Chapter 69

Orion

Day 52 of First Landing

Population of Thornhill - 55

With my newfound strength and a new ring that boosted my energy, I was up earlier than usual—despite a late night spent hunting and prepping meat to leave in the smokehouse. By morning, I was ready to set out with Cass to hunt and gather a variety of game for a new type of pemmican I wanted to make. I didn’t bring up the whole Messiah to the human slaves topic with him. It was something I knew I was avoiding, but there’d been so much else on my plate lately.

Mom, I’m sorry. I probably can’t keep my promise much longer.

Two hours past dawn, the mess hall buzzed with tense energy as villagers filed in to review their assignments for the day. The council, the Holders, the crafters, and the dungeon party had all gathered, their faces clouded with worry. I scanned the room, feeling the weight of what I was about to suggest. There was no easy way to say it: I needed to leave. I’d go straight to the enemy, do whatever I could to wear them down, thin their numbers—anything to ensure they didn’t reach us at full strength.

Bianca broke the silence, her voice taut. "So soon? You just got back."

I let out a breath, feeling the fatigue creep in. "There's no time to waste. If I keep them off-balance, it'll give you all the time you need to be ready."

Bianca’s expression hardened, but she nodded. "All right. I'll make sure everyone knows. You have a blank check, Rye. You’ll have full access to supplies, whatever you need." She turned to the blacksmiths and Anika. "Make sure he’s equipped. The town will cover every cost."

"I need more clay Molotovs and rope," I replied, already running through the list in my head. "Anika, I need poisons and potions, thanks. And as for the blacksmiths. I need a bunch of new throwing knives. Rudolph needs new shoes and a stirrup. Saddlebags too."

Bart looked up, squinting and running a hand through his dark brown hair, styled in sharp, unruly spikes. "Shoes won’t be easy. Elk don’t have hooves like horses, you know."

Anika nodded thoughtfully. "I can make two vials of health potions, maybe. As for poison, I have hemlock and nightshade at hand."

“Sophie brought back a bunch of glass vials you can use,” I suggested.

"Where’s Sophie, by the way?" Ethan chimed in.

"She’s prepping to leave with Dasher," Bianca replied. Dasher was Astrid's second bull. Sophie’s usual mount, Olive, required rest. "She’s heading back to Kronfeldt. She said she'll bring back bolts, arrows, and ingots—maybe even a mercenary company if she can find one. She’ll be back before the raid."

They all nodded in silent understanding, bracing for what lay ahead.

I didn’t need to ask Bianca if Sophie would be careful with her instructions for the mercenaries, adding a confidentiality agreement to their contract. Sophie and I had already talked at length about her mission back to Kronfeldt on our way to Thornhill.

"Anything else, Rye?" Bianca asked, that concerned, compassionate look I came well to know, the one that made her a leader worth following.

"Some alcohol. For the Molotovs."

She nodded. "I’ll tell Father Gallagher. We have a stash in the warehouse—you can take what you need." She met my gaze, her voice gentling. "Rye, I understand why you’re going, but... we need you here."

"You don’t." I forced a smile. "You’ve got the defenses covered. While you set up, I’ll ensure the enemy shows up battered when they reach our walls."

They were doing great without me so far. They had Herman for military advice, strong Holders to dig trenches, builders to set up traps and siege weapons, and plenty of sharp minds around camp—not just Anika and Ethan—as well as enough hands to keep watch. I’d be more useful out there, picking off raiders one by one. Besides, I needed to keep an eye on James' back and stream the news back to Thornhill.

Bianca clapped her hands, shaking the room out of its spell. "We’ve got plenty to do, so let’s not waste time. I’ll see you all after the dungeon run. Stay safe."

The room’s air grew charged, ready. Bianca and Anika continued to talk to the rest of the villagers, assigning their daily tasks. The dungeon team—Alex, Bart, Cade, Sasha, and I—regrouped at last, prepared to take the waypoint to level four. I gave them twenty minutes to prepare for our trek to the Dungeon.

On my way to gather supplies, I stopped by the warehouse for two more clay Molotovs, saving the more useful wine bottles I purchased in Kronfeldt for later. A young woman in her mid-twenties sat at the desk, her almond eyes focused on a wooden figurine she was carving, a dolphin if I had to guess. It was a simple pastime, something most kids had started, though the adults had taken to it, too. It became something of a bragging right about who had the best figurine in camp.

"Oh, Orion. Bianca mentioned you’d be coming," she muttered, barely glancing up as if she was talking to someone on the phone, chipping away at her carving. "Take what you need."

"Two clay bombs, and fill them with the strongest alcohol you have. Uh—" I trailed off.

"It’s Liz," she said, her voice prickling with irritation. "And Molotovs? We don’t have anything like that."

"They’re clay balls, bomb-shaped, with an opening near the top. Just fill them halfway with your strongest brew."

Liz rolled her eyes and set down her figurine and obsidian knife with a weary sigh. She straightened her jet-black hair back, rose from her chair, and stretched her arms as if she’d been stuck in that spot far too long. Without a word, she wandered into the back room, where shelves and bins lined the walls, filled with finished products, tools, and supplies, each meticulously organized for quick access.

"Where’s the other guy—the bald, rich one?” I asked.

"’The bald rich one?’ That’s kinda rude, you mean Larry?” She grimaced and nudged up her glasses with her thumb. “He’s in quarantine.”

“Quarantine?” I raised an eyebrow.

“Yeah, over at the church. Got Covid,” Liz replied, finally grabbing a couple of round clay balls from a shelf. She carried them over to a barrel, filling them with a strong-smelling yellow liquid.

"How many others? Have Covid, I mean."

She shrugged. “Iunno. Like three or four?” She handed me the filled Molotovs, and I nodded my thanks before waving goodbye.

A COVID outbreak just before a raid. Not good, but… this gives me an idea.

The thought lingered as I packed my supplies and slung my bag over my shoulder. With the Molotovs, I rejoined the team. We moved out, the sense of purpose settling over us like an old rhythm. It felt good to be heading back into the dungeon together. No fresh faces this time—just our core group, honed with experience.

At the dungeon’s entrance, we gathered around to activate the waystone. Its faint light flickered over the iron doors, and with a touch, we chose our path: Floor 4. The doors groaned, opening into a world transformed. We found ourselves at the edge of a steep cliff, where a rock-strewn trail wound down into a maze of canyons. Towering walls forked and twisted, vanishing into the dusty distance. Dark shrubs clung to the mesa tops, where harpies circled in patrol. Ahead, in a pale haze, an ancient wooden bridge spanned between two plateaus, one that led to the stairways that descended to Floor 5.

As we made our way to the gorge, the others dove into detailed talk about the girls of Thornhill—a conversation I only half-listened to, my mind fixed entirely on the mission ahead.

“No way, it has to be Aaliyah!” Sasha said, flashing a wide grin.

“I dunno… Aaliyah’s pretty sure,” Alex mused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “But Bianca? C’mon, there’s something about redheads…”

Bart threw his head back and laughed, slapping his thigh. “Ha! Look at Cade over there, trying not to say a word ’cause he totally thinks it’s Sasha.”

Cade fumbled with his helmet’s visor, his hands unsteady. "I—uh..." He looked away, coughing awkwardly. "I mean... maybe... Sophie?"

“Sophie doesn’t count!” Sasha shot back, wagging a finger at him. “That’s cheating. Sophie’s off-limits for this.”

Bart came back from the left flank, leaning into me close with a glint in his eyes. “Well, Cap, what about you? Who do you think’s the hottest girl in Thornhill?”

I rolled my eyes, glancing back at the cliffs. “Seriously, you guys think this is a good time for that conversation?”

“Oh no, Bart, you’ve barked up the wrong tree,” Sasha snickered. “The only thing underneath Orion’s pants is another knife.”

The whole group burst into laughter, the sound bouncing off the canyon walls, while I shook my head, trying to stay focused. Somehow, my face flushed, and succumbing to the peer pressure of their teasing, I tried to fit in with their locker room talk.

“It’s Sloane,” I said, my voice deadpan.

“Oooh, the widow?” Alex raised an eyebrow.

“No offense, Orion,” Sasha said, her lips curling into a smirk. “That’s kind of a dark choice.”

“I mean, he’s kind of right, though?” Bart shrugged, giving a thoughtful nod. “I didn’t even think about Sloane. Yeah, she’s really hot. Has that whole Sydney Sweeney vibe.”

I sighed and continued, “Let’s get ready. We’re about to enter the chasm.”

We moved along the canyon’s jagged path, wary of the cliffs above. From up there, the harpies would dive with their porcelain masks gleaming—a deadly welcome we knew all too well from our last encounter.

Just as expected, the harpies retreated as we ventured deeper into the maze. The stone path narrowed, wide enough for only one person at a time. Beyond it, the cliffs curved around a clearing, with thorny bushes growing thickly along the top—perfect for an ambush. I could feel the trap waiting, its invisible jaws ready to snap shut.

“This part again—shit,” Sasha muttered.

“Not this time,” I replied, glancing at Bart. “Instead of walking one by one into that mess, we’re blasting our way through.”

Bart gave a curt nod. I borrowed his warhammer, raised it, and used the Strike of Iron, driving it into the stone wall. The blow cracked through the narrow passage. The shockwave left a jagged opening, and Bart moved in with his hammer, chipping away at the rubble while I held back, waiting for my strike to recharge. Ochre dust thickened the air, coating us as Bart swung again and again, widening the break. When Strike of Iron refreshed, I drove Bart’s hammer—the weight of which nearly snapped my wrists—into the rock, sending shards scattering. Bart’s hammer pounded away, his legendary skill making his hammer as light as a pool cue in his hands, until he finally created enough space for us to pass into the clearing, two by two: tanks first, then the ranged behind.

I pulled out my first Molotov, the cloth wick already smoldering. With a quick flick, I hurled it high into the bushes on the plateau above. The flames sparked, then roared through the dry branches, catching on the wings of the hidden harpies. They panicked, scattering as the fire spread, leaving only five to dive, screeching in impatience or desperation.

One stood out—the purple harpy. I didn’t wait. Drawing my Acid Spit card, I activated it, feeling a cold orb of green energy form in my left hand. With a swift motion, I flung it up like a dodgeball. The acid burst over the purple harpy’s wings, sizzling through feathers and flesh. With only one wing, it shrieked and spiraled down, its death granting me a new skill: Blightwielder level 1.

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Nearby, Alex leaped onto the flat side of Bart’s warhammer, which was tilted down like the low end of a seesaw. With a mighty heave, Bart catapulted Alex into the descending harpies. In mid-air, Alex’s blade whipped out, and he activated Cyclone Slash. A tornado of steel pulled the harpies into its fierce spin, the blade slashing through feathers and flesh, raining blood and torn wings below as four harpies met their end in the swirling storm of metal.

As the dust settled and the last harpy cries faded, the canyon felt suddenly silent, our victory hanging heavy in the air.

The harpies dropped from the sky, battered and bloodied, their wings torn, flailing in a futile attempt to fly. We descended upon them like piranhas sensing blood in the water, weapons raised: spears and knives, hammers and bolts. No mercy. They wouldn’t fly again.

Then, a rush of wings above. Seven more harpies darkened the blue cloudless sky, and as they dove toward us, they parted, forming a funnel around a single harpy in the center—a striking one, with violet feathers and cold, calculating eyes. In its talons, it held a card, ready to unleash magic.

“Guard’s Shield!” Cade’s voice cut through the chaos, and we took cover behind his summoned shield just as the purple harpy launched a whirlwind. A blast of wind and dust lashed against the shield’s glowing surface, rattling us. But it wasn’t finished. The harpy raised another card, and with a flick of her talons, a boulder materialized above us. It soared through the air. We scattered as it hurtled down, but I held my ground, summoning Strike of Iron and shattering the stone with one swift blow from my dagger's pommel.

In its wake, I seized the moment, imbuing a throwing knife with Viper’s Fang. The blade gleamed green, deadly and precise, as I sent it hurtling toward the purple harpy. It struck its chin, punching upward into its skull. Black veins spread like crawling centipedes across its face, and it spiraled down, lifeless.

Cade stepped forward, unleashing a Spear Flurry at the remaining harpy flock that descended in waves, and Alex brought down a Holy Strike on another. Bart’s warhammer whipped through the air in a boomerang arc, crushing enemies and scattering feathers and gore. When the harpies had fallen, silence returned, leaving only a scattering of feathers in the dust. Before we moved on, I wrapped a chunk of harpy drumstick in banana leaves.

Keeping close, with Cade’s shield leading, while I guarded the rear, we navigated deeper into the canyon maze. At a dead end, we found a small wooden chest, dusty and old. After checking for mimics with a prod of Cade's spear, we pried it open to reveal a Bronze Crossbow. Sasha claimed it, stashing her old crossbow to gift to a villager later.

Then a deep, rhythmic thud—footsteps—echoed through the canyon, causing the pebbles near us to vibrate. The heavy, deliberate steps could only belong to a giant. “We need another path,” I muttered, and we retraced our steps, winding through the narrow maze of rock walls. But the monster’s footsteps grew louder, echoing off the canyon walls.

“We have to get to open ground,” I ordered, feeling the urgency sharpen.

The canyon widened just enough for our group to fit, but we had no space to maneuver. Far behind us, the cyclops came into view, a hulking figure, its single eye trained on us. It roared, and its enormous legs began closing the distance, each stride bringing it nearer.

In that moment, two harpies dropped from above, targeting me at the rear. Sasha shot one down with a bolt, while I braced myself, using Parry to deflect the other’s talons. I followed with a horizontal dagger slash, severing its feet, then burying the blade between its eyes.

We ran, pressing toward the clearing that finally came into view, the canyon walls peeling away to reveal an expanse of rock that led to a rickety wooden bridge stretching across a wide gorge. Beyond it, ochre mountains rose against the sky, and set into the far wall was a heavy iron door. It beckoned, promising safety and an escape from the perils behind us. Yet, there was no way we were going to cross the bridge with a monster on our tail.

“I’m going to try to tie up its leg. You all keep it distracted and stay safe,” I commanded, voice steady and sharp.

When the cyclops lumbered into the plateau, its heavy club—an entire Joshua tree uprooted—swayed like a battering ram. We braced ourselves for its charge. But instead, it raised a mysterious blue card, and in an instant, its single eye blazed with a fierce red glow. A beam of raw energy tore through the air.

“Guard Shield!” Cade yelled, and Bart, Alex, and Sasha immediately ducked behind the shield’s shimmering wall. I darted to the left, rolling away as I reached into my bag, pulling out a length of rope. Cade’s shield held against the beam, but even so, he staggered, teeth gritted, his greaves digging deep into the ground under the strain.

While the rest of the group faced the onslaught of that cyclopean beam, I tied one end of the rope to one of my accuracy-throwing knives and aimed it at the Cyclops’ left ankle. It struck true, and I gripped the other end tight. With a flick of my hand, I activated Acid Spit, a green, sizzling projectile arcing through the air toward the Cyclops’ eye. But the acid hit just shy, splashing across its cheek. The creature let out a shriek as the acid gnawed into its flesh, half its jaw melting away. A window revealed his crooked yellow teeth and vile violet tongue. Blinded by pain, its red eye flickered out, and the beam stopped.

This was our chance. Alex charged in on the giant’s right, and I sprinted left in a wide arc, the rope trailing behind me. But the cyclops thrashed wildly, swinging its club down in heavy, bone-rattling strikes that sent shockwaves across the ground, halting our forward push. Bolts from Sasha’s crossbow and Bart’s Hammer Boomerang flew through the air, but the cyclops, undeterred, battered them away in a frenzy as if swatting at flies.

I kept circling, waiting for the right moment. Finally, reaching the end of the rope, I tied it off to another knife and hurled it toward the monster’s other ankle. It struck with a satisfying thud, binding both legs tight in a tangled knot of rope. The cyclops stumbled, its legs snagged, forcing it to shuffle with awkward, straining steps.

For the finishing move, I reached for my last clay Molotov, feeling its cool, rough clay surface as the Cyclops’ rage-filled gaze settled on me. It lifted the massive burning tree club, ready to crush me. I didn’t hesitate. With a calculated throw, I sent the Molotov smashing against the club’s base, right where the Cyclops’s hand gripped it. Flames erupted instantly, fanned by my Firewielder skill. The creature roared in pain, flinging its fiery weapon aside as it staggered forward, but the tangled rope betrayed it. It stumbled and crashed to the ground, its forehead slamming into the ground.

Seizing the moment, I activated Strike of Iron and charged, my stiletto raised. I drove the blade deep into its eye, piercing down to its skull. The ground shook as the cyclops convulsed, a dark crater where its eye once was.

But we weren’t done yet. I kept thrusting my dagger into its head, while the rest of the team closed in. In a blur of spears, hammers, and knives, we struck over and over until the beast finally lay still.

When the rest were catching their breath and gathering the loot, I made ready my preparation for a feast. With the cyclops’s tree-trunk club still smoldering, I took the opportunity to cook up some provisions—roasting a cut of harpy drumstick and a strip of cyclops shoulder over the flames.

Flight of the Harpy – Dungeon Gourmand Skill - F4

Active: Activate to grow harpy wings and fly for five seconds

Cooldown: 300 seconds

Slot 7/6

Cyclopean Beam – Dungeon Gourmand Skill - F4

Activate: Activate to send a beam of void energy through your eyes

Cooldown: 600 seconds

Slot 8/6

Crap. Now I had to replace two skills.

Rat’s Fortitude – Dungeon Gourmand Skill - F1

Passive - Gain 50% resistance to poison and disease

Slot 1/6

Amber Nightstalker – Dungeon Gourmand Skill - F2

Passive - Grants increased vision in darkness

Slot 2/6

Strike of Iron – Dungeon Gourmand Skill - F2

Active - Your fists turn hard as blocks of iron. You can deliver a smash with 200% of your natural strength

Cooldown: 300 seconds

Slot 3/6

Crocodilian Healing – Dungeon Gourmand Skill - F3

Passive - Wounds and muscles heal quicker and are less likely to be infected

Slot 4/6

Viper’s Fangs – Dungeon Gourmand Skill - F3

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

Slot 5/6

Acid Spit – Dungeon Gourmand Skill - F3

Active - Unleash a projectile of corrosive poison that can inflict damage on enemies

Slot 6/6

With two new skill cards in hand, I had a difficult choice to make. The first to go would be Rat’s Fortitude. Sure, it had served me well so far, but I already had Dungeon Gourmand. Anything I cooked would be safe to eat, and Anika and her elixirs could heal any sickness that crept up on me. Gritting my teeth, I let it go, slotting Flight of the Harpy in its place.

Sacrifices, sacrifices.

Next, I turned to Viper’s Fang. No doubt a useful skill, but with Acid Spit, it was beginning to feel redundant. And if I needed poison, I could always coat my blades the old-fashioned way. Still, releasing both was annoying. With a reluctant sigh, I replaced it with Cyclopean Beam—a skill that could unleash a blast of raw magic.

My strategy with the Dungeon Gourmand skills will be to save unique or fantastical abilities I can't get elsewhere, and supplement discarded ones with gear, potions, and Soul Food buffs.

As I pocketed my new abilities, a thought struck me. If I wanted those old skills back, I could make jerky from some of the dungeon meat to switch abilities as required—a project for another time.

Standing there, I couldn’t help but realize the difference these skills had made. I was getting strong—strong enough to hold my own against things I wouldn’t have dared face before. An army? Probably out of reach. But with this arsenal, I could make them suffer.

As I ate, I had to turn away in shame, the party wincing and cringing at the sight of me gnawing on the monster flesh. The same horror I felt while eating it was mirrored on their faces, and I couldn’t shake the feeling like I’d been caught digging through someone’s trash.

No choice.

Across the bridge, a blue magical chest shimmered into view, humming with energy. We watched, tense and hopeful, as Cade's hand hovered over the lid.

Fourth Floor First Completion Chest

Yew Longbow of Ricochet – C

Arrows have a chance to deflect and hit the target if missed

Feather Cap of Magic Resist – C

Increased resistance against Void Magic damage

Belt of Feather – C

Potions and bags attached to the belt will weigh almost nothing, increasing movement

“We’ll take the longbow,” I said, the decision already set. Though that Feather Cap was tempting, we had an Anti Mage. “Give it to Bianca. Have anyone in the village with Bowyer skills study it and see if they can replicate it.”

As we moved toward the iron door, Alex cast a sideways glance my way. “Didn’t wanna say anything earlier, but… you’ve gotten stronger, huh, Rion?”

Bart nodded, eyes wide. “Yeah, what was that dagger punch? That was unreal!”

“I’m level ten now,” I replied, my voice a little flat, weighed down by the grind of the day. “My new Cook skill is kind of busted.”

Sasha flashed a grin. “You’ve been more reckless lately. Kinda dig this badass version of you.”

I could feel it—another surge of power waiting just ahead. Path of the Dagger had reached level five, same with Throwing Weapons. Major breaking points, both of them.

The iron door let out a long groan, echoing through the cavern as it finally swung open. Cade stepped through first, Alex close behind, then Bart, and the rest of us followed. Inside, two flickering torches cast a soft glow against the ochre stone, illuminating twin staircases—one leading down into pitch-blackness, the other ascending upward to a faint light above.

“We need to know what’s ahead,” I said, voice steady. Together, we descended into the dark.

The stairway took us to a new cave, but this one was different. Blue veins pulsed faintly through the gray slate, casting a cold sheen over everything.

Even before seeing what waited, I knew this level was trouble. The first thing that hit was the cold—a harsh, biting chill that cut through my cloak and seemed to settle right into my bones. In Thornhill, we were used to the gentle warmth of late spring. But here, it felt like stepping into a walk-in freezer.

The cave wasn’t deep. Behind us was the stairway we’d just come down, and ahead was the cave’s exit. I stepped closer to the mouth of the cave, where gray light barely broke through, spilling weakly over a desert of white powder lined with pine trees.

I could hear the others shivering behind me, the chattering of teeth breaking the silence as I surveyed the snow-covered landscape with my Amber Nightstalker skill. My fingers and face were already numb. Shaking my head, I let out a sigh.

Somewhere in the distance, a series of growls echoed, rising like a warning and rolling toward us. Alex looked unaffected by the cold, and there was a tinge of disappointment in his face as we realized what we were up against. I patted him on the shoulder, and together, we made our way back up the stairway.

The challenges of this floor mirrored what was waiting for us outside. Sooner or later, we’d have to brace ourselves for winter, but we weren’t ready. Not yet. We were still barely scraping by. For now, that meant leaving this place—and those challenges—for another day.