do something, if only for the sake of my ass."

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

Ayre giggles again at my comment, then points toward an approaching cliff side. "Oh, look, we've arrived!"

The undergrowth clears out in front of the cliff face, and a looming cave entrance rises before us.

"Eh," I cross my arms dismissively, "impressive, but the build-up doesn't match the pay-off, and I'm knocking points off for a lack of originality. Six out of ten."

In stages, as if waiting for me to recant, Ayre glares at me, unhooks her bow, takes it in both hands, and finally whacks me over the head with it.

I ignore the five points of damage as my just desserts. Instead, I reach up with one hand to rub where the bow struck me as I grin back at her with my tongue poking out of my mouth.

As we approach the cave mouth, a system pop-up appears in my vision.

----------------------------------------

You are entering "Forest Cavern Dungeon"

Arcana Level: Very High

Point Multiplier: 200%

WARNING: This site is contaminated.

Contamination Level: Minor

Risk of Contamination: Low

Contamination levels may rise or spread

suddenly and without warning.

Please contact the nearest Purification

specialist.

----------------------------------------

I look to Ayre with concern. "Are you seeing this?"

The elf nods. "More corruption, maybe? But it still seems really low." I watch those green eyes dart to a different part of the empty air in front of them. "The arcana level is way too high, though. It should be nearly ready to expand, and the guild never lets a dungeon get that high."

I've found that I have an instinctive knowledge of the state of my firearm ever since I recovered it. I know at this very moment that it is fully loaded and that the safety is on, but no round is in the chamber without even having to remember how I left it.

So without looking at it, I pull it from its holster, flip the safety off and pull the slide to chamber the first round. "Well, I'm glad we did that Iron mission first now. We know what we're getting into."

And I step across the threshold into the dungeon proper, Ayre close behind me with bow in hand. The dungeon asked for a Purification specialist, and I've already got one of those jobs under my belt.

The initial tunnel angles downwards, the ground broken up by three or four foot drops before continuing on in what feels like a slow loop. The result is that the bottom of this "stairwell," as I'm coming to think of it, is never quite in sight until the last bend.

Ayre and I think little of hopping down the short jumps, our path illuminated by glowing crystals sprouting from the walls like clusters of little torches. I wouldn't call it well-lit, but our eyes quickly adjust with clarity.

The base of the tunnel opens up into a huge cavern a dozen feet tall. More of those crystal formations provide light here, too, looking like pearlescent quartz. Some of the growths around the edge of the room are nearly the size of cars.

"Whoa," I intone, in awe at the display the dungeon is putting on for us. "It's beautiful ..."

Ayre is similarly enamored. "Are they crystallized mana?"

"Can we take some with us?"

But Ayre shakes his head. "A dungeon's walls are sacrosanct. No known force can break them. Otherwise, a borer would be on every dungeon team. I'm sure the crystals are considered fixtures of their walls."

"Aw man, I wanted arcanite earrings ..." A flicker of light catches my attention in the corner of my eye, and I turn in time to catch another, then another. I point them out with a childlike glee. "Ayre, look! Will-o-wisps!"

I'm still watching their light reflect off of the crystals as Ayre comes up next to me. "Why do you know what will-o-wisps are?"

I reluctantly turn away to frown at her. "Why wouldn't I? We have will-o-wisps!"

But that just confuses Ayre more. "You said you don't have any monsters!"

That makes me laugh. "Ayre, will-o-wisps aren't monsters! They're just lambent condensations of--"

One of the wisps pass near me for a moment, and as I look, it transforms into a ghostly mirage of a beautiful elven woman that seems to be begging me for help. I blink, and the figure is gone, the orb bobbing away as if nothing transpired.

"--methane. Okay, nevermind. Your wisps are different. What are we dealing with?"

"Will-o-wisps lure their victims into danger by posing as torch lights or as spirits in need," she provides, and I nod. That all fits, at least. "Refuse them, and if they grow angry, they resort to low-level fire magic."

"So are they undead, or are they just illusions or something?"

"They're a type of undead, just not what they--"

That's all I need to know. I'm already swapping to my new holy rounds. Well, new in that I haven't used them yet. I guess I technically bought them a month ago.

Ayre's explanation is interrupted by a staccato of explosions that rebound off of the cavern walls and hammer back into his delicate ears, driving him to cower and wince as he clamps his hands over them.

I let my body roll in the blasts like the bass drum of a concert and continue to turn and fire, each shot piercing another sphere as more and more pour out. The report pauses only when I must reload, and I'm down to my last few rounds of holy ammunition before they cease.

The rolling thunder filling the room takes nearly another minute to fade, which I spend ordering more of those bullets. I don't get the impression wisps are particularly tough, but if that's a theme of this dungeon, it can't hurt to have a stockpile.

By the time it's quiet again, I'm tucking the last bit into my belt pockets. "There, that wasn't so bad," I chime cheerfully.

Ayre, meanwhile, lunges to his feet to scream, quite squealingly, back at me.

"STOP DOING THAT!!!"