James woke up convinced, for exactly three seconds, that someone had replaced his legs overnight.

  Then the pain arrived.

  It wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t dramatic. It was a deep, pulsing ache that started in his calves and worked its way upward like an accusation. Every muscle protested the simple act of existence. He groaned, rolled onto his side, and immediately regretted that decision as well.

  “Yep,” he muttered into the pillow. “That tracks.”

  He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, replaying flashes of the night before. The heat. The energy. The dancing. Gods, the dancing. His head throbbed faintly, not enough to be real pain, just enough to be annoying. A reminder. A bill coming due.

  Recipe Creation was powerful.

  Recipe Creation was also dangerous.

  He pushed himself upright with a hiss and let his feet touch the floor. His legs answered with renewed outrage. James paused, breathing through it, then slowly stood.

  “Never again without planning,” he murmured. “And water. Lots of water.”

  As he dressed, his thoughts drifted back to the pot he’d left behind. Dragonfire Fall Apart Udom. An entire pot of it sat safely in his inventory, sealed away from curious hands and bad decisions. He exhaled, relieved.

  Good. That needed to stay there.

  Food that could make people stronger was one thing. Food that could turn them feral was another. If he ever made a buffed dish again, he would need rules. Limits. Control. That recipe could not end up in the wrong hands.

  Wrong hands meaning… most hands.

  He rubbed his temples once more and stepped out into the hallway.

  Vhara’s door was directly across from his.

  James lifted his hand and knocked lightly. “Vhara? I’m heading down to the common room.”

  There was no answer. He waited a beat, then the answer came through the door, “You’re not opening the door this time?”

  A pause.

  James smirked faintly. “That’s fine. Neither I nor the world is ready for that.”

  He turned and started down the stairs.

  The common room was quiet in that early-morning way that only inns ever achieved. Sunlight filtered through the windows at a low angle, dust motes drifting lazily in the air. A few mugs sat abandoned on tables, ghosts of last night’s indulgence.

  James lowered himself into a chair with care and immediately regretted sitting. He adjusted, winced, then settled.

  Moments later, Vhara entered.

  She looked… normal. Mostly. A little too alert for someone who had danced like a war god the night before, but otherwise composed. She took one look at James and tilted her head.

  “You are sitting strangely.”

  “I am experiencing regret,” James said.

  She nodded. “Understandable.”

  Marty shuffled in next, hair a mess, eyes wide as if he was still checking whether reality had stayed put overnight.

  “I’m alive,” he said softly. “That’s new.”

  Behind him came Gerrard, clutching a cup of water like a lifeline.

  “I have learned something important,” Gerrard announced. “Never trust food that makes you feel invincible.”

  James raised a finger. “In my defense, I did warn you.”

  They were just settling around the table when the inn’s front door slammed open

  Mira burst inside, breathless, hair half tied, eyes sharp with urgency.

  “Get up,” she said immediately. “All of you. Something big is happening.”

  James straightened despite his protesting legs. “Define big.”

  “Adventurer Guild,” Mira said. “Now.”

  The quiet of the morning shattered.

  James pushed himself to his feet, the ache in his legs flaring once more. Whatever waited for them at the guild, it was big enough to cut through exhaustion, pain, and lingering embarrassment in a single sentence.

  “Alright,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  And they did.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The guild hall had been loud before. But this… this was something else entirely. James stepped through the doors and froze as a wall of noise slammed into him. Shouts overlapped shouts. Boots thundered across the floor. Paper scraped. Someone knocked over a chair. A clerk shouted for order and was immediately ignored. Two adventurers argued so intensely their foreheads nearly touched. Someone was crying openly. Someone else laughed too hard, too fast, like they were trying to convince themselves this was good news.

  And everyone, absolutely everyone, was gathered around the giant announcement board.

  His head still buzzed faintly, the echo of heat and adrenaline lingering in his blood from the night before. His muscles felt wrong. Loose, over-warmed, like they were pretending nothing had happened. The kind of false comfort that promised pain later, once he stopped moving.

  Mira blinked rapidly. “Did… did a dragon land on the roof while we were gone?”

  Gerrard sniffed. “If a dragon had landed, at least the screaming would have rhythm.”

  Vhara stepped forward, eyes already scanning the room. “No. This is something else.”

  A clerk spotted them and waved a parchment wildly, nearly slapping a passerby in the face with it.

  “You four. Five. Party. You need to hear this!”

  James resisted the urge to check his inventory, a habit he was still getting used to. The clerk’s tone grated on him anyway, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  The clerk inhaled so deeply James worried they might pass out.

  “A dungeon.”

  James stared. “Sorry, a what?”

  “A dungeon,” the clerk repeated, voice cracking. “A real one. An actual dungeon has manifested on the outskirts of Min City.”

  Silence fell over the party for exactly three seconds.

  Then James whispered, reverent and horrified all at once, “A dungeon is basically a giant pantry that wants to kill you.”

  Mira smacked his shoulder. “That is not what a dungeon is!”

  “It is now.”

  People shoved past them, all trying to get closer to the board. Some adventurers looked ecstatic, already arguing over party formations and entry order. Others stood pale and silent, staring at the notice like it might start moving.

  A healer near the wall muttered, “This city isn’t ready for this.”

  A merchant shouted that trade routes would collapse. Someone else yelled that prices would skyrocket. A pair of guards argued loudly about whether city patrols needed to be doubled.

  One man fainted dramatically and collapsed onto the floor. No one helped him.

  Dungeon fever had gripped Min City.

  Gerrard rubbed his temples. “To clarify. When you say dungeon… do you mean one of those legendary death labyrinths that rewrite physics and eat people?”

  The clerk nodded frantically. “Full manifestation. Spatial distortion. Mana turbulence. Unknown origin. Our instruments detected it yesterday, near the end of the day. By the time the scouting party confirmed it, the guild was already in disarray.”

  Mira swallowed. “Dungeons don’t just appear. They’re supposed to be rare.”

  “Rare?” the clerk squeaked. “They’re almost nonexistent. The last one in this region appeared eighty years ago and wiped out an entire expedition. Nothing like this has happened in Min City’s history.”

  Marty paled. “Wonderful. Truly. I have always wondered how my obituary would read.”

  James barely heard him.

  He was watching the board. Watching the way people leaned in, the way fear and greed twisted together into something electric. He could still feel the phantom warmth in his chest from the Dragonfire Udom, like his body remembered what it felt like to be more than it should be.

  Vhara folded her arms. “This discovery will change everything,” she said. “People will move. Power will shift. And blood will follow.”

  James nodded slowly. “Yes. But more importantly—”

  “James,” Vhara warned.

  “—it will change dinner.”

  She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. She turned away before he could say anything else, already pushing toward the board.

  The clerk slapped a fresh sheet onto the board, barely managing to tack it in place before someone tried to rip it down to read faster.

  “NOTICE OF DISCOVERY,” it read.

  “An unidentified dungeon has manifested 2.6 miles northwest of Min City.

  Entry is unrestricted.

  The Guild claims no responsibility for injury, loss, disappearance, transformation, disintegration, spontaneous combustion, or existential collapse.

  Proceed at your own risk.”

  Underneath was a hastily sketched map. A forest clearing. A warped circle. A hole in the world that did not belong.

  Mira squinted. “Why does it look like reality gave up?”

  “Because that is exactly what a dungeon is,” Gerrard muttered. “A hole. A tear. A cosmic mistake.”

  “Or,” James said lightly, “a convenient food source.”

  Mira turned slowly toward him. “Why are you like this.”

  James did not answer. He was already scanning the parchment.

  Enemy types unknown. Mana distortion warnings. Recommended minimum rank. Emergency flare protocols. Casualty reporting procedures.

  None of it fazed him.

  For a brief, irrational moment, the noise of the guild faded. Stone instead of wood. Warm air that did not belong underground. Light where there should have been darkness.

  It had not felt like danger back then. It had felt… ordered. Alive. Almost welcoming.

  James blinked, the sensation gone as quickly as it had come.

  At the very bottom, written in slightly crooked handwriting, one line stood apart.

  “Flora and fauna inside the dungeon may differ from known species.”

  James inhaled sharply. His pupils dilated.

  Mira tugged at Vhara’s sleeve. “This is bad. He’s entering his culinary enlightenment state.”

  Gerrard nodded fearfully. “That look means he is about to ruin my life again.”

  Vhara pulled them toward a quieter corner, away from the press of bodies. “We need to talk.”

  Gerrard pointed immediately at James. “The answer is no.”

  “You do not know the question yet,” James said.

  “The answer is still no.”

  Vhara’s voice was calm but heavy. “Dungeons are extreme risks,” Vhara said. “The deeper you push, the world pushes back harder. Paths bend. Enemies grow teeth. And when you’re trapped inside, it’s the dungeon that decides when you’re done.”

  James considered this. For just a moment, something like restraint flickered across his face.

  Then he nodded. “Yes. That tracks.”

  Mira stared at him. “That’s it? That’s your response?”

  “There could be ancient herbs,” James said.

  “No,” Mira said.

  “Spirit fish.”

  “No.”

  “Lava resonant mushrooms.”

  “No.”

  James leaned closer, lowering his voice, and this time his eyes flicked toward Marty. “Treasure chests.”

  Marty blinked.

  “And gold,” James added gently.

  Marty’s posture straightened instantly.

  Gerrard froze. Then he turned toward James. “Why are you telling him?”

  James shrugged. “I’m not. He’s a merchant. He’ll stay behind.”

  Marty opened his mouth to protest.

  Gerrard’s shoulders sagged. “I hate you.”

  “I inspire you.”

  “No,” Gerrard whispered, “you manipulate people with terrifying precision.”

  Vhara sighed. “If we do this, we prepare properly.”

  Mira exhaled. “I’ll restock healing supplies.”

  Gerrard muttered, “I’ll write my will.”

  Marty smiled faintly. “I’ll take good care of it. In your memory.”

  James turned back to the board one last time, eyes bright, heart steady.

  A dungeon. New species. New ingredients. A whole ecosystem waiting to be understood.

  He smiled.

  “We are going,” he said.

  No one argued.

  James tapped the parchment once, almost affectionately.

  “A whole dungeon. Full of unknown ingredients. Waiting.”

  He turned to them.

  “Let’s go shopping.”