Vondaire watched the ferry closely with each new arrival. In his time waiting for Owin and Myrsvai, he had seen a lot more heroes enter the dungeon than leave. Plenty had stumbled out the exits, a few left confidently after achieving their goals, and others had crawled out with blood gushing from wounds.

He had been as helpful as he could manage, but he wasn’t a mender. A few had died, some others had lived. None of it was his responsibility. Still, he couldn’t sit and watch someone die.

The ferry captain seemed used to the routine, never flinching at the absolutely horrid state of some of her passengers. Whenever new heroes arrived, they eyed Vondaire with a mix of emotions. Most seemed to assume he was powerful, but plenty had assumed he was some loser or someone who was too scared to enter the dungeon.

Foolish as they were, he had no interest in correcting them. He nodded or wished them well, and otherwise sat and drank.

It was quickly losing its appeal. The idea of sitting about, lounging in the sun with wine had felt novel and alluring, especially after being locked up under Taralim’s pale fingers. But now, it was old. He desperately hoped Owin was near the end. Even if it took the old magus a little longer, at least he would have somebody to talk to.

He had been disconnected from the world for too long. His brief date with Egnatia in the city had been only that: brief. And even then, it felt like she was more interested in information about Chorsay, Owin, and the Hogs rather than in Vondaire, where everybody’s true interest should lie.

It seemed fairly obvious that he was being used for information, but he didn’t mind being used. What did he know anyway? He had been a Nimble Hog for seconds before committing to finishing the Ocean Dungeon.

A group of Spelunkers sat nearby, forming a makeshift campsite. They had simply nodded to Vondaire before creating a campfire. A sleeping roll acted as their placeholder in line. With three parties ahead of them, they had at least an hour and a half wait.

“You realize I have a table and chairs right here,” Vondaire finally said.

“We see it,” a Spelunker said.

Vondaire rolled his eyes. The hero company out of Kriergow was most famously known for almost only ever going through the Subterranean Dungeon. In fact, they were the most hired company for that specific dungeon because nobody knew it better.

So, why were they at the Ocean Dungeon?

“Just because this one goes down too doesn’t make it anything like the Subterranean,” Vondaire said.

A burly man in overalls stood. He wore skin tight armor underneath, something Vondaire hadn’t seen before. It was like a second skin of iron, but he wasn’t a Shard Hero, so he couldn’t have been fused. More likely, he had gone through the beginning of the Subterranean Dungeon so much that he had found some pieces of one of the armor sets.

“What brings a butler to the Ocean?” the man asked.

“Butler? Sure.” Vondaire held out his hand and formed his shard just above his palm. “I simply finished the dungeon and am awaiting some friends.”

“Impressive, lad.”

Lad?

The bearded man sat across from Vondaire, leaving his comrades at the fire.

“Can I interest you in a drink?” Vondaire asked, holding out a wine glass.

“We’re not wine drinkers in Kriergow.” He rested his metal-clad forearms on the table. “Do you have anything else?”

“Of course. I should have known.” Vondaire waved his hand, producing whiskey glasses. He poured all four and slid them to the spots around the table.

The bearded man grunted, grabbing his comrades’ attention. They all joined Vondaire at the table before long.

“An umbra, I assume,” the man said.

“You know, you can use your index to get a whole heap of information, even from an umbra.” Vondaire took a sip of the whiskey and held it before his eyes, surveying the dark liquor.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“It’s rude.”

“In Kriergow. You’re in Graisetus now, if you consider the dungeons property of their nearby nations. Otherwise, you’re in nobody’s territory. Do as you wish.”

“We exchange greetings,” the man said.

“Fine.” Vondaire lifted his glass of whiskey toward the man. “Vondaire Faikel of Izylia. Now, a member of the Nimble Hogs Hero Company.”

The man nodded and lifted his own glass. “Aimar Ralophine of Kriergow. A squad leader of the Tunnelers.”

The Grand Spelunking Hero Company was too long of a name, and quite off putting, but they didn’t seem like the type to take feedback especially well. Few hero companies succeeded with such a niche specialty, but they were bigger and more successful than the Nimble Hogs, so what was he criticizing?

“So, a Spelunker in the Ocean. What gives?”

“Give the lads some experience elsewhere. And I intend to get a couple of shards. Something to help me have an actual challenge at the Forge.”

“Of Divine Light?”

“Aye.” Aimar took another drink.

His comrades were quiet, enjoying their own glasses of whiskey while looking out into the endless ocean.

“You could reach that now. You could even get your first shard in the Subterranean.”

Aimar finished his glass and set it on the table. “The stronger a lad is, the better the Forge is. All the crafting spots improve with shards.”

“And you don’t want to redo the Subterranean?”

“I wouldn’t mind that. But the lads wanted to train elsewhere and I am willing to learn other dungeons.”

It was not the company Vondaire was expecting. Anything was better than boredom, and when else would he ever have a chance to talk to the weird Spelunkers? He glanced at the exit nexus, endlessly swirling. When would Owin appear? Based on Vondaire’s predictions, it should be soon. Soon, unless something went wrong.

***

A kraken on one side and the deep sea behemoth on the other. The Incandescent Blade of Captain Lyra Magnan and his right gauntlet were on the ground at his feet, both covered in a cloud of blood running from his right elbow.

Owin sucked in air.

Show the world how strong you are.

He clenched his jaw, grabbed the sword and the film of the gauntlet in his left hand, and ran. Everything shook around him as the kraken and deep sea behemoth flailed. Tentacles and spells filled his vision. Chaos surrounded him.

Owin stared straight ahead, but he might as well have had his eyes closed. He kept a tight grip on the sword and armor and ran as fast as he could. Stone exploded behind him, pricking his head and back with shrapnel. He hit the ground, rolled, failed to stand up as he tried to use his right hand, then made it to his feet and kept running.

Shade was gone for two minutes. Whether he would be able to help or not didn’t matter. All that mattered was that Owin was alone. Again. The only hope he had to see anyone again was to either leave or finish the dungeon.

He couldn’t leave everyone outside waiting or worrying. Nobody needed to be scared or sad. He needed the shards to gain true strength. Unbeatable bosses were an obstacle, but it was one he could avoid.

Owin rounded a bend in the trench and spotted three sets of kraken eyes, and one miniature form, the size of a normal human, standing just in front of the three massive mobs. It looked like a humanoid kraken. They stood in a rounded area, wider than the rest of the trench.

Ocean Mob

Elsorvia

Girhuma Deep Sea Priest

Level 70

Elsorvia wore a red robe and spread his arms out wide. He had the girhuma pointed ears and head fin, but his face was a mass of tentacles. As he finished reaching his finned hands out, tentacles erupted from his oversized sleeves, slithering into the water like they were grasping for something.

“My child. I—”

Owin slid across the ground and kicked up, sending the priest flying over all three krakens, back to where he crashed against the distant boundary wall.

“I’m sick of tentacles!” Owin stepped aside as a tentacle crashed into the ground beside. He was no longer looking at the mobs around him. Light danced on the stone walls as the deep sea behemoth prepared more attacks.

None of it mattered. All he had to do was reach the end. A tentacle caught his shoulder, sending him flying to the side. Owin let himself crash into the stone wall and roll. He landed on his feet, grunted through the pain, and leapt as far and high as he could manage. The deep sea behemoth’s spells devastated the stone wall where he had just been.

He flew past the krakens, landed unsteadily, and immediately took another hit upon landing. The tentacle swept through the water, sending him back into the wall. Owin rolled against the wall and steadied himself. Blood clung to his skin, even running in rivulets over the armor film. One more hit was all he could take.

The stairs and exit were tucked away, just off the side of the trench. A yellow barrier wall blocked the section, just like it had on the previous floor.

Elsorvia hit the ground nearby. Just as the girhuma boss started to stand, Owin was already in his face. With his hand still tightly gripping the sword and the gauntlet, Owin punched the water elf in the face, causing him to fall back to the ground.

“I’m not dying!” Owin stomped on the boss’s head, smashing the tentacle-faced water elf into the ground. One stomp didn’t do it, so Owin stomped over and over, watching the stone walls nearby for signs of the deep sea behemoth’s next volley of attacks.

The yellow barrier wall dropped. Owin kicked the headless corpse of the girhuma away. Even in death, tentacles sprouted from his neck, reaching out as if to grab Owin. He mumbled his hatred of tentacles before hopping down the stairs and passing through to the tenth and final floor.