The double doors that led to the next floor were twenty feet of thick mahogany set into the craggy wall of the dungeon. Both were adorned with massive iron door-knockers decorated with the images of dryads emerging from watery depths. Across the top was scrawled a message:

Terhyl stepped off the beaten path

and found it was no experience at all.

Emrys ran his thumb over the calligraphy. Every dungeon room opened with a riddle. Most adventurers ignored the writing, if they even noticed it in the first place. At first Emrys had thought it was some sort of adventurer etiquette, but over time he began to wonder if not everyone could see the messages. Elder Winter had certainly never mentioned them.

“Terhyl stepped off the beaten path and found it was no experience at all.” The arcanist murmured the words, unconsciously feeling that if he spoke them aloud he would understand.

“Stepped off the beaten path…so there must be another path available.”

What could it mean to have no experience at all? Perhaps the alternate path was a portal that would teleport him immediately to the end of the room. He wouldn’t get to experience the room. That would fit the riddle, but he’d never seen a shortcut that circumvented the room entirely. Typically it offered an alternate route that was simpler in some respects and more technically complicated in others. Not that every dungeon necessarily followed the same rules…

The arcanist shook his head. He was overthinking it. All the speculation in the world would lead him nowhere, if he couldn’t find the other path.

He stepped back from the doors, his gaze searching the surrounding area. Perhaps there was a smaller door off to the side? He didn’t see one, but perhaps… Emrys pressed his palm against the moss-covered stone and walked along the wall. He stepped slowly, his fingers probing every inch before he moved on. If there was a secret passageway, it would not be found carelessly.

Only a few steps later, the thin layer of grass beneath his feet gave way. He had just enough time to suck in a startled breath before he plunged into algae-thickened water, sinking faster than made sense. It was more than just his weight pulling him down. It felt like a current, but it also felt like an intention. The dungeon’s awareness permeated the boggy depths and it was pulling him down like a fish on the line.

Emrys kicked his feet to no avail. A long strip of seaweed tangled up around his thigh, and for a terrifying second he was pulled off kilter until the seaweed tore away from its stalk.

Fire burst from his palms as he attempted to rescue himself in the same way that he had during the boss fight. He succeeded in slowing his descent but was unable to reverse direction. He funneled more mana into the spell. For one glorious instant he started to propel back toward the surface, but the intent of the water strengthened and once more pulled him down.

His lungs were burning with the need to breathe. He had never been the type to train his lungs, and it was taking all his self control not to gasp. At this point, he was far enough under water that even if he was able to pull free of the current, he would run out of air long before he reached the surface. There had to be another solution, or he was dead.

The ring on his finger glinted in the waning light. Plus 10% affinity to water and earth magic.

Emrys reached out mentally to sense the mana around him. Where before he would have felt a vague indication of magic in the water, he could now see the threads of mana that coursed through it. More than likely he was still only seeing a fraction of what was there, but it was miles better than what he had experienced with water before.

He reached out with his own will. Long ago, he had learned how to send threads of his own magic outside of his body. It was an inefficient method of spell-casting, crude for all that it was intuitive. Elder Winter had beaten that habit out of him, saying that it was for lazy boys who couldn’t be bothered to learn a spell properly. For all that Emrys had resisted at the time, he eventually had to admit that crude wielding of mana was the equivalent of building a house with a brick instead of a hammer.

That said, it was effective enough when one didn’t yet know the spells. And Emrys had deliberately avoided water. Fire was his element, and he felt an aversion to water magic that was almost purely based on principle.

So he extended a thread of his own magic out into the water rushing past him. He looped that thread through a ribbon of mana, then anchored it in his lungs. Breathe, he told the thread, and his lungs filled with pure, blissful breath. It was more mana than air, but it had the desired effect.

The arcanist’s whole body relaxed. For a moment, the terror of being dragged down into the unknown depths of the dungeon was overridden by the sweet relief of not drowning, and he stopped fighting the pull. What would come, would come. And he would be ready for it when it did.

The bog seemed to sense that he had stopped fighting it, and the pull lightened up until he felt more like he was drifting. If he closed his eyes, the effect was even peaceful.

It didn’t last. The current pulled him up into a cave and deposited him on damp rock. He sputtered the incantation to dry himself and his clothes. It did nothing for the mud and algae that clung to his robes, but it was better than nothing.

The arcanist sighed. He really hated bogs.

The side of the cave he had entered from looked just like a deep pool. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought it a murky pond, thick with plant life and algae. There was no way to tell that it led to the deep bog that had sent him there.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

In the other direction the cave narrowed to a thin passage, barely wide enough for a man. It was the only way to go. He squared his shoulders and set off. He was off the beaten path. What sort of experience that would lead to, he could only find out.

The cave was damp in the sticky way of rocks that are soaking up moisture. He did his best not to touch them, but some parts of the passage stuck out inconveniently so that he had to turn sideways and cinch through.

After a while, the winding path became familiar. It zigzagged every twenty feet or so and was gradually inclined. There was the occasional mossy patch along the rocks, but for the most part it was just damp, irregular rock. Not once did he encounter a living creature, monster or otherwise.

It was eerie. He’d cleared dozens of dungeons and not once had he gone so long without encountering the dungeon creatures. Not that he was complaining. The fewer monsters he encountered along the way, the more likely he was to make it through to the end of the dungeon. Bringing his chances of survival up from zero, to half a percent.

A rumble shook the ground. Dust fell from the ceiling. Emrys glanced around but saw no changes. The rumble continued, though it sounded far away. It was coming from the opening of the cave, where he had started.

He didn’t know what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. He shimmied faster through the narrow path, ducking and diving between the rocky protrusions with less and less care. They tugged at his clothes at odd intervals, scratching his arms. He moved faster. The rumbling was getting louder, and the sound of it instilled an instinctive panic that had him scrambling to escape. Suddenly the cave felt claustrophobic, and he had to get out.

A light at the end of the tunnel appeared. Emrys blinked rapidly and looked away, but only for a moment. The end was near, and the passageway widened out toward the end. He practically sprinted out and collapsed on the ground.

It was careless, he knew, but he lost control. His head was pounding, and he flattened his palms against the ground until he believed it was real. He was safe, however temporarily.

He glanced back at the tunnel opening just as it collapsed in on itself. The rumbling shuddered to a halt. Within seconds, the secret passage that had allowed him to sidestep the dungeon room was completely gone.

The arcanist took another deep breath and laid his head against the ground. If he got back home, he might have to take a few weeks off from dungeon diving.

When he got back home. He had to keep a positive outlook, or he would defeat himself before the dungeon did. He was going to make it out alive. He was going to see his mother and his best friend again. He was going to be stronger for the experience. He was going to destroy this dungeon.

Newly resolved, the arcanist clambered to his feet and surveyed the area. He had somehow climbed from the depths of the bog to a high vantage point of the next room. True to form, the secret passage had led him to the end of the room, and the exit door was within sight.

“No experience,” he muttered. The riddle must have meant that he wouldn’t have to experience the dungeon room or kill any of the monsters.

He strode across the last stretch of grass and gazed up at the double doors, searching for the message scrawled across the top.

Terhyl hid from the world and found clarity.

The field of battle is decorated by the

pits of despair and the jaws of death.

The first part was easy enough. “Terhyl hid from the world” implied he would have to find a place to hide, at which point something would be made clear. An exit might come into view, or something else entirely.

The second half was less obvious. His entire plan hinged on avoiding a direct fight though, so it might work out in his favor.

The arcanist was as ready as he ever would be. He pushed open the double doors and stepped through. Immediately, he sank ankle deep into the mushy earth.

“Ughhhh,” he growled, “I hate bogs!” Heat could dry out his shoes, but it would do nothing for the squelching mud that was squeezing into his boots. He took a deep breath. If this is what he had to deal with, so be it. So long as he could kill monsters from a distance, it wouldn’t matter that melee fighting would have him trapped in mud before he could so much as land a blow.

Looking out at the area before him, he could see thin trees poking up through the peat valley. As with every room so far, fog rolled through the flat stretches of land, and the piercing cries of birds combined into an eerie ambiance. Low-lying creatures prowled between the trees and high grasses, just hidden enough that Emrys could not count their numbers.

The riddle had mentioned that the secret of this room would only be visible when he himself was invisible. Jefferson would have been perfect for the role. Once again, Emrys wished he knew the sneaking skills that were associated with rogue behavior. When he was done with this dungeon, he would have to seriously dedicate some time to learning that sort of thing. Even if it stalled his improvements in fire magic, it was too valuable to put off any longer.

For now, he would have to find some other way to hide. If the monsters could use tall grass, maybe he could too. He noticed that the edges of the valley were lined with thicker trees and heavier bushes, so he clung to the wall and set off.

Every rustle and creak made him jump, but he was able to slog through the mud into a small copse. He put a tree to his back and used bushes to hide him from the front, and he was able to look out at the valley. He was effectively invisible.

The first trap was immediately obvious. From where he was standing, it was like a red beacon was shining onto a patch of grass about the size of a pillow. It would require decent aim to hit the target, but that was the kind of thing he’d been practicing since he first learned how to use his magic.

He concentrated fire mana into a tight ball in his palm. Years of grueling practice had honed this most basic spell into a perfect missile with only negligible leakage.

He sized up the target and watched the patrolling of the nearby monsters. There were at least ten of them that he could see, and they were milling about. It didn’t look like they were following a pattern at first, but Emrys was patient. It took ten minutes for the pattern to repeat, and there was a five second window where all ten creatures were close to the target. He watched them repeat the pattern three times to be sure he had his timing straight.

There would be no way of knowing how large the blast radius would be, until he did it. There was always the possibility that he was overthinking the trap and it would be easier to kill every monster than he thought, but he had to be prepared for the worst. If any of the monsters were left alive, he would have to fire ranged attacks at them while they ducked into the natural brush of the valley. The thick mud sucked at his feet with every step he took, but the creatures didn’t have the same issue. If they got within melee range of him, he would not last long.

The arcanist took a deep breath and calmed his thoughts. He counted down the seconds until all ten of the creatures were in position, and he let loose his fireball. The spell was a hyper-dense ball of magic, and he threw enough force behind it that he wouldn’t have to worry about not triggering the trap.

Every single one of the monsters watched it approach. It was like they were transfixed by the sudden brightness of the fireball. The spell made contact with the target, and for a moment–just a moment–there was silence. Then the ground imploded. A smooth hemisphere of earth was abruptly gone, right where the monsters had once been.