- [The Village Beyond the Vampire Lord's Castle] -
The village far outside of the Vampire Lord’s castle hums with newfound life, a vibrant energy coursing through its veins — the once forgotten, sleepy roads. A place once shrouded in the quiet of forgotten time now bustles with the chatter of merchants hawking their wares, the laughter of children — not seen here in a decade — darting through cobblestone streets, and the clinking of coins exchanging hands. The air is thick with the scent of freshly baked bread, mingling with the warm aroma of spices from distant lands. A cool breeze ripples through the vibrant banners that flutter above the market square.
The old, grizzled merchant who has seen more seasons than he cares to count surveys the scene with a mix of wonder and skepticism. His new shop — a modest house for decades turned into an impromptu storefront — now teems with travelers from far-off lands, their eyes wide with the promise of adventure. He retired from the business for his wife’s sake, but she was quick to forgive him for going back into work when the coins started stacking on their dinner table. People are coming seeking maps, potions, and talismans, eager to test their mettle against the Vampire Lord's dungeon but also the entire area’s wild monsters. Many slimes and goblins have come to the region, attracted by the wild magic in the air. This sudden influx of people and monsters means brisk business, a stark change from the days not that long ago.
He adjusts his spectacles, peering at a young bard strumming a lute by the fountain. The melody draws a small crowd. "Ain't it somethin'?" he mutters to himself, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. The village, once wary of the castle's dark shadow, now thrives under its looming presence.
It’s becoming a situation like he’s seen in the world’s many other great cities. Dungeons are endless goldmines. Such a thing has a way of building industry around itself. People are attracted to it like harpies to a chicken coop.
Nearby, a group of settlers — new blood invigorating the ancient soil — gathers around a makeshift stall. They barter for building materials, their voices rising and falling. The sun, a golden orb hanging low in the sky, casts long shadows that stretch across the ground, a reminder of the day's waning hours. But even at night, the village stays awake now. Business thrives at all hours. The walls are high and strong, and they have a contingent of adventurers to man them. But the Vampire Lord never showed his face here again after they drove him away the first time. Even the forest’s wolves have stopped pestering them after their show of force. But the guards are useful to keep away those other wild creatures, and they let everyone feel safe at night.
A potter from the east wipes her brow as she arranges an array of clay vases. Her hands, calloused and stained with the hues of her craft, move with a practiced grace.
The late-year weather holds a gentle warmth, the kind that lingers just long enough to soothe the bones without stifling the spirit. Light dances playfully across the village, filtering through the leaves of ancient trees that stand sentinel along the road. The old villagers feel it too — a shift in the wind, a lightness in their steps. Conversations flow easily, punctuated by the occasional expletive as a cart loses a wheel or a piglet escapes its pen.
There’s something about the energy, youth, and excitement being brought here that is infectious.
"Can you believe it?" asks the baker's wife. She nudges her husband with an elbow, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "All these folks.”
"Aye," he grunts, kneading dough with practiced fervor. "Never thought I'd see the day."
Their words are swallowed by the sounds of the bustling market, a living testament to the village's transformation. It used to just be where the old men of the village would gather every now and then to chit-chat. But now, the old hamlet breathes anew, its heart beating in time with the reinvigorated dreams of those who now call it home.
It sounds odd to say, but in a way, the old merchant is grateful to the Vampire Lord.
But at the same time, he’s frightened of what is to come. If his life has taught him anything, it’s that gold mines have a way of inevitably collapsing at some point.
His old eyes stare at the castle, wondering what became of the brave knight who came to put an end to all of this.
----------------------------------------
- [The Cathedral, Schwarzmond City] -
The air inside the cathedral is a cool whisper against the skin, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat radiating from the sun-baked stones of Schwarzmond city beyond its walls. Light filters through stained glass, painting the white floors in hues of crimson and azure, shadows stretching like ivy across the cold marble where there are gaps in dayglow. The colors — deep reds, vibrant greens — reflect off the polished stone, creating a hauntingly beautiful ambiance that seems to pulse as if it were all alive itself. The scent of floral incense lingers, a soft haze that clings to the senses, a soothing balm to the many tensions that crackle in the air.
The local bishop stands at the head of the long wooden table, his fingers lightly tapping the surface — a steady rhythm against the silence that has settled among the council. His eyes, sharp and discerning, sweep over the gathered holymen, each seated with expressions ranging from worry to defiance — politics as usual.
The developments of the resource-draining holy war to the north-east gnaw at them all.
"The witch and the tower core have left nothing but ruins in their wake," says the bishop, voice a low rumble that reverberates through the chamber. "The city is gone. Thousands are displaced and seeking refuge. We must address this before it spreads further."
A priest shifts in his seat, the creak of old wood melding with the quiet. "But what of the Vampire Lord?" His voice carries a note of irritation. "We cannot ignore his presence any longer either," he says, looking around at the councilmen. “It was foolish to simply brush this matter off when we were warned by that villager.”
A heavy sigh escapes one of the elder priests, his eyes closing briefly as if to shut out the reality pressing in from all sides. The Vampire Lord — an enigma, a threat. Opinions differ wildly, and the council teeters on the edge of internal strife. They’re on edge because of the crusade called against the hundred-year crisis, caused by the presence of the unusual holy tower dungeon-core to the northeast and the witch that it was battling.
Another city to the northeast has been utterly destroyed. Thousands are dead, and thousands more have fled out into the land. Monsters roam the world in the wake of it all, seeking to bring about an era of tooth and fang. The church’s priests and champions are spread thin, helping and healing anyone they can, but the destruction is so vast that even the church, with all of its resources, is on edge.
The tower dungeon is destroyed, and that witch and her cohorts appear to be dead, but the damage is done. It will take a century or more to recover from this devastation.
As for the nearby Vampire Lord, whom the church dismissed as being inconsequential only weeks ago, he has grown tremendously in power, and this has not gone unnoticed. But they can’t make heads or tails of him, as his intentions are deeply confusing, given that his dark castle seems nothing like the horror from old legends. In fact, it’s even safer than many of the ‘accepted’ dungeons of the world, as he seems to spare the lives of mortal invaders. Not even the low-level beginner-friendly world-tree dungeon does that.
The cathedral's grandeur is undeniable. High arches loom overhead, their intricate carvings a testament to craftsmanship long forgotten. The walls are lined with pillars, each holding the weight of histories untold, stories carved in stone. Flickering candles cast a warm glow, their light a fleeting comfort in such times as these.
A priestess seated near the end of the table clears her throat. Her fingers trace the edge of a parchment, the crinkle of paper a small sound swallowed by the room's vastness. "The Vampire Lord's domain is growing. We need a decision, and soon."
Eyes narrow, some in agreement, others in challenge. The tension is palpable — a physical presence that wraps around them like a shroud. The discussions stretch into the afternoon, voices rising and falling in a dance of conviction and doubt.
The bishop leans forward, his gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the stained glass. "If we engage the Vampire Lord," he muses, "We risk spreading our forces thin for something that isn’t a threat. But to leave him unchecked — "
"- Is to invite disaster," finishes another, a young deacon, his voice firm and unwavering. "We've seen his kind before. The power they wield is incredible." His eyes look around the council, many of whom are decades older than him. But he doesn’t back down from their gazes. “He could become a threat later when he is too powerful to stop if we allow this to go on.” The young man crosses his arms. “In barely two months time, the old ruin has expanded unlike anything we’ve ever seen. His strength is growing so much that even the other dungeon cores are exhibiting unusual activity lately because of it.”
A moment of silence follows, each man lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts. The cathedral holds its breath.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Outside, the sun begins its descent, casting longer shadows through the colored glass. The city beyond is alive with the noise of daily life, a stark reminder of what is at stake. Decisions must be made.
But resources are what they are. The church is coming out of the tail end of a brutal crusade with critical manpower losses. There is so much healing and charity that needs to be done to help the hurt and lost of the ended war that the thought of opening a brand new onslaught against a new dark force is already too much to be acceptable for most, especially if this evil presence seems rather placated and passive.
The council remains locked in debate, the weight of the world pressing heavily upon their shoulders.
----------------------------------------
- [Very Far Away, Across the Great Eastern Ocean] -
Elsewhere, far, far away on another continent entirely, a lake glimmers, its surface reflecting the sky like shards of shattered glass. The water is calm, rippling gently as if whispering to the trees and the world. At the lake’s heart lies another dungeon core, one that commands the depths and currents, a master of traps.
This lake dungeon is nestled within a deep, bright forest full of many exotic animals. Here, too, is a separate dungeon core as well. They are interlinked, two dungeon cores that connect in symbiosis. The forest core protects the lake core, and the lake core provides nourishment for the forest core. Together, the forest core and the lake core share a bond forged in time, each appreciating the other’s unique presence. Although in the long since past, they were once bitter rivals.
Life is funny like that.
"Did you feel that?" the forest core muses, its voice a gentle rustle like leaves in the wind. "Something stirs in the distance. A dark power is growing. The worms are burrowing deep and coming here to hide from it."
There is no bodily source; rather, the voice comes from the entire forest itself. It’s in the wind.
The lake core shifts, its essence swirling with the currents, reflecting the sunlight in hues of blue and green. A face made up of cold water in the shape of a person rises from the shore and looks toward the forest. This dungeon core, unlike its neighbor, has an avatar. Some dungeons of the world do; others are shapeless, living within the walls and floors of their dungeons themselves as if they were the soul and the dungeon itself the body. The forest core is one such dungeon, and she is of the former type.
Many cores throughout the history of the world have existed in both manners.
"Ah, the dark core again,” she says, her voice bubbling as she makes words in quite an unusual manner. “Fitting. The humans already flocked to that troublesome holy core over on that continent," A ripple of laughter dances across the surface, the sound mingling with the soft lapping of water against the shore. “It makes sense that the dark core would be born there too,” she muses. “At least we have our peace now. It’s been a long time since it was this quiet here.”
The forest core chuckles softly, a sound reminiscent of branches swaying in a breeze. "We're glad to be forgotten, aren’t we? It’s been ages since people came to poke around here."
The busy, distracted humans are a welcome diversion, their ambitions taking them far from the sanctuary of ancient woods and the calm lake.
Sunbeams flicker through the leaves, casting playful patterns on the forest floor. The air is warm, infused with the sweet scent of blooming wildflowers. Here in the old forest, time flows differently than in the rest of the world. It’s slower.
"What do you think of it?" the lake core asks, curiosity bubbling beneath its surface. "A light and dark core at the same time next to each other?”
At first the forest does not reply, but then the wind blows again, rustling through the trees and shaking the words free from their branches. “A strange age has come to us,” says the forest. The living water climbs out of the lake halfway, her hand stroking the side of an old tree that has its roots sipping from the blue. "I suspect the stars are becoming troublesome once more," it replies, a hint of mischief in its tone. “Perhaps a terrible fate awaits the world. Or perhaps they are simply playing their games like always,” it explains. “You know how they get.”
She nods, looking up toward the sky above, twinkling with nightglow.
Many powers rule the world they reside in; beyond the kings and knights of men lies the throne of heaven, and elsewhere its dark contrast. The gods live here in such places, and these hold power over the world and the affairs of the living on it. They dictate and decide the direction of life. And as far as most are concerned, that’s all there is to the universe — people, monsters, gods, animals, and a few oddities in between like themselves.
But these two dungeon cores are very old creatures. They are among the oldest living dungeons of the forty-nine that fill the world and the one that flies above it. Newer dungeon cores come and go as humanity and their ilk destroy them, and then a new core is created somewhere.
— There are always forty-nine and one.
The oldest dungeon cores are strong enough to stay in power and life, and the young and the fresh are reaped like low-hanging fruit only for a new dungeon core to spawn somewhere in the world and try its luck.
And so, in the wisdom of their years, they know that there is something else that governs the world.
There are old, lingering powers that exist behind Heaven. These are shapeless, nameless things that men do not know of — save for the nigh-exinct witches who coven with them. These old primordial things use the stars as eyes to watch the world they govern in true secrecy. Like an infinite spider, they hang just overhead, waiting to drop from the shadows — unseen until they fall and it is too late.
“Either way, it is not our concern. We have our own lives to nurture," notes the forest core. “Let us enjoy our peace. The sun will be good tomorrow, I expect.”
Humans are too preoccupied with their own quests to notice the ancient powers that lie just beyond their reach, and as for those who do notice, well, such powers are also beyond their reach. So why worry about it?
She nods, a content smile on her face. “You say that every day,” the lake core murmurs, waves shimmering under the night’s gaze
“Was I ever wrong?” asks the forest core.
She sighs and rolls her eyes, splashing the tree with water, the breeze carrying their shared voices into the depths of the grove.
For now, existence on this side of the world flows on undisturbed by the shadows of either new ambitions on the other side of the globe or those older ones found in the blackness behind all starlight.
Life is good if you don't worry about it too much.
----------------------------------------
- [Adventurers inside the Vampire Lord’s Castle] -
The air is thick with an oppressive silence as the adventurers step into the grand dining room, their torches flickering against the cold stone walls. Shadows leap and dance, twisting into grotesque shapes that seem to whisper secrets long forgotten — oftentimes they are unsure if there are ghosts nearby or if the castle itself is playing tricks on them by distorting the walls where shadows fall to create illusions. A long table stretches before them, laden with a feast that defies the decay surrounding it — roasted meats glisten, fruits burst with color, and goblets overflow with rich, dark wine. The scent wafts through the room, enticing and unsettling in equal measure, given the contrast of setting.
The adventurers exchange glances with each other, unease flickering in their eyes.
"Come on, it's just food," says one with a dismissive wave, stepping forward. His bravado masks the tremor in his voice. "What’s the worst that could happen?"
“It’s probably poisoned!” argues a party member with him.
“Look. We haven’t eaten in a day,” he argues back to her. “Remember that chicken we found inside a secret wall? That was good to eat.”
“Yeah, but… that feels different,” says the party archer, chiming in.
He brushes aside the warnings, the anxious murmurs of his companions fading into the background as he sits down at a chair and looks at the plate of food. This is some strange dining room inside the castle. It looks like an entire feast was prepared, and then nobody ever showed up to eat it.
The others watch, their brows furrowed.
The dining room is a cavernous space, adorned with dark wooden beams that arch overhead like the ribs of a great beast. Candles flicker, casting a warm glow that feels strangely out of place in a castle that screams danger.
He reaches for a succulent roast, cutting into it with zeal. The meat — still hot — sizzles as he takes a bite, juices running down his chin.
"See? Nothing wrong here," he declares, laughter spilling from his lips, though it echoes hollowly.
His companions shift uneasily, glancing at one another. "Maybe you should stop," Sarah suggests, her voice trembling. "I don’t think this is — "
But her words die in the air as Jake’s expression changes. His grin falters, eyes widening in horror. He clutches his stomach, the laughter replaced by a choked gasp. “What the hell?” he gasps, color draining from his face as he looks down again.
The food itself stirs, writhing on the plates. It pulses with life. He looks down at himself. Veins of crimson snake through the flesh, and the roast in his guts seems to shift, moving inside of him like a worm, causing his gut to distend and bulge through the fabric of his tunic.
The others watch, frozen in a mix of disbelief and horror, their minds struggling to comprehend the nightmare unfolding before them.
His hands clawing at himself, and the man screams, falling over as a slice of living meat burrows out through his spine and he hits the ground — spasming and dead.
The others scream, running away in terror as all the plates rattle and shake all along the table, as if they were alive.
— They are.
----------------------------------------
- [The Village Beyond the Vampire Lord's Castle] -
The village feels alive with an undercurrent of excitement, the air tingling with talk, and the shuffling of feet.
Evening finally descends, cloaking the roads that have become streets in a soft, dusky glow. Lanterns flicker to life, casting pools of warm light that dance upon cobblestones. Some market stalls begin to close, their keepers weary from the day’s trade, yet the village does not sleep. Others only just now begin to open shop. Adventurers work in the castle both day and night, and while many enjoy the guild up the road — who nobody quite knows how it was made — many prefer the village as it feels more homesome.
Among the bustling crowd either going to bed or getting up from theirs, a group of figures move with purpose — hoods drawn low to shield their faces from prying eyes. This would be very, very suspicious behavior if not for the fact that every second adventure has a hood. It’s just the fashion of the times.
Lesser vampires, drawn by the promise of power, weave through the throng, their presence masked. A chill accompanies them, unnoticed by those too preoccupied with their own affairs. They are beyond the base larval state of vampire young, but still many, many centuries away from ever hoping to dream of something akin to a Vampire Lord’s power.
The villagers, absorbed in their routines, remain blissfully unaware of the danger lurking in their midst. A child laughs, chasing after a stray cat, while an old farmer haggles over the price of grain. Life continues. The lesser vampires pause, taking in the sights and sounds of this human settlement. Their eyes — hidden beneath the shadowed folds of their cloaks — gleam with anticipation. The dark castle looms on the horizon, a silhouette against the dying light as night falls.
It beckons them. They have traveled far, drawn by the promise of finding the pinnacle of their kind — the true Master of the night — the Vampire Lord Inkume. They seek the sanctuary of his dominion and maybe just a piece of the power he commands. It’s a dangerous world for a vampire.
One of them, a lanky figure with a commanding presence, glances at his companions. "We are almost there," he says, his voice a low murmur. "The Master awaits."
Another one nods, tugging her cloak tighter around her shoulders. "I can’t wait to meet him!" says an excited, shrill voice.
The night deepens, a velvet curtain draping itself over the world. Stars begin to pierce the sky, tiny pinpricks of light in the encroaching darkness. One after the other, they appear as if the waking eyes of a slumbering beast.
Slinking through the crowd, the tight group moves down the road and into the thick of the forest that separates them from the greatest evil that fills the world.