Outside of Erin’s doors an army of adventurers waited with bated breaths. Most of them blended with one another; an amalgamation of leather armor, steel blades, chainmail, and potions.

  The adventurers were organized into groups of five with most parties consisting of a warrior, a cleric, a mage, a rogue, and an archer. In addition to the standard five, many of the parties rented an additional member: a porter from the Guild.

  From what Erin could gather, the roles were not mandatory. Some parties had two warriors and two clerics, some didn’t have an archer or a rogue, whilst others consisted solely of mages.

  The parties were unique; and yet at the same time, they were the same.

  The warriors carried axes, swords, hammers, maces — they were typically big guys with even bigger weapons. The warriors also wore the most armor, but even then, their armor was a far cry from that of the knights.

  The warriors were adorned in chainmail and leather garb. The chainmail rested beneath their leather chest plates and shin guards and most of them did not wear a helmet — a universal bad habit, it seemed.

  The clerics wore robes of white with either yellow or blue accents. They held staffs crafted of lightwood, carried satchels stuffed with potions, and kept on their persons herbs and botanicals that could be used for emergency treatments within the greatest depths of an unexplored dungeon.

  The mages, meanwhile, varied the most in Erin’s eyes. From his perspective, there were mages, witches, warlocks, and magi — which is to say that the mages followed no pre-set configurations; some wore a witch’s hat like Martha, some wore robes like the clerics, and others carried enchanted weapons and tools — alchemists, perhaps?

  Battle alchemists?

  Erin wasn’t sure.

  The rogues, on the other hand, were typical rogues: dual blades and crossbows or kunai and shurikens. They wore lightweight armor of dark colorations and tied to their waists they carried rope, chalk, smoke bombs, and incendiaries, lock picking kits, and bandages.

  The archers — like the rogues — were typical. Most kept a standard bow with a quiver or two of arrows strapped to their backs and — like the rogues — they too carried rope and lock picking kits, but the archers specialized in trapping; they were the hunters of the group.

  Bear traps and grappling hooks, snares and sharpening stones, compasses and fishing line — the archer’s were the most prepared to survive the unknown.

  Lastly, beyond the standard five, the Guild offered porters for hire. The porters carried a backpack.

  A huge backpack.

  Furthermore, if the dungeon required it, the porters could also carry pickaxes, ice crystals, and chains for mining, preserving, and entrapping respectively.

  Outside of Erin’s doors, the adventurers gathered.

  The sun had just risen. Birds chirped and the seagulls above dove and splashed into the water.

  The first party of adventurers was ready.

  The leader, a bearded man clad in plate armor, checked the straps of his shield with meticulous care. His brows furrowed as he muttered under his breath.

  “Always the darkest holes that hold the brightest treasure.”

  Nearby, a lithe elf with a bow slung across her back crouched low and traced a map on the dirt with her finger. Her keen eyes darted between the dungeon’s entrance and the makeshift map beneath her.

  “Be mindful of traps. Stay sharp.” She said.

  A young mage, wrapped in flowing emerald robes, adjusted the straps of his bulging satchel. His hands trembled slightly as he double-checked the vials and potions tucked within.

  “I-I can set up wards if we need to retreat!” He stammered.

  At the edge of the group, a rogue dressed in black leather stretched and yawned theatrically. He flipped his dagger through his fingers with practiced ease.

  “I’ll head in first, of course.” He said with a smirk. “Don’t want you lot trippin’ over the first trap and gettin’ us all killed.”

  The party’s cleric, an ashen haired fellow with a golden sunburst emblazoned on the behind of his robes, stepped forward and clasped his hands.

  “We stand together,” he said firmly, “and if the Gods are kind, we’ll walk out together too.”

  A soft light spread from the cleric’s hands around the group. The light calmed the party’s nerves and steeled their resolve.

  A gust of wind swept through the party and the adventurers exchanged one last look — some determined, others masking their trepidation — then the bearded man raised his axe.

  “Alright.” He growled. “Into the dark we go.”

  ***

  The first party entered Erin’s dungeon without any further pretense.

  The rogue led.

  He stepped carefully through the Acorn Halls, wary of the traps further within. Thanks to the dungeon report offered by the Guild, he and his party were well aware of the arrow traps and ignition trap waiting for them.

  Similar to Kuzo, the rogue gently tapped each of the dungeon’s leaf-shaped tiles. After twenty minutes of careful proceedings, they arrived at the fountain.

  The Bat-Apes, meanwhile, proved no more than a warm up for them. The rogue was able to consistently subdue one and clash with another whilst their leader could tumble with upwards of four at a time.

  His shield — a girthy circular piece of steel — was the height of the Bat-Apes themselves. Although taxing on his stamina, the party’s leader held the Bat-Apes at bay while the group's archer and rogue whittled down the beast’s lives.

  Before the final Bat-Ape was slain, they submerged underneath the fountain’s water.

  *BOOM*

  The dungeon’s walls rattled.

  From the dungeon’s entrance, the mountainside shook and loose debris tumbled down the rocky spires.

  At the same time, the second party of adventurers was getting ready for their delve; they checked their straps, double-counted their arrows and potions, and rehearsed their plan one final time.

  Meanwhile, the first party arrived at Smoky’s gates.

  They entered the massive arena and immediately spread out. The warrior in the front, the cleric and archer in the rear, while the mage and rogue split off to each side.

  The arena’s doors slammed shut.

  *BOOM*

  Smoky plummeted from the dome ceiling and crashed into the arena’s center. Dust billowed out. The enchanted shimmering acorns among the arena’s walls flickered as if disrupted by Smoky’s entrance.

  Immediately, the party’s leader charged.

  “Giants Blood: Stampede!”

  The warriors' veins bulged. His skin burned crimson and steam erupted from the cracks between his chest plate.

  His steps shook the earth. With each increasing one, the ground quaked ever more violently.

  He screamed as he charged towards Smoky.

  Smoky roared in response.

  Smoky picked up his war-torn weapon and slammed it overhead.

  *BOOM*

  A shockwave rippled through the air.

  Smoky’s massive acorn slammed onto the warrior's shield. The man knelt on one knee. He grit his teeth as he stared up at the black beast above him.

  Then, he stifled a laugh.

  “I bloody caught ya’!”

  Whilst the warrior received Smoky’s blow, the mage prepared a spell and the archer took aim.

  “School Of Flame: Fireball!”

  “Enchanted Bow: Flaming Arrow!”

  From two sides of the arena, scorched flames erupted to life.

  Before the mage, a fireball gathered amidst the air. The flames spiraled over themselves, and with each rotation, more flames birthed, until the fireball was the size of a boulder.

  Similarly, the elf’s arrowhead burned brilliant orange. Flames danced along its shaft as fire consumed the arrow whole.

  The mage and archer released simultaneously. Their flames scorched the tile black as they exploded across the arena.

  The arrow plunged into Smoky’s chest. The flames spread. They clung to Smoky’s pelt and used his fur as fuel.

  *BOOM*

  Then, the mage's fireball crashed into Smoky’s back.

  The flames fully encompassed Smoky and even kissed the brunt of the warrior's beard. Smoky hollered in agony.

  The beast snapped its tail around and whipped the warrior across the room.

  The man skipped across the tile and slammed into one of the arena’s pillars.

  Then, the rogue struck.

  He arrived from beside Smoky’s overextended arm and plunged his dagger between Smoky’s ribs. The steel blade sunk into Smoky’s chest, but was too shallow to reach the beast’s heart.

  Smoky attempted to crush the rogue, but the man decisively abandoned his dagger — stuck between the beast’s ribs — and retreated away from the beast.

  Smoky screeched into the air.

  He curled himself into a ball and raised his tails into the air.

  The bristles loosened.

  “Get behind a pillar!!” The archer shouted.

  Smoky unleashed an onslaught of onyx spires. The footlong spines of death ravaged the arena. They tore through the air like shrapnel and eviscerated the floor’s meticulous tile and the ceiling’s grandeur oak mural.

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  After the barrage, an eerie quiet spread throughout the arena.

  The elf rounded the pillar. She looked at Smoky still in the center. His tails’ spines were depleted and the beast was likely exhausted.

  She knocked an arrow.

  “Enchanted Bow: Accelerate.”

  The knocked arrowhead shimmered with mana.

  Then, with a crisp snap, the arrow bolted across the arena like a bullet and slammed in between Smoky’s eyes.

  Smoky spasmed; then collapsed.

  Embers flickered off his coat. His fur continued to burn.

  Smoke billowed into the air.

  “That was close.” The elf sighed in relief.

  Meanwhile, the rogue approached Smoky.

  He intended to confirm the kill.

  He bent over beside Smoky’s ribs and grabbed the hilt of his dagger. Then, he meandered over to Smoky’s head and crouched beside him.

  He pressed his blade against Smoky’s throat… then froze.

  The rogue's eyes widened.

  He tried to slit the beast’s throat, but his arm wouldn’t budge.

  He tried to reel it back, but the same occurred.

  Panic ensued.

  Sweat dribbled down the rogue’s forehead.

  He tried to pry his jaw open. He tried to open his mouth.

  He dug deep within himself; where was his voice?

  Where was his freedom?

  Crouched on the ground, the rogue’s figure shook.

  “Hey everyone! Check this out!” The cleric shouted.

  He held a golden manacorn between his fingers.

  “Is that the manacorn?” The archer asked.

  “It must be.” The cleric affirmed.

  “I hear the Guild’s buying one of those bad boys for five gold a pop!” The warrior hooted.

  Beyond the conversation, the rogue grappled with himself.

  Sweat pooled beneath him. His achilles felt inflamed and close to snapping. His quads screamed bloody murder.

  Every instinct in his body lit so extraordinarily aflame that the man’s bloodshot eyes bulged out of their sockets.

  Then suddenly, he gained a foothold.

  “MMMMMMMM!!” Noise erupted from the bowels of the rogue’s diaphragm.

  His party looked over.

  A shadow ensnared him. Like a black tentacle, the shadow wrapped around the rogue’s body and kept him bound in place.

  “Will Of Eos: Purifying Light!” The cleric shouted.

  A radiant light engulfed the arena.

  When the blinding light was gone, the rogue was unbound and unconscious on the floor.

  “What a despicable fiend!” The warrior spat.

  He raised his axe above his shoulder and plunged it into Smoky’s skull.

  “Kill confirmed.” He remarked.

  He cast a glance towards the elf.

  “Time?”

  “One o’ four.” She said.

  “Rest for ten minutes. We’re behind schedule. Let’s hope the lads behind us are understanding.”

  ***

  The surge of adventurers delving into Erin’s depths was undoubtedly scary, but after a week of about sixteen delves per day — 40% of those who attempted did not survive.

  The ignition trap was — surprisingly — the first minor obstacle for the adventurers. Even with the grace of forewarning, restricting a D-rank beast’s movement was no simple task.

  The ignition trap was set to ignite when the last beast fell. This was made abundantly clear to all those first entering the Oakroot Catacombs — the issue, however, lied in inexperience.

  A healthy chunk of the adventurers that delved into Erin’s dungeon were unfamiliar with combat — through and through.

  Perhaps they were from a remote village countryside where the only available quests involved picking herbs and combatting slimes and this new and unique dungeon was their short-cut to prosperity….

  It was of no concern to Erin.

  The reality was the reality.

  And the reality at present was that the adventurers were unprepared; either they underestimated the dungeon or overestimated themselves — it didn’t matter to Erin.

  Because in only a week, Erin’s dungeon claimed over fifty lives and with each life lost and returned to mana, Erin’s power multiplied.

  With each spell cast, with each instance of mana in action — Erin’s understanding further developed.

  Erin studied the adventurers' invading.

  He studied their magic, crept upon their strategies, and took note of the most impactful among them.

  After one week, seven parties stood incomparable to the rest. They were the seven that returned.

  The seven who embarked into the depths of the second floor and returned to tell the tale.

  As for the rest of the adventurers who tried? The 40%?

  Their bodies lined the canyon’s depths.

  Their gear and loot trapped forever, succumbed to the dark.

  If the incendiary trap was the first minor obstacle, then the second floor in its entirety was the first major hurdle.

  The adventurers — even the well-versed among them — were not accustomed to fighting amidst the dark.

  At first, they tried to carry torches, but instead of the grace of light — it merely called forth the monsters among the dark.

  A flood of bats pursued the light. Like moths to a flame or like sharks to blood — flies to shit — the Bat-Apes and Batarangs hunted the light with relentless and frenzied vigor.

  The adventurers quickly realized: light in the depths meant death.

  Since torches weren’t an option, however, the adventurers' problem-solved.

  They discovered that the bats weren’t as drawn to moonlight as they were to sunlight. Immediately, the value of a lunar cleric mooned overnight.

  According to the advertisements posted along the Guild’s bulletin boards — those that could cast lunar spells were paid double compared to the rest.

  In the event where the lunar affinity could not be obtained, there were also a slew of support spells that could allow people to see in the dark. Many such spells existed across various affinities, and with the Guild’s resources — Hyzen was able to purchase three spell scrolls (one fire, one light, and one water) that could be sold over the Guild’s counter.

  Overnight, the spell scrolls made a difference.

  Adventurer’s purchased the scrolls in a frenzy, and for those that could not afford one — they exchanged for them with Guild Tokens — the Guild’s private currency.

  The day after the scrolls were introduced, the adventurers mortality rate dropped by 10% — a boon for Hyzen.

  Accolades under his belt.

  Even with the issue of the dark solved — however — the second floor was no mere cakewalk.

  The pathways changed constantly.

  Platoons of Bat-Apes roamed freely. They mingled throughout its depths. They hunted in the dark, always on the prowl for a taste of flesh.

  At the same time, Batarangs dominated the second floor. They clung to the vast ceilings high above and swooped down from the perilous cliffs.

  Worst of all, the Batarangs were venomous and the Guild still hadn’t discovered its antidote. In response, the adventurers covered up.

  Those who refused to wear chainmail before wore it now.

  Those who opted out of a helmet wore one now.

  In just a week, the adventurers that hadn’t been cut evolved.

  They conquered the dark.

  They resisted the venom.

  They battered themselves against the dungeon until they learned.

  ***

  A familiar party scurried through the second floor.

  A bearded man with a robust, round shield stepped carefully through mist.

  Behind him, an archer with pointed ears and an ashen haired cleric remained vigilant.

  In the back of the party, the mage focused on their flank.

  “Oi!” The rogue's voice severed the mist.

  “I think I found something!”

  Five minutes later…

  The party of five stood before a hollow entrance carved out of a wall of stone. Beyond the entrance, clouds of heavy white steam bellowed out.

  Alongside the steam, swaths of warmth and heat gently coalesced around the party’s grim exterior.

  Their noses rippled.

  A comfortable scent tickled them.

  Lavender?

  Chamomile?

  The rogue peaked inside.

  “It’s… empty?” The words hung from his lips.

  They entered a small room with a pool of hot water.

  In the center of the pool, a ginormous pearl glistened underneath sizzling water.

  The bath was bedazzled. Pearls and beads of glass adorned it and ignited their surroundings.

  Algae bloomed around the bath’s entrance like an oasis in a desert. The soft turquoise light reflected off the glass beads within the sana which cast a gentle film over the small enclosure.

  Through the erupting bubbles of the bath, the mage narrowed his gaze upon the pearl.

  He squinted his eyes.

  I-Is that a-a rune? He stammered.

  For it was a rune he had never seen before.

  He pulled his notebook from his satchel and copied the rune. This granted him a much needed research vice for whey they reemerged above the surface.

  “The water’s the perfect temperature!” The elf exclaimed.

  “Aye!” The bearded warrior agreed.

  They each dipped their hands into the pool.

  The bubbles danced along their palms.

  When they pulled their hands out, their palms were clean and their knuckles were unblemished. Even the dirt beneath their nails had disappeared — but within the thick swaths of steam, nobody noticed the irregularity.

  Normal water cleaned dirt too, after all.

  Even if it had cleaned better than normal, it was not to a recognizable degree.

  ***

  Within an office freshly laid, polished tools and shimmering blades gleamed behind walls of glass.

  Parchments littered the office. Most cluttered the large wooden desk sat centered in the room. Some fell to the floor and mingled amongst the marble.

  Beside the egregious amounts of parchment, a lantern hung from the edge of the desk and flickered warm light into the mostly empty space. The light illuminated the scrolls and not much else.

  The moon peered through the office’s window. A gentle light that soaked the room in hues of blue and silver.

  The smell of lantern oil and wax wafted throughout the Guild Hall. For hours now, Hyzen sat prim and proper.

  He licked his fingers and grabbed another stack of papers.

  ‘Quest: Slay 10 Large Bats’

  ‘Quest: Collect 5 Bushels of Luminous Algae’

  ‘Quest: Map the Second Floor’

  He worked from dawn to the later ends of dusk; Hyzen reviewed the past week’s completed quests. First, he organized them into three piles: completed, in-progress, and failed.

  For the completed quests, Hyzen readied his newly forged stamp-key; a bronze ring imbued with the wearer’s mana so that when stamped — the user’s mana seeps into the wax and leaves behind an imprint of their mana.

  Hyzen dipped his left middle finger into a gurgling pot of liquid wax. He signed off on the completed quest, re-rolled the scroll, and stamped it shut.

  From its place on his desk, Hyzen tossed the stamped scroll into a basket amongst his office’s floor.

  He continued.

  ‘Request: 20 Tons of Bat Pelt’

  ‘Request: 10 Vials of Bat Blood’

  ‘Request: Urgent: Venomous Bat Captured Alive’

  Hyzen once again licked his fingers.

  These were the parchments yet to become quests. Parchments that needed to be sorted, ranked, and if required, modified before being posted within the Guild Hall.

  Hyzen grabbed the first parchment: 20 Tons of Bat Pelt.

  He read the request in-depth.

  It was from a local tailor newly established; a woman, alongside her husband, that crafts apparel. The request listed the woman’s address, her intended use, and provided a deadline for the quest alongside its payment.

  Hyzen searched his desk for another stamp.

  He rummaged through the papers and grabbed a stamp larger than his own then slammed it onto the page.

  ‘Quest: Collect 1 Ton of Bat Pelt’

  ‘Rank: C’

  ‘Completed: 0/20’

  Hyzen tossed the parchment towards another basket.

  Then, he glanced at a grandfather clock positioned in the corner of his office.

  Half past ten… Hyzen recounted Martha leaving hours ago.

  *BANG*

  Hyzen slammed his desk.

  At this rate, he wouldn’t escape until after twelve.