Chapter 4: The Three-Fold Path

The Hall of Blessings dwarfed anything Lance had seen in the Hallowed Grounds. Hundreds of Souls filled the vast circular chamber, their faces turned upward toward the endless starlit dome above. Crystalline pillars rose into that artificial night, each one thrumming with power that made the air itself feel alive.

At the chamber's heart, the Blessing Font rose like a tower of pure light, its base surrounded by concentric rings of floating script. High Priest Marcus stood before it, his white robes seeming to catch and hold the starlight. Ancient runes cascaded down his garments like falling stars.

"In all of history," the High Priest's voice resonated through the chamber, "less than one in a thousand souls receive two blessings. Such power comes with great purpose-and greater responsibility."

He raised his hands, and from the Blessing Font rose hundreds of tiny motes of light, each one seeking out a Soul in the crowd. Lance watched as the lights descended, each person gasping as their mote merged with them.

[Status Window Activated]

[System Access Granted]

[Initializing...]

The sensation was like having a new sense suddenly unlock, as if he'd spent his whole life colorblind and suddenly could see every shade and hue. Around him, other Souls were having similar reactions, some laughing, others simply staring in wonder at things only they could see.

"Those who have additional blessings to receive, remain," High Priest Marcus proclaimed. "The rest may proceed to begin their journeys."

As the crowd thinned, Lance noticed glowing Roman numerals appearing on the wrists of those who remained. Most showed a simple "I," but when he looked at his own wrist, "II" burned there in bright silver light. Among the hundreds present, only five others shared this mark.

The Blessing Font pulsed, and twelve orbs materialized above it, each distinct in its appearance. Lance could feel their power calling to him-particularly three that seemed to resonate with his very soul.

"Behold the Ancient Blessings," Marcus declared. "Choose wisely, for these gifts shall forge your destiny."

One by one, others made their choices. A warrior chose combat enhancement, his muscles rippling with newfound power. A scholar selected memory enhancement, her eyes gleaming with infinite recall. Each blessing was impressive, but none seemed to cause the reaction the priests expected from Lance's mark.

"They're waiting for you," Moga's voice rumbled from behind him, barely containing his draconic nature. "They sense something... different in your soul."

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When Lance's turn came, he approached the floating orbs. The first called to him immediately-Babel Tongue, its surface swimming with every language ever spoken or written. As his fingers brushed it, the orb burst into streams of iridescent light that wrapped around him like ribbons of pure knowledge.

Languages flooded his mind-not just their words, but their essence. He could read the ancient runes on the priests' robes now, understand the whispered prayers in forgotten tongues, even comprehend the subtle magical scripts that powered the Blessing Font itself.

For his second choice, he reached for the deep purple orb of Skill Absorption. But as his hand moved forward, a young priest stumbled, bumping into Lance. His balance shifted, and his fingers brushed a third orb-Infinite Growth, shimmering with soft blue light that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat.

In that instant, all three orbs flared with blinding brilliance.

The power that surged through Lance was overwhelming. Babel Tongue settled first, turning every written and spoken word in the chamber into perfect clarity. Then came Skill Absorption, its energy spreading through his mind like purple fire, awakening an endless hunger for knowledge and capability. Finally, Infinite Growth roared through his system, its blue energy intertwining with the others, amplifying them beyond their natural limits.

The chamber erupted into chaos.

"Impossible!" one priest shouted. "The System itself prevents more than two blessings!"

"It's a violation of divine law!" another declared.

"The boy must be stripped of the extra blessing before-"

The priest's words cut off as Moga's form expanded, his human disguise falling away to reveal his true draconic nature. His wings spread wide, casting the chamber in shadow, his golden eyes blazing with ancient power.

"You dare?" he thundered, his voice shaking dust from the distant ceiling. "You would deny what the deep places themselves have granted?"

Other gods materialized in the chamber-Zima appearing like a silver mist, Cha burning with barely contained rage, even Jason lurking in the shadows. The air grew thick with divine power as they watched the confrontation unfold.

High Priest Marcus raised his hands, his voice cutting through the tension. "Peace! What's done cannot be undone. The blessings have merged-look!"

All eyes turned to Lance. The three energies swirled around him in perfect harmony: the rainbow shimmer of Babel Tongue, the deep purple of Skill Absorption, and the pulsing blue of Infinite Growth. Where they met, they created patterns never before seen in the Hall of Blessings.

"The gifts have chosen him as much as he chose them," Marcus continued. "And their union..." He paused, studying the energy patterns with wide eyes. "It's unprecedented."

Lance felt the power settling into his core, each blessing finding its place:

[Babel Tongue activated]

[All languages unlocked]

[Ancient and mystical scripts comprehension enabled]

[Dungeon rune interpretation activated]

[Skill Absorption activated]

[Observation and learning capabilities enhanced]

[Skill retention and mastery accelerated]

[Combat technique analysis enabled]

[Infinite Growth activated]

[Level cap removed]

[Growth potential unlimited]

[All skills eligible for continuous advancement]

Moga's laughter rolled through the chamber like distant thunder. "The deep places remember what you've forgotten," he told the assembled priests and gods. "They remember who he was... and what he will become."

Before anyone could respond, the Blessing Font pulsed one final time. Above Lance, the three energies merged into a single point of light that burned like a newborn star. Then it shot down, striking the Ring of Summoning on his finger.

The ring flared, its surface rippling like liquid shadow before settling into a new pattern-three intertwined dragons chasing each other in an endless circle.

"The pact is sealed," Moga declared, his voice carrying both triumph and warning. "The Dungeon King rises again."

Lance looked at his ring, then at the swirling portal that had appeared nearby. Through its shifting surface, he could see glimpses of a world both familiar and strange.

"Are you ready?" Moga asked, his massive form condensing back into his hooded appearance. "That world has changed much in your absence. The dungeons run deeper, the shadows grow darker, and the dark ones..." He paused, his golden eyes gleaming. "They've been waiting for your return."

Lance felt the weight of his blessings, the power of his divine contract, and the burning questions about his past all pressing down on him. But instead of feeling overwhelmed, he felt ready-as if he'd been preparing for this moment all along.

"I'm ready," he said, stepping toward the portal. "It's time to wake the deep places up."

The last thing he heard before the light engulfed him was Moga's rumbling chuckle and a whispered promise: "Show them why the dungeons chose you, young king."

Then the world dissolved into brilliant light, carrying Lance toward his destiny-and the darkness that awaited his return.