It took Leif seven hours to reach the temple he had once used to escape the very place he was trying to reenter. This was because, to put it nicely, he took the scenic route. Due to this, a good quarter of Pherin’s streets were now free of undead. Bones and dust littered promenades that had once hosted hordes of skeletal monsters as they roamed aimlessly through the city.

All things considered, it was quite the leisurely stroll through the ruins of civilization, he was only impaled three times total. Leif had a few interesting discoveries during this time, the first was that pushing too much cultivated vitality into [Shroud of Preservation], while remarkably pretty, threatened to destabilise and potentially fracture the skill’s structure. The second, also related to [Shroud of Preservation], was that with enough energy pushed into the skill the healing motes of golden light obliterated any undead that came into contact with them.

As Leif walked through the streets of Pherin, specks of amber light weaving behind him like the world's longest cloak, undead dusting in his wake, he had time to think and reflect. The city surrounding him felt like a grim parody of his own situation, it had been brought low by conflict, its people killed or displaced. But unlike him, the abandoned city hadn’t had a chance to recover, inundated by misfortune after misfortune. First the invasion, then it had become a nest for goblins, then a source for the undead spreading throughout the region.

From his perspective, it hadn’t been all too long since he was first exploring the city he currently wandered through. Though in reality it was closing in on a year. He recalled his initial encounter with Sieg and Marcus, the first humans he had met since losing his own humanity. The lessons he had learnt, the trials they had faced as they fled deeper into the Mythhold to escape the battle raging on the surface.

Remembering what he had lost still caused pangs of sadness, of pain, but it was far less than it had once been. He was getting used to what he had become, his body no longer feeling wrong, like his soul had been stapled onto a vessel it didn’t belong to. Leif flexed his hands, feeling the sensation of only four fingers being attached to each. Before he would have felt an innate sense of disgust, of wrongness, but that had faded almost entirely into the background of his mind.

It was his life, his second chance, and he would make the most of it. In contrast to these feelings was the temple that loomed before him. Malevolent energy pooled within its halls, wrapping up the pillars and covering the entrance and windows like webbing. Leif had assumed the temple would serve as a side entrance to the dungeon, but standing outside of the structure he couldn’t imagine it being anything but the main entrance.

If the damage to the upper layers of the Mythhold is what I suspect it is, then this may just be the only way inside the dungeon. He thought, stepping through the threshold of the temple, brushing away the sinister pressure emanating from within with his aura even as it tried to cling to his very being. The amber light flickering around him began to sizzle and pop, the motes of life energy clashing with invisible miasma that drifted through the air. It felt stifling, as if his body was constricted and it was hard to breathe. The further into the temple he walked the more it felt like something intangible was getting further and further away.

Within the main hall of the temple was the teleportation circle, but unlike when Leif had last used it there was a pulsing pool of darkness within. It dimmed all light, as if its very presence dulled the world around it. He paused, observing the corrupted portal as if it might be a trap. Green light flickered occasionally within the inky black, but otherwise nothing happened. He tentatively approached, amber limbs raised and ready to protect him, instead the pool seemed to ripple, then clear. The darkness retreated, leaving a shimmering window into a small chamber Leif recognised.

It immediately struck Leif how little he actually knew about dungeons. Ram had talked about having found and explored several in the northern mountains, but like with any conversation with Ram details tended to be lacking. He knew they were a sort of congregation of power, and a source of certain monsters related to said power. He knew they had a centre, a core of sorts that held the power in place, and he knew excess power from the dungeon could seep out into the world.

He stepped up to the very edge of the portal, haunting whispers echoing from within. Leif firmed his resolve, then stepped inside.

===

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

The transition between outside to standing within the dungeon was seamless, but it wasn’t without cause for alarm. Immediately Leif felt his anchors, points in space where he could use [Amber Steps] to teleport to, vanish from his senses. He could always feel them, even when they got too far away, it was distinctly eerie to lose all of them, even the one placed at the base of his domain tree no longer present within his mind’s eye.

Another thing he suddenly felt the loss of was his intangible connection to life mana, the abstract concept [Font of Life] granted him some small authority over. In this place, spellcraft was gone, as was the familiar sensation of comfort it brought. Leif spun, but the portal was still there, he could see through it as though it was clear glass, the derelict temple on the other side being only a few steps away.

Leif pushed out his aura, but even that felt compressed and restricted. Not enough that it was unusable, he was nowhere near suppressed while within the dungeon, but the range of his perception abilities would be dampened considerably while he remained within. He lowered a hand to the small wooden pouch at his side, he had intended to use the mana shards within to activate the portal but that was no longer necessary.

It was incredibly tempting to use the shards immediately to speed up his current skill fusion. He would need to get at, or ideally below fifteen skills when he reached level fifty. While that was still a few levels away and his monster class evolution would take priority, lowering his total skills now would potentially save weeks, if not months of waiting while at the bottleneck. He glanced at the portal. It seems stable enough, but I shouldn’t risk it remaining like this forever. Leif knew his understanding of portals began and ended with ‘they take you places.’ With great reluctance he made the conservative choice. Better not use these until I’m outside.

The subtle whispering that lingered in the stale air of the dungeon seemed to increase in volume, the inaudible chittering sounding almost disappointed. Leif glared into the darkness, his golden eyes burning within the slits of his mask-like face. Moments later the voices receded, returning to faint whispers.

That was strange. Leif thought, looking around suspiciously.

===

The structure was different, subtly wrong in ways that at first Leif couldn’t quite put his finger on. The large room that he, Marcus and Sieg had first battled the enslaver queen was mostly as he had left it. The shape and dimensions of the room hadn’t changed, but all the damage the previous battle had inflicted on the room was absent.

The lids of the stone tombs that surrounded the room’s exterior were likewise present, but they were no longer broken where the silver eyed undead had forced their way free. Leif was naturally suspicious, and checked one of the slate coffins, it was empty and seemingly in perfect condition. As was the next one, and the next.

These changes were odd, but not necessarily out of the ordinary. Maybe the Mythold had some sort of self repair functionality? Leif mused as he exited the chamber, entering the corridor lined with dozens of alcoves, each housing a single- There were no alcoves, instead the corridor immediately branched at a t-intersection, both paths leading off into darkness.

“What the hells?” Leif asked nobody as he glanced from side to side. The response was a series of howling screeches from the right hand corridor. Moments later a trio of slavering ghouls scrambled down the hallway, clawed hands raking across polished stone, mouths opened wide in a feral snarl.

Three golden hands met the face of three separate undead, their bones broke, their skulls shattered, their limp bodies went sailing back into the darkness. Leif was more interested in the architecture than the sub level twenty five monsters. Where the structure had once continued was a solid stone wall, but it lacked the detailed engravings that were common this far down in the Mythhold. Additionally, the wall was slightly indented, not quite aligned with the walls on either side.

Leif smashed a golden fist into the plain wall, the surface cracked as the blow left an inch deep crater in the solid stone. The spriggan listened for any sign the wall was hollow, or that there was anything on the other side. Nothing. He thought, leaning in to study the damage his strike had done. Already the wall was beginning to mend, stone slowly flowing back into place.

To either side came the howls and screeches of more low level undead. It wouldn’t do to become complacent within the dungeon, while Leif had more than enough experience fighting undead to know his power-set generally countered them, there was still a considerable risk if he let his guard down.

No telling what kinds of monstrosities the dungeon has cooked up. If the bone centipedes up on the surface are anything to go by, there might be some truly bizarre and deadly encounters lurking in these halls.

It was as the thought passed through Leif’s head that ethereal forms erupted from the walls, floor and ceiling.