Chapter 67

Orion

Day 51 of First Landing

Population of Thornhill - 55

The dungeon's second floor was still and heavy with the silence that followed violence. I could see the trail that the previous dungeon party’s battle had left—gremlin bodies lay along the corridors. It led me to the altar room, where I found what remained of the orc.

At the entrance, the stone steps loomed, carpeted in discarded limbs and headless corpses of green gremlins. The orc sprawled halfway up, his massive body torn apart, his torso scorched black where the last strike had cut him in two. Arrows and bolts still protruded from his skin as if he were a cursed doll.

Looks like the group can finish this area easily now. They must have brought more Holders to level up their range combat.

With the scene secure, I turned my attention to a more practical task. I cleared a spot on the cold stone and roasted a piece of gremlin thigh. The shriveled morsel of flesh sizzled and popped over the flames, while I kept one eye at the doorway, on guard for any lurking threats.

As the gremlin meat browned, the scent filled the chamber with something close to warmth, yet unearthly, almost metallic. My knife hovered over it, and I pulled the first piece away, chewing as my gaze swept once more across the silent, death-filled hall.

Amber Nightstalker - Dungeon Gourmand Skill - F2

Passive: Grants increased vision in darkness.

Slot 2/6

It took real effort to get it down. I had to quiet the horror of eating something so humanoid, surrounded by the bodies of its kin. Eating rats was one thing... but eating these monsters was another. Still, the buff it granted reminded me—power had a price. A bit of my humanity chipped away.

A chunk of the shoulder of the orc would go next, the skin thick and tough to cut through. Again, I had to quell the horror that it resembled a human’s shoulder as I cut away a chunk of flesh.

If I cut it into a small enough piece, maybe it won’t resemble something that came out of an orc.

Horror filled me as I consumed the bite-sized morsel of tainted orc flesh. I felt a part of my soul recoil at consuming dungeon meat.

I have no choice.

Strike of Iron - Dungeon Gourmand Skill - F2

Active: You can deliver a smash with 200% of your strength.

200 Second Cooldown

Slot: 3/6

The orc leg was still a struggle to swallow, but somehow it went down easier than the rat meat. Whether it was my Rat’s Fortitude or something else, my gut still twisted, though the ache was more manageable.

Or maybe… my body was adjusting to eating tainted meat.

Testing my abilities felt like a good idea. Mastery over my card pulls had become second nature now; when I summoned a card, it moved through my palms as if it had always been there. I conjured Strike of Iron and slammed it into the nearest wall. Stone splintered and cracked, leaving a deep crater. Powerful, but it didn’t match my fighting style. Still, it was an ace worth keeping.

Ahead, the next floor awaited. No time to waste, no space for hesitation. The clock was ticking.

Two hours later, I stood before the Jester’s room. I bought a Token of Bravery—an emergency escape—and descended to the third level. I'd leave the rest of my coins for the dungeon crew later, so they could buy the armor the villagers needed for the impending raid.

The level was untouched. Crocodile beasts roamed the marshes, their hulking shadows stretched across pools of dark water. Using Stealth, I crept forward, crouching behind a rise and a patch of purple flowers. After a quick harvest of the blooms, I steadied myself. The nearest crocodile, oblivious, was mine.

I readied a Deadly Shot with one of my armor-piercing throwing knives, launching it at the crocodile’s eye. The blade found its mark, sinking deep into the left eye socket. With a hiss of pain, it came charging at me. I threw my second knife, an accuracy-buffed knife that blinded its other eye. As it flailed, I activated Strike of Iron, this time channeling it into my stiletto. I drove the blade deep, carving a circular wound the size of a basketball across its chest.

The crocodile staggered, then collapsed into the muddy swamp with a tremendous splash. I bent down to retrieve my knives, each one slick with blood.

Investigating the noise, two more crocodiles pushed into the clearing and rushed toward the mudbar where I was collecting loot. I pocketed the three jester coins the corpse had left behind, a brief temptation tugging at me to use the Token of Bravery. But I held back. I needed to prepare myself to handle more than one enemy at a time.

Retreating to let my cooldowns refresh, I launched a Deadly Shot at the right crocodile’s thigh, then threw a standard armor-piercer into the chest of the one on the left.

The crocodile on the left charged, claws swiping through the air in a furious arc. I raised my dagger and executed a Parry, deflecting the brutal attack. The creature staggered, stunned, and I seized the chance, driving my long knife into its neck with Strike of Iron.

I barely registered the rush of air behind me before the second crocodile lunged. Anticipating the strike, I dodged left, circling the body of the first crocodile to use it as a shield. The wounded beast thrashed, sandwiched between us, writhing under the blows. I found an opening and drove my daggers into the soft underbelly of the first while the second crocodile’s claws tore viciously into its back.

Finally, the first crocodile collapsed, its struggles ceasing as life drained from its hulking form. Without a moment to lose, I reached for an armor-piercing knife, aiming it at the remaining crocodile’s left knee. But as I prepared to throw, it lunged, snapping its massive jaws within inches of me. Guided purely by instinct, I dashed backward, narrowly evading its snapping jaws.

It pursued me relentlessly, each lumbering step closing the gap faster than I could have anticipated as the mud beneath me made the retreat arduous. My heartbeat thundered as I waited, every fiber of my being focused on letting the Deadly Shot cooldown finish. The knife lodged in its knee slowed its advance, yet it limped determinedly, forcing me to lead it further and further back.

At last, Deadly Shot came back up. I grabbed my last armor-piercing knife and launched it at the beast’s belly. The blade sank deep, and as the crocodile lumbered forward, thick purple tubes spilled from the wound, slapping against the mud. Breathing heavily, it lunged again, eyes wild with fury.

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Channeling Strike of Iron, I braced myself, slamming the skill into its jaw with a sickening crunch, leaving half its face dangling. Seizing the opening, I unleashed a flurry of thrusts with my long knife, piercing the vulnerable underbelly, each strike finding soft tissue beneath the scales.

With that, my Throwing Weapons skill leveled to 5, and my Path of the Dagger skill hit level 5 as well.

Once the battle ended and the two creatures lay vanquished at my feet, I turned my gaze to the task ahead. On the mudbar, I gathered dried brush and ignited it with my Ring of Ignition. Flames flickered in the darkness, casting shadows over the walls as I skewered a piece of the crocodile’s tail, dreading the taste of its purple flesh once more. It felt like a deal with the devil himself—every bite of dungeon meat, each rotted morsel, seemed to turn me into something demonic.

Crocodilian Healing - Dungeon Gourmand Skill - F3

Passive: Wounds and muscles mend swiftly, averse to infection.

Slot 4/6

My heart pounded, excitement mixing with the echo of battle. This skill was incredible, better than I could’ve hoped. The deeper I went, the stronger the monsters, and the stronger the abilities I earned.

Knives secured, I made my way to the first stone tower that sprung up through the swamps like lighthouses, knowing that one more creature awaited before the boss—the snake that guarded the chest. I pushed through the heavy doors and ascended the stone steps, entering a circular chamber. In the center sat a solitary wooden chest, half-hidden in shadow. With Amber Nightstalker active, I scanned the dark rafters above, catching the glint of leathery coils moving in the gloom.

Without hesitation, I hurled two accuracy-throwing knives into the snake’s body, unable to make out head from tail in the darkness. The creature hissed, blood splattering onto the stone floor as it descended from the rafters, coiling protectively around the chest.

The snake cocked its head back like a slingshot before lunging toward me at the top of the stairs. I rolled to the side, launching my counterattack as I sprang up. A Strike of Iron connected with my knife thrust, sinking the blade deep into the snake’s neck. But it thrashed, flinging me back against the wall, the impact forcing the air from my lungs.

Another strike came fast. I raised my arm to Parry, but I was a split-second too late. The creature’s fangs tore into the pemmican-buffed skin on my right arm, piercing through my skin—its jaws wide enough that one fang dug near my wrist, the other near my shoulder.

Its jaws clamped down hard, but I pommeled my free fists against its skull repeatedly, again and again. The blows rained down until the pressure on my arm finally loosened, and the snake’s head slumped to the ground.

Pain surged through my arm, the poison leaving dark trails under my skin. I dug out a potion and tincture from my bag, and quickly applied them. The pain eased, and, thanks to Crocodilian Healing, Rat’s Fortitude, and the elixirs, the puncture wounds sealed, and the dark veins of poison faded away.

I considered using the Token of Bravery to retreat but decided there was one more foe worth taking down. Inside the tower, I started a fire with splintered wood from the chest. As it crackled, I skewered a piece of snake meat over the flames, setting it to roast in the wok. Then I returned to the treasure chest, eager to claim the loot inside.

Ring of Refreshment - C

Sleep is more impactful and you require less of it

I slipped on the ring, feeling its weight settle around my finger. Ten fingers, two rings—so far. I turned back to the roasting snake flesh, steeling myself. Where once I’d been seized by revulsion, now there was a strange, gnawing anticipation. I took a piece of the charred, rotted meat and brought it to my mouth, the familiar dread replaced by a hungry eagerness. The flesh went down easily, each bite absorbed like fuel for the ever-darkening challenges ahead.

Viper’s Fangs - Dungeon Gourmand Skill - F3

Active - Coat a weapon with poison that causes damage over time

600 second cooldown

Slot 5/6

Two hours remained on my buffs—four had passed since I’d entered the dungeon. With only one boss left on this floor, I could face Floor 4 with the group tomorrow.

A debate ran through my head as I wondered if I should take on this boss alone. It was reckless—not something I'd normally do—but the hunger and urgency compelled me. Thornhill was running out of time, and I needed to do whatever I could to protect it.

In the final stone tower chamber beneath the stairway, the frog monster loomed—a grotesque shadow against the stone walls, filling the room with an oppressive, wet stench. I reached into my satchel, my fingers closing around two clay Molotovs. I ignited one, feeling its heat before launching it forward, watching flames ripple over the creature’s slime-slick skin. It recoiled with a croak, then lunged at me in a furious blur of webbed limbs. I sprinted toward the stairwell; the landing rattling the stones behind me.

As it closed in, I felt a familiar surge, activating Deadly Shot and Viper’s Fang in one swift motion. A knife spun toward its eye, embedding with a sickening squelch as black veins pulsed from the wound. I darted up the stairs, my heartbeat syncing with the heavy slaps of its movement just below.

Suddenly, its tongue lashed out like a whip, coiling around my ankle and jerking me downward. Heart racing, I ignited my second Molotov with the Ring of Ignition, sending it down onto the tongue. The creature croaked as flames devoured its grip on my leg. I resumed my climb, watching the poison veins course through the creature as I edged further away with each step.

Reaching the ground floor, I exited the tower and waited outside. Soon, the creature’s massive bulk squeezed through the stairway entrance, eyes settling on me in rage. It heaved, spitting venom toward me; I sidestepped just in time, the acidic sludge splattering on the doorway hinge, eating into the metal.

Too wide for the doorway, the frog could only watch as I flung a relentless barrage of throwing knives. When I was down to the last, Deadly Shot and Viper’s Fang came off cooldown. I hurled the last blade into the side of its head, striking deep as dark veins spread across its body. The creature convulsed, its tongue whipping sluggishly one last time before its heavy form collapsed.

Stepping over its lifeless body, I plunged my stiletto through its underbelly, piercing its heart. When it finally lay still, I cut a clean chunk from its leg, avoiding the darkened veins, and cooked it over a fresh fire.

Acid Spit - Dungeon Gourmand Skill - F3

Unleash a projectile of corrosive poison that can inflict damage on enemies.\

600 Second Cooldown

Slot 6/6

It was a powerful skill, one that struck fear into our party every time the creature used it. And now it was mine. Testing it on the dead frog's corpse, I summoned Acid Spit from my palms and activated it. A green orb emerged from the Void, floating above me like a volleyball before I directed it toward the frog’s head. Where it landed, it ate away the skull and purple matter, leaving a crater-like scar outlined in radioactive green.

After gathering all my knives and the jester coins, I descended to the final chamber to claim the last chest reward.

3rd Floor Solo Treasure Bonus

Unlockable on every third floor if cleared by a single person.

Satchel of Feather - B

A durable leather bag that can store more than it can seem. Items placed in it weigh nearly nothing.

Amulet of Durability - B

Armor and Weapons last longer if you wear this

Gloves of Thievery - B

Increased chance of pickpocketing without being noticed

I didn’t waste a second picking up the Satchel of Feather, a sturdy, lightweight pack trimmed with black crow feathers. It felt right, like a piece of armor for the journey ahead. I transferred Roza’s bag contents over, knowing I’d need both bags soon enough.

With my task complete, I moved beyond the boss’s room, descending to the next floor. My buffs had expired. Six hours vanished in the blink of an eye. I made a mental note to explore what powers the harpies or cyclops might hold—but that would wait for another day.

Emerging from the dungeon, I braced for the familiar post-battle exhaustion—the muscle fatigue, the heavy limbs that usually followed a long fight. But I felt steady as if my body had adapted, the pain now manageable. Darkness blanketed the village as I returned, broken only by the glow of fires and lantern light. Even during downtime, people were busy—sharpening spears, chipping flint for arrows—while others relaxed over board and card games. Gabriel set the mood, strumming a few quiet notes on his guitar and softly singing 500 Miles Away from Home as villagers gathered in a circle, listening and swaying.

Seeing what I had to protect and what I stood to lose, my heart hardened with resolve. There were no more doubts.

Tomorrow, I'd tackle the challenges on the fourth floor with the regular dungeon crew, and afterward, I'd need to do something completely reckless: ride out solo with Rudolph to meet the army. If there was one way to beat a stronger force with a smaller one—in this case, an army of one—it was guerilla warfare.