B2. Chapter 04

Noon. I woke up at noon.

It felt so good to sleep in, and the extra rest put me in a jolly mood.

A new city, a new trading post, new dungeons, new quests, and new adventures awaited me.

I made my way to the trading post floor. It wasn’t so busy this time around. Booths and tables were well organized and in order. The trading post atmosphere lacked chaos today.

It looked as though there were half as many adventurers conducting business at this time of day, this time. I took the opportunity to browse all the wares and entertain my curiosity. I was able to recognize anciennes, warriors, mages, and rogues, but there were a ton of other classes that I couldn’t identify.

There were items for sale whose purposes eluded me. Magical weapons that drew me like a moth to the flame, useless trinkets, and even a cartographer who focused on hunting down items through dungeon chains.

“Dungeon chains,” I asked him. “As in dungeons filled with chains or something?”

The portly fellow leaned over his counter so that we could converse in whispers.

“No, young healer. Dungeon chains offer legendary loot. Dungeon chains involve more than one dungeon to secure the kind of treasured loot I help people find.”

He turned to shuffle through a pile of rolled up maps. Satisfied with a find, he exhumed it from beneath a pile and unrolled the map between us. He set a couple paperweights upon the corners and leaned in once more to continue our conspiring hush.

The map showed a vibrant countryside about 100 kilometers from Klayvale. The terrain was plateau-esque and tumbled into a swamp which splashed against a mountain range. Several skeletal jaws with sharp fangs marked dungeon entrances.

With a stubby finger, he pointed one out, looked at me, moved his finger across to another dungeon, looked at me once more, moved his finger to yet another dungeon, looked at me again, then moved his finger to the final dungeon on the map.

“In that order,” he said.

“Going through all those dungeons in that order gets you legendary loot?”

“Yes, but still at a 25% chance. Each of these dungeons has something you need in order to unlock parts of the next dungeon, and so forth. Read this,” he said, pointing at the title.

I turned my head so I wouldn’t have to read entirely upside down.

“Philokiis Kandle, it says.”

“Yes! Philokiis Kandle is a candle that burns and never stops burning.”

“Wow. Is this real? How much are your maps?”

“Yes! 100 gold for this one. This is the easiest.”

I gulped and my voice strained against an instantly dry throat. The loot hunter chuckled until he was red in the face. I explained that it seemed like an awesome opportunity but I was carrying mere pieces of silver.

“Why don’t you come back when you're financed? I’ll usually always be here.”

We ended our hushed conversation, then slid the paper weights off the map and it coiled onto itself. Unable to help himself, he broke into chuckles once more before wishing me good luck on future adventures.

I often glanced over my shoulder at the portly loot hunter’s booth as I explored the rest of the trading post. My circling exploration eventually returned me to the Recruiter’s Post, and I asked to explore their quest log. The log was a single enormous volume which was constantly being updated. All manner of people could request any number of services, which the recruiters would detail in the volume.

“Sure thing,” the recruiter said. “Let me conjure a copy for you. Just a moment, please.”

She closed the volume. Upon the cover were more than a dozen small runes. Each one shimmered a metallic sheen of varying colors. Her mana bar flung open to a small circle just above the quest log. She put a finger to a rune and drew a few points away from her mana bar. The gossamer silk of mana floated down into a particular rune, activating it.

An exact copy of the quest log began to materialize between her mana bar and the volume. It came into the world with a brief flickering of ghostly white and ethereal blue. Page appeared upon page in a race to fill the book from cover to cover.

“Alright adventurer, here you are!”

I took the volume in pure awe.

“How long do I have until I need to return it?” I asked.

“No need to return it. It will wither by evening. Since I have the master copy, yours will update the moment I update mine. What you’ll see, will be what you’ll get.”

I gave a slight bow and thanked her profusely.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

For the rest of daylight, I made myself comfortable in a mess of couches by the Inn’s central hearth. The Inn and bar took up nearly a quarter of the trading post. With a tankard of creamed ale and a handful of baked potatoes with cheese curds and herbs, I perused the quest log by the fire.

When the sun set over desolate peaks, and bare trees combed through cold winds, adventurers came in and packed the trading post. My quest log vanished between my hands. That was probably a good thing, since I’d been over absorbed in reading all the details of every quest request one by one.

“Nicodomus! Nicodomus!”

A clamor of adventures stood upon the sight of a large suit of armor heading their way. Each limb of armor was nearly as wide and tall as I was. Put six of me together, and I’d make up the animated suit that stopped two tables from me. A horned helmet the size of my chest looked upon the men still clamoring over the walking metal.

The armor was entirely black, and the edges of each plate gleamed a blood red. At the shoulders, cuffs, joints, and hips, were a flair of layered plates.

The armor’s hand came up to its helmet and lifted the massive thing from its shoulders. Beneath was the bald, scarred head of a man upon an impossibly thick neck. His jaw was wide and made of right angles. His smile gleamed, and he embraced each of his waiting companions with half a hug.

“My friends!” Nicodomus said. “How good it is to return! I’m famished.”

“Well then,” one of his companions said, “Let us binge on tomato pie and foamed molasses stouts!”

“Hear hear!” Another said.

“I accept your offer,” Nicodomus said. He pulled a small stool, which was nearly a twentieth of his size, beneath him and perched delicately upon it. “In exchange, I will regale you with my latest adventure.”

“I take it you’ve sealed the dungeon,” a comrade said.

Nicodomus began his story by taking us back to the eve of autumn. His party was six warriors deep with two healers, one rogue, and one psychic. They had ended their trek across the land at the very end of summer.

“We thought getting through hordes of monsters, just to get to the dungeon mouth would have been half the adventure!”

“And?” Someone said.

“And we were wrong! It was nothing compared to the abyss!”

The whole of the trading post quieted when the abyss was mentioned. Although I was already riveted to the story, to the grandeur of the champion before me, even my soul stilled to better listen.

“You beat a legendary dungeon?” A young man asked, coming over along with dozens of other adventurers to hear the tale.

“I did! I sealed the legendary dungeon—Ha Ha Ha!”

An old man let his reservations be known. “You did no such thing.”

“But I did!”

“Tell us more,” a creature said, who was made more of ale than of man.

“We battled Tarbats just to get to the dungeon mouth. Then we battled Tartaurian Tar Fiends and other horrors just to enter!”

Nicodomus went on to paint the tunnel path in our mind. The tunnel sloped down at a dangerous grade and it was wide enough to swallow all of Klayvale in one gulp. Though the city of Klayvale would tumble down the tunnel because the dungeon floor was not flat. It was paved with heaps of smoothed boulders that served more as stairs for giants than anything else.

“The first boss we ran into was a Corrupted Razor Felke.”

Whispers traveled from tongue to tongue around me. A chatter of teeth seemed to eat up every word Nicodomus said. People shook their heads. Eyes widened. Some argued amongst themselves. Others balked.

“It’s true I say,” Nicodomus continued. “I killed that rolling ball of teeth with this!”

From the back of his massively plated red and black armor, he retrieved a sword.

The back of the blade sheened blood red. The rest was blackened, leaving only the bit to reflect the sharpened steel. It appeared to be a giant, long cleaver, more than a sword.

“That can’t reach into the mouth of a Razor Felke,” a seasoned adventurer said from beneath the hood of a darkly green cloak.

Nicodomus pointed to one of many runes near the hilt of his blade. He cast a giant mana bar that encircled at least two dozen of us and lifted his cleaver-esque sword at an angle above everyone’s heads. A massively long gossamer cloud of mana was sent into the rune and his sword stretched to become twelve meters longer, and two meters thicker.

The weight of it forced Nicodomus to put all his strength into wielding the colossal sword. The armor of his arms, already beyond massive, seemed to bulge from his muscles beneath. The weight of his weapon pressed him into the floorboards.

He gave a mighty roar as he twisted the insane blade above the heads of us all.

“Raaaaahhhhhhhh!”

With mirth, the warrior let the blade shrink and he sheathed it behind his back before putting a leg up on his stool and leaning onto the lifted knee.

He described the battle in detail. He had fought alongside his companions and had plunged his sword (named Clifford) into one of the mouths of the Razor Felke. The other warriors plunged their weapons in its other mouths until all the blades met at its howling center. Then they slashed through the fiend, obliterating the abomination.

“Covered in guts and blood, we pushed on,” he continued..

The warrior swept a hand before him as though drawing a curtain and revealing a dark scene: The continuing dungeon tunnel.

“After a week of travel and battle, we came to the bottom of the dungeon. The air was humid. It stank of carcass and sulphur!”

He told us how the party traveled on, fighting horrors and monsters none of them had ever heard of before. The second boss they fought was a Leaping Laugher.

“It was a monster made of shadow and stone. It had eyes of molten malachite. The first time it opened its mouth, a warrior died. Melted away. We could not recover his bones because they ran like water through the cracks.

A woman shared her curiosity. “How did the rest of you survive?”

“Our healer was prepared. She cast Gelmitheon’s Orb, a divine given magic that seared the very soul of the boss. We are indebted to her. Forever indebted. Her protective spell saved our lives and gave us the advantage, turning the tide of battle.

“C’mon,” the old man from earlier said, now totally invested in the story. “Get to the good parts! When did you get to the abyss?”

Nicodomus leaned in as if to share a secret with all of us. That’s when all sounds in the trading post died once more. Not a soul dared utter a peep. All we could hear were the sounds of sparkling foam on freshly poured ale.

“After another week’s travel and battle, we arrived at the abyss. We arrived minus one man and our spirits battered with grief. I cannot properly describe to you what it feels like to come upon an abyss. I want to say that an abyss is larger than the entire world of Felke.”

“How can that be,” someone said.”

“Yes,” Nicodomus said, pointing at the man. “How can that be? But you must understand, that was the first thing that came to my mind when we stood upon the edge. It took us a few days to collect ourselves before descending. Why? Because we were afraid. There was fear in our hearts. Our blood had run cold. Even I trembled.”