Dragging her legs to the nearest wall, Claire placed a hand over her perfectly flat chest and regained her calm with a series of deep breaths. She waited for the subtle grin to fade and for her heart to slow to its usual pace before getting back to her feet and scanning the osteog’s encampment. There wasn’t much for her to take. Most of the bags within the tent had seen their contents ruined by the feral pig—clothes were reduced to rags, weapons to metal scraps, and foodstuffs to half-eaten piles of mouldy garbage.

The various bones and skeletons aside, most of the usable materials came from the tent itself. Though the canvas was ripped, the poles and strings were largely intact. And it was precisely with those pieces, and a sharp but broken rib, that she fashioned a dysfunctional spear.

“You sure that thing’s gonna hold?” The annoying serpent reappeared on her shoulder, curiously observing her handiwork as its forked tongue flicked through the air. “It looks pretty brittle if you ask me.”

“Didn’t I just tell you to shut up?”

“A few minutes ago, yeah,” said the danger noodle. It slithered down her arm for a closer look at the weapon. “But it looked like you’d pretty much wrapped up what you were doing.”

Claire glared at the unwanted companion before returning her eyes to her hands. Reluctantly double-checking the knot to ensure its security, she summoned the box and looked through her acquisitions.

Tracking

Congratulations! You have proven yourself disgustingly proficient in the art of following a target without its knowledge. This skill improves your ability to stalk any individual you deem prey, regardless of whether it is an animal, a monster, or a young child. Please reflect on your behaviour and report to local law enforcement at your earliest convenience.

“Why does this stupid box insist on insulting me?” She grumbled the question as she scrolled to the next entry.

Makeshift Weapon Mastery

Evidently, you did not understand your combat instructor when he informed you of the importance of a finely crafted weapon. While this skill will do little for your lack of intellect, it will aid your body in adapting to your brainless antics.

P.S. Destroying the chair was entirely unnecessary. You wasted a perfectly good piece of furniture for no apparent reason.

“You know, it has a point,” said the translucent serpent. “You probably could’ve turned the chair into a whole slew of weapons if you took the time to disassemble it properly, not to mention you didn’t even really need it to finish the damn thing off.”

“Shut up. Leave me alone.” Claire waved a hand through the space occupied by the phantom and forced it to dematerialize.

Rogue

Swift, silent, and disgustingly broody, rogues specialize in quickly eliminating isolated targets. They prefer to act alone and often find themselves without any close relations. Given your lack of friends, this class is a clear fit.

This class was unlocked through the intoxication and assassination of a higher-leveled foe.

Claire briefly closed her eyes as she fiddled with a piece of spare rope. There was nothing special about it; it was an ordinary class with ordinary effects, but anything was better than the empty void that occupied her primary slot. Except for maybe her other option.

Barbarian

Barbarians are unmannered warriors that thrive on the thrill of the hunt. Some use axes and clubs to fulfill their goals, while others may occasionally break chairs for no particular reason. The barbarian way of life puts strength over intellect, prioritizing first and foremost the application of brute force regardless of risk or reward. Individuals with underdeveloped frontal cortices (read: you) will find this class incredibly effective.

This class was unlocked through the brutal execution of a foe that lost its will to fight and the accompanying vandalization of a piece of unowned property.

Claire was a genuine lady of high birth, and while she did not doubt the class’ efficacy, she quickly dismissed it on principle; no Cadrian aristocrat would lower themselves to accepting a descriptor so insulting. She had only two options, to become a rogue or to pray that she would qualify for an alternative. Alas, another unlock was unlikely to present itself so readily; Lady Luck may have smiled on her once, but she doubted she would be fortunate to stumble across another injured foe.

Log Entry 480

You have become a rogue.

Your dexterity has increased by 15.

“No skills?” She mumbled the idle complaint as she double-checked her status. Her ritual mage class had come with nearly a dozen abilities that would bolster the efficacy of her spells. “Am I missing something? Or are rogues just more focused on raw stats?”

She recalled her instructor lecturing her on a related topic, but she didn’t remember any specifics. Durham had never been the best teacher, nor even a likeable one. To pay attention to his lessons was a fate worse than death.

Taking a breath and shaking her head, she suddenly recalled the state of her stomach. She couldn’t quite determine the amount of fuel remaining. Her mother’s blood numbed her sense of hunger even though her metabolism was closer to her ravenous father’s. And having missed breakfast prior to the ritual, she would have to eat in short order if she didn’t want to collapse.

Some monsters had delectable meat, and it was not uncommon for them to be consumed in lieu of livestock, but the osteog was an inedible mess. The acid had left its flesh melted, bubbling in some places and simply gone in others. The few bits of meat still present were too stringy; they were tough to cut through and likely even tougher to eat. Worst of all was its scent; the dead pig reeked like a rotting corpse. She couldn’t stomach the thought of assimilating it into her body.

After a brief pause, she made up her mind and reached for a patch of moss. While she certainly struggled to swallow it at first, she found that a change in location was all it took to stop the leafy greens from crawling up her throat. Without the rancid pig’s influence, the moss was surprisingly palatable, with only the roots proving themselves too bitter for consumption.

With lunch—or dinner, she wasn’t sure which—out of the way, Claire returned her attention to the materials at hand. She wasn’t exactly a seamstress, and she had never quite shared the other ladies’ enthusiasm for embroidery, but she was at least decent enough to adorn her thighs with a pair of makeshift belts, made of layers of wrapped cloth secured with bits of rope. She equipped each with a sharpened bone and strapped the only serviceable pouch around her waist with another piece of twine. There was a small tear in the bottom, but it would serve her purpose until she found something better.

Her neck was adorned with a ragged mantle. The subpar cloak served primarily as a piece of makeshift armour. Her equally makeshift spear was strapped to a fourth belt, which ran across her chest like a bandolier. It sat alongside a particularly dense bone that she happened to spot in one of the piles. It was long and heavy, almost half her height and wide enough that it barely fit in her hands.

Once satisfied with her loadout, the petite monster hunter exited the camp and traced her steps back to the bright, runic room. It had reverted to its previous state by the time of her return. The acid puddles were gone and the ruined moss was regrown. Even the imprints left by her feet were nowhere to be seen—proof beyond her log that Llystletein was a legitimate dungeon, a trial handcrafted by the gods.

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

Claire narrowed her eyes as she made for the pyramid in the middle of the room. It was covered with ancient letters, lined with layers upon layers of scribbled text. The symbols themselves were not unfamiliar. She could read roughly a third, even knowing their precise pronunciations and accompanying intonations, but that was the extent of her knowledge. She was unable to recall the compound glyphs or interpret the messages they existed to convey.

A few seconds of pointless staring later, Claire heaved a defeated sigh and leaned forward, allowing the strength to drain from her body as she rested her forehead against the glowing rock. She could feel the cool, damp material against her skin, gently soothing her overheated mind. But though she still felt its touch, the glowing rock was nowhere to be seen when she opened her eyes.

She immediately reached for the spear on her back as she scanned her surroundings, but neither the weapon nor the cave remained. Standing all around her were bookshelves made from planks of rich, dark wood. They extended all the way to the ceiling, which was equal parts present and missing. She could tell that it existed; something in her mind registered the concept, but it was so infinitely far away that she couldn’t determine where it started, only that it was illuminated in the same dim glow that filled the rest of the chamber. The shelves, which were just as tall, were arranged to form a long, wide corridor that extended as far as the eye could see. Tomes of all shapes and sizes lined the hall. Grimoires, novels, and encyclopedias. Biographies, colouring books, and screenplays. Thrillers, diaries, and political critiques. An infinite number of books to fill the equally infinite amount of space.

A lanky human male sat at the desk at the end of the aisle, with a cursory glance revealing his old age. His skin was covered with deep wrinkles, flaps of flesh indicative of his wisdom. Looking above his gnarled nose betrayed a set of twinkling blue eyes and a head of grey hair topped by a large leather hat. Once tall and pointy, the headdress was scrunched up, covered in as many creases as the man serving as its chair. And yet, it showed no signs of weathering. The leather was neither peeled nor discoloured. Just tired and bent.

“Welcome to Llystletein.” He spoke in a whisper, but his words were loud and clear.

It was only as she raised her large, fluffy ears that she realized her body had changed. It had become ethereal, translucent and see-through as that of a spectre’s. She stared intently as she examined it, wriggling her fingers and even pulling a book from the nearest shelf for good measure.

“Oh great, another one that’s never even heard of vector magic.” The wizard grumbled in annoyance. “You’re still alive, and your body’s exactly where you left it. This is the divine realm, or more specifically, the slice of it that functions as my domain.”

Claire paused momentarily before greeting the man with a perfect curtsy befitting a lady of her rank. “I do apologize. I was not aware that I was in the presence of a god,” she said with a perfectly crafted smile. “Whatever business might you have with me, great one?”

“As the creator of this dungeon, I would say plenty.” The old man made a beckoning motion with his fingers. There was a faint trace of magic, followed by a sudden shift in perspective; she was warped right in front of his desk, just a meter from the wooden table. “You see, I couldn’t help but notice that you ignored the instruction set I was so kind as to leave behind.”

“Oh, how embarrassing!” She feigned a gasp before covering her lips with a hand and carefully altering the colour of her face. A faint blush, just deep enough to avoid going unnoticed. “I was so preoccupied that I must have failed to notice it.”

“I suppose the results do speak for themselves.” The scowl on his lips warped, transforming into a faint grin. “Now, unfortunately, the instructions do happen to be necessary for this dungeon’s completion. I’d love to list them off, but it’d be faster for you to look over them yourself.”

The wrinkled old stick tapped a piece of parchment with a spidery finger. The yellowed sheepskin came to life. It drifted towards her, rotating in midair so that it was in just the right position to be grabbed and read. At first glance, the ancient runes were impossible to understand, but the words changed as they met her fingers. Filled with a magical light, they lifted off the pages and entered straight into her mind, accompanied by a gentle warmth.

Welcome to Llystletein, and congratulations. You have just taken the first step in understanding the ancient magic that lies within the lost library. You may also find use in the accompanying Llystletein Authority skill, which has been provided to supplement the basic functionality required for your continued survival.

You will be confined to the dungeon’s boundaries for the duration of your trial. Seek the seven runestones, complete the Head Librarian’s accompanying requests, and seize the library’s power to win your freedom anew.

The message appeared within the familiar blue box. It was accompanied by a pair of fresh notifications, one confirming that she had acquired a new skill, and another that sent a shiver down the length of her spine.

Log Entry 482

A divine entity has attempted to grant you a catgirl fetish. Your mental fortitude has prevented this attribute’s installation.

Raising her head, she found the human with his face twisted into a frown. He fixed an appraising gaze on her face as he tapped a finger against his desk and stroked his long, messy beard.

“Well, I must say, given the circumstances, I was expecting you to be more susceptible.” His expression carried no guilt or wrongdoing, only a hint of idle curiosity.

Claire, on the other hand, was perfectly blank. She double, triple, quadruple-checked her log before returning her gaze to the perpetrator. Though her lips, cheeks, and brow said nothing, her eyes alone were cold and judging. “I have questions.” Gone was the perfectly feigned, amicable tone crafted for dealing with the nobility, replaced by a quiet but clear voice tinged with a faint hint of pride.

“And I have all the answers,” the human smirked, “but I’m a busy man with a busy schedule, and I’m afraid we’ve only so much time to socialize.” He pulled a watch out from the sleeve of his robe and quickly glanced over its hands. “We’ve hardly a third of a second remaining, and there’s still a few points I’d like to address,” he said, “but in the interest of fostering a mutually beneficial relationship, I’ll let you ask just one.”

“What in the gods’ names is wrong with you?”

The man’s initial response was to stare blankly. The smoking pipe slipped from his mouth and fell atop his desk before he finally broke into a roaring fit of laughter. He pounded his fist against his desk, coughing and cackling, struggling to breathe.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had one of the fun ones.” He wiped the tears from his eyes as his laughter slowed to a chuckle. “Though, I didn’t think I would be sent a literal child.” He looked her up and down. “You’re what, twelve?”

“Sixteen,” said the halfbreed, with a glare.

“Same difference, really.” He lifted his pipe off the desk and took a long drag. “Now, I believe I owe you a quest.” He drew a symbol in the air with his wand and, after a few moment's delay, gave it a casual flick.

Log Entry 483

The ‘Destroy Borrok Peak’ quest has been initiated.

Objectives (0/3)

- Slay the Borrok Lifegiver

- Slay the Borrok Sentinel

- Vandalize Borrok Peak beyond the point of recognition

Rewards: 250 points in every ability score

Deadline: 240 hours

“Borrok Peak is located on the library’s second floor,” he said as soon as she finished reading. “When you return to your body, you’ll want to follow the only remaining path and head up the spiralling staircase. From there, you will have to find it on your own,” he said. “Good luck.”

He waited for her to nod before lightly waving his wand and ejecting her from his realm. The world lurched; her surroundings warped to oblivion, flying by at an incredible speed and leaving her first as a speck in the void before returning her consciousness to reality.

A dull pain rang through her mind as she was pulled back into her body, only compounded by the fear that ran down her spine as she caught a hint of motion out of the corner of her eyes. She shot to her feet and spun around, but there was nothing, only the same pulsing rocks that filled the rest of the space. Slowly raising a hand and pressing it to her head, she turned her gaze around the room. Both corridors were missing. The only remaining path was brand new, added in the wake of her divine interaction.

She popped open her menu as her headache faded and took a moment to inspect her newest skill.

Llystletein Authority

Power is often granted in equal parts to the deserving and the overwhelmingly stupid. While you are certainly not the former, you have managed to acquire some control over the systems that govern the Ruins of Llystletein. Perhaps this will aid you in your quest to avoid the continued consumption of diarrhea-inducing moss.

You may spawn any of the following consumables:

- Stale bread (25MP)

- Stale water (25MP)

Though the entry’s details left her pale, she quickly shook her head and activated the ability. She held out her hand, expecting a cup or a mug to appear within it, but she found a stream of water instead. It flowed from her fingertips, gently watering the moss at her feet.

After taking a moment to wash her hands, she raised the magical digit to her lips and drank directly from the source, only to wrench her finger out of her mouth and choke the supposed water back up. Though it looked transparent and clean, it was even more disgusting than a drink left unattended for days.

She deactivated the skill with a grimace, and after finding a quiet place to comfort her aching stomach, set her eyes on the way forward. Her new quest wasn’t going to clear itself.