Chapter 9 - Second Chance at The Instant Dungeon

DURRANDON BARATHEON'S POV

The tunnels beneath the Red Keep were a labyrinth of forgotten history. 

Some had been carved during Maegor's reign, meant for quick escapes and quiet killings. Others predated even the castle itself, remnants of ancient foundations of the Aegonfort swallowed by time. 

The deeper I ventured, the more dust and darkness pressed in, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and old secrets.

The Spider hadn't found these passages. Of that, I was certain. 

His webs stretched far, but there were places even his little birds hadn't touched. I traced my fingers along the wooden foundation, feeling the faint carvings buried beneath layers of grime. Symbols. Glyphs. Some I recognized with my fluency with High Valyrian, some not quite. 

The Red Keep was built over the simpler bones of something that might've drawn the conqueror's attention, and every step into its depths felt like peeling back the skin of a beast long thought dead.

I moved carefully. Ten feet in every direction, I could feel the space around me, air shifting against my skin, the way sound bounced off unseen surfaces, the faint scuttle of vermin against stone. 

It wasn't sight, not exactly. More like a presence, a whisper at the edge of perception. A pressure that told me when something moved too close, when the space around me suddenly shifted.

Beyond that, there was only darkness. Or it would have been, had I not brought along a small candle, cupping the flame as I advanced. 

The flickering light stretched only a few feet ahead, casting jagged shadows along the damp stone. It wasn't much, but it was enough. Enough to make out the uneven surface of the walls, to catch the glint of something metallic buried beneath layers of dust. Enough to see the rough carvings when I traced my fingers over them, the symbols sharpening under the warm glow of the candlelight.

No traps so far, but that meant little. 

The deeper one went, the likelier it was that Maegor or one of his architects had left something waiting for fools who wandered where they shouldn't. 

But the risk was so worth it.

Because deep within the stone's embrace, past corridors untouched for generations, I found what I was looking for. It wasn't a cache of weapons, nor a forgotten hoard of dragon's gold. No Valyrian steel swords lay waiting for a worthy hand to claim them. 

Instead, spread away in dust-choked alcoves, rested something far more subtle.

A pile of Jewelry.

Not the crude, gaudy kind favored by the new nobility, but masterfully crafted pieces, bracelets, rings, pendants, fashioned from Valyrian steel and inlaid with dragonbone. A necklace, thin and elegant, reminded me of the one Daemon had given Rhaenyra in the start of the prequel TV show. Another ring bore the rare yet unmistakable sigils of Old Valyria, its dark metal smooth as glass. 

They had been hidden, forgotten, left to time. But not anymore.

I gathered them carefully, wrapping each piece in cloth before stowing them away. These would serve a greater purpose.

At least, not yet. First came the dragonbone pieces, I had taken my time choosing them, making sure they were the least likely to be missed by my father or Varys.

Sadly, my months of spying on Tobho Mott's work hasn't yet bloomed in me learning how to reforge Valyrian Steel, hell I couldn't even be trusted with forging my own iron dagger as much as I wanted to relive my memories of grinding in Skyrim.

And neither could I make any request for the Qohorik Blacksmith's service, regardless if I showed him a bag full of dragon coins and the necessary materials, without the man finding it too weird for a little kid to have all of it with him or drawing the unnecessary attention of others that could persuade the man to comply.

But that was where the Cult of the Stranger stepped in.

Back in Flea Bottom, the faithful of the Stranger had amassed wealth in the shadows, funds gathered from offerings, whispered deals, and the fortune they reclaimed from the Butcher once he was dead. It was that coin that would be passed to Tobho Mott, their devoted faces that would persuade him to light his forge.

A few dragonbone clubs, silent, sturdy, and fitting for those who walked in death's shadow. Small buckler shields, lightweight and strong. And, the most ambitious of all, a hand crossbow.

The latter would take time. Too much time. But that was fine. Some investments were worth the wait.

And then, there was my own order.

I slipped a hand beneath my cloak, fingers brushing against the weight of my coin pouch I had stashed away for quite a while until now. Hard-collected gold, saved for this moment. Not a weapon, not a tool for others. Something for myself.

A chain shirt. Small enough to fit a boy of seven, forged from interlocking rings, designed to be worn beneath layers of cloth to muffle its presence. Not as protective as a full suit of plate armor, but far better than my previous gambeson.

But I didn't just focus on getting myself better equipment, after all, I had myself to keep improving.

That is why, now looking for the two pings I had recently received from my Game System, I was glad that both my nights entertaining my siblings and exploring the deepest parts of the Red Keep didn't go unnoticed.

[CLASS PROGRESS UPDATE: BARD SUBCLASS - GLAMOUR (RANK D+)]

*Your words can cause a mixture of awe and fear. With performances that are the stuff of legend, you will be capable of quelling beasts and bending minds, gladdening the downtrodden and undermining oppressors. 

The Glamour subclass? Okay, I will be honest, not exactly what I was expecting. Not that I had any else in mind, but it's just that I don't know what to expect from it.

[Beguiling Magic: You've learned how to fright or charm anyone that witnesses your spells that bring forth illusions or trick minds from the inside.]

That seems really to amplify my charisma, especially with my cantrips. Charming two targets with a single cast of Friends, or similarly causing some fear after landing that perfect Vicious Mockery.

But that wasn't the only thing this feature granted me. On top of that neat ability, I also learned two new spells to make use with my recently expanded pool of Divine Points.

Charm Person was basically a more potent version of my Friends cantrip, lasting 1 hour instead of 1 minute and with no need to keep concentrating on it.

And Mirror Image, instead of the awesome mental image I had of making visual decoys to bait an enemy into striking them instead of me, I actually understood how to mess with others perception of me, instinctively staying light on my feet and constantly feinting my momentum as if I was about to start running towards some random direction. 

It would certainly be very useful in a duel against a dangerous opponent. Just the fleeting memory of the specter that had almost ended me before I could escape already sent chills down my spine.

[WISDOM SAVE SUCCEED! FRIGHTENED CONDITION RESISTED!]

I haven't forgotten about you, just you wait.

[Enthralling Performance: You've learned how to subtly charge your performance with seductive or exciting magic. While charmed in this way, the target idolizes you, it speaks glowingly of you to anyone who speaks to it, and it hinders anyone who opposes you, avoiding violence unless it was already inclined to fight on your behalf.]

This might not sound useful in combat, but it's not as if life was a constant direct confrontation. To be able to charm people without risking getting caught by simply singing and telling more of the songs and tales that I plagiari…I mean, got inspired by my previous life, this certainly was a power I would find great use abusing.

As for the other spell I learned…Comprehend Languages…nothing busted as what I already got, but still…I just loved learning new rituals that didn't always need to consume my magic to make a difference.

Another window appeared next to everything else I got from my Bard class.

[CONGRATULATIONS: YOU HAVE UNLOCKED A NEW FEAT: INSPIRING LEADER]

*Influencing others comes so naturally to you, earning you the following benefits:

Ability Score Increase: Your Charisma score increases by 1.

Master Manipulator: You gain Expertise in Persuasion, Proficiency with Animal Handling or Proficiency with Intimidation. Pick one.

Quick Influence: You can use your Deception, Intimidation, Performance, Persuasion, or Animal Handling skill even during combat without sacrificing your focus to attack.

Despite the sound of Expertise in Persuasion was so appealing to me, it just felt like overkill for now. A bit of the opposite case for Intimidation, sure it would have its uses in the future, but for now I've already milked everything I could from Animal Handling and my lowest mental ability score which was Wisdom. 

The moment I selected Animal Handling to be the next skill I had Proficiency with, the feat locked into place and my view of how to put my pets into use changed.

Just like it wasn't with the rest of my skills, not in some grand magical way.

Before I could dwell on it further, my attention was directed towards the last game window that remained after I went through everything my Bard class granted me.

[CLASS PROGRESS UPDATE: HUNTER (RANK C-)]

[Extra Attack 1: You've learned how to strike more frequently, either by learning how to swing your blade more precisely, draw your bow more easily or find more gaps in your targets' defenses.]

Simple enough, but I still favored finishing things as quickly as I could, though with this I could feel more confident about spreading the pain before running away and trying to surprise my targets again.

The cherry on top of rising the rank of this class was my Primal magic pool increase and the fact that it seems I've reached a point where I've actually learned more powerful spells. 

Tier 2 to be precise, alongside 14 freaking Primal Points per Long Rest. That meant that I could cast my spells more reliably, around 4 to 7 times before having to take a nap depending on the tier of my spells.

That was truly amazing, I've been meaning to make more use of my Hail of Thorns concoctions of exploding arrows.

Now, about my new spells…they weren't exactly very good offensive-wise…but they more than compensated with their durations. Up to 8 hours after a quick test.

Darkvision wasn't exactly something that I couldn't live without up to now, mostly because the moonlight at Flea Bottom and my Blindsight were good enough to prevent me from being lost in deep shadows. But I totally expected that to change once I returned to the Instant Dungeon and delved even deeper than I first did.

When the Darkvision spell took hold as I bit a dried carrot, it slithered into my eyes like liquid mercury, the world didn't so much brighten as it unfurled. For a moment, my brain almost rebelled. Like Blindsight, this wasn't natural sight, it's magic stitching images into my mind. 

Far away shadows that were once impenetrable voids now revealed themselves as gradients of cool, ghostly luminescence. It was as if someone had peeled back a layer of reality, exposing the hidden pulse of the darkness itself. 

Then came the thrill. The fear of the dark, an ancient human instinct even present in those forced to survive in dark places, melted away. I really felt like a predator stepping into a hunt, the night wasn't just a way to level the playing field, but an advantage.

As for Aid, it was like a rush of wild vitality flooding my veins just as I wrapped a white cloth around my hand, like the second wind of a predator pushing through exhaustion to chase down prey. 

[+5 HP]

[CURRENT HP: 15]

My muscles tightened with raw endurance, as if I've just taken a deep breath of mountain air, more capable of shrugging off blows that would stagger a lesser traveler. The magic coursing through me carries a faint earthy scent, damp soil, pine resin, or the iron-tang of a fresh kill, reminding me that nature thrives by enduring. 

Once it wore off, there was no crash, just the gradual return of fatigue, like a fire burning down to embers.

[QUEST ALERT!]

[THE HERO'S TRIALS ARE NOT OVER! TIME TO FACE YOUR BIGGEST ORDEAL SO FAR!]

[CONDITION: DEFEAT THE INSTANT DUNGEON'S BOSS!]

[OPTIONAL CONDITION: DO NOT USE ANOTHER RETURNING STONE!]

[REWARD: LEVEL UP TWO OF YOUR CLASSES!]

[OPTIONAL REWARD: BETTER LOOT!]

[YES/NO]

Feeling the changes my recent improvements have brought me, I couldn't help a grin from forming on my face as I thought to myself. 'I believe that I'm finally ready for a rematch!…Time to go back…to the Instant Dungeon!'

————————————————————————

TITLE: DURRANDON BARATHEON, CROWN PRINCE // SMALL HUMAN, NEUTRAL]

[LEVEL: 5 // PROFICIENCY BONUS: +3]

[CLASS: ASSASSIN C // GLAMOUR D+ // FIGHTER D // HUNTER C- // ARTIFICER D-]

[HP: 10 // ARMOR CLASS: 16 (CHAIN SHIRT + DRAGONBONE BUCKLER SHIELD)]

[DIVINE POINTS: 6 (MAX TIER: 1)]

[PRIMAL POINTS: 14 (MAX TIER: 2)]

[ARCANE POINTS: 2 (MAX TIER: 1)]

[SPEED: 3.5mph (30ft)]

[TRAITS: …BEGUILING MAGIC // ENTHRALLING PERFORMANCE // EXTRA ATTACK 1]

[FEATS: …INSPIRING LEADER]

[STR: 8 (-1) // CHILD'S BODY PENALTY]

*(EXP) ATHLETICS: +5

[DEX: 9 (-1) // CHILD'S BODY PENALTY (+1 Ability Score Pending) // PROFICIENT SAVE (+2)]

*(EXP) ACROBATICS: +5

*(PRO) SLEIGHT OF HAND: +2

*(EXP) STEALTH: +5

[CON: 8 (-1) // CHILD'S BODY PENALTY]

[INT: 16 (+3) // PROFICIENT SAVE (+6)]

*(PRO) ARCANA: +6

*(PRO) HISTORY: +6

*(PRO) INVESTIGATION: +6

*NATURE: +5

*RELIGION: +5

[WIS: 15 (+2)]

*(PRO) ANIMAL HANDLING: +5

*(EXP) INSIGHT: +8

*MEDICINE: +4

*(EXP) PERCEPTION: +8

*(EXP) SURVIVAL: +8

[CHA: 19 (+4)]

*(EXP) DECEPTION: +10

*INTIMIDATION: +6

*(EXP) PERFORMANCE: +10

*(PRO) PERSUASION: +7

[CANTRIPS: FRIENDS // VICIOUS MOCKERY // SHILLELAGH // THORN WHIP // MENDING** // GUIDANCE // TRUE STRIKE]

[FIRST TIER DIVINE SPELLS: SLEEP // HIDEOUS LAUGHTER // HEROISM // COMPREHEND LANGUAGES // CHARM PERSON ** // MIRROR IMAGE**]

[FIRST TIER PRIMAL SPELLS: GOODBERRY // HAIL OF THORNS// LONGSTRIDER // ANIMAL FRIENDSHIP]

[SECOND TIER PRIMAL SPELLS: DARKVISION // AID]

[FIRST TIER ARCANE SPELLS: DETECT MAGIC // PURIFY FOOD AND DRINK]

————————————————————————

So it was finally time. 

Tomorrow morning I would wake up to the first day of the tournament dedicated to celebrating my sixth name day, regardless if I alone knew that I was probably already past my seventh.

Still, for all the resolve I had steeled in myself, the air was eerily still.

Not the quiet of an empty corridor or the hushed silence of a sleeping castle, but something heavier. A weight pressing down on my lungs, curling around my ribs like an unseen chain.

I stood before the hidden entrance, the same patch of wall where the portal had once shimmered, waiting like an open maw. It was gone now, sealed away in the depths of my System, waiting for the magical red key in my possession to return.

I hadn't brought it out of my pocket. Not yet.

My hands were steady, my breathing even, but that meant nothing. The body adapts. It grows stronger, learns to withstand pain, hunger, exhaustion. But the mind?

The mind remembers.

My mind remembered the hunger first, the gnawing, endless ache in my gut, the way it hollowed me out, turned me into something desperate, something willing to snap the bones of any living prey like rats and bats just to suck the marrow dry.

Then the thirst, thicker, sharper. The hours spent staring at the ceiling, watching droplets form, almost always a bit too willing to let them fall into my waiting mouth without even properly boiling it.

The cold. The dark. The sound of my own heartbeat echoing through the tunnels, the constant tension, the knowledge that something, something, was always just beyond the next turn.

And the Specter.

I had faced Karl Tanner. I had pierced his throat with my own Valyrian Steel dagger and watched the Butcher of Flea Bottom bleed out on the floor of his own turf. I had fought men, real men, who thought themselves predators. I had become something worse than them to win.

And yet, when I thought of the dungeon, it wasn't the zombies or the skeletons or even the nights spent curled up in a corner, shivering, that haunted me.

It was that incorporeal undead. Its soundless movement. The hollow slits of its helm. The way the air itself recoiled when it reached for me.

Through sheer luck, skill or a combination of both, I had escaped. I had survived. But I had not beaten it.

I let out a slow breath and turned my hands over, inspecting the faintest scars across my fingers that only I could feel their presence, the calluses hardened from a year's worth of struggles that never happened.

That was the worst part, wasn't it? That no one would ever know.

Sure, beats having to risk coming back to a world that long though I was dead, but not by that much of a margin.

I had aged. I had suffered. I had fought. But the world outside had stayed still, frozen in the same moment I left it. The same stars, the same moon, the same whispers of courtly intrigue drifting through the Red Keep's halls.

To them, I had never left. 

But I had. And I had been reforged in order to return. I had lost something down there, something I wasn't sure I could ever get back.

And yet, here I was. Not because I wanted to be. Because I had to be.

The System was ruthless, but it wasn't wrong. This Instant Dungeon was my crucible. It had stripped me down to my bones and forced me to rebuild myself with nothing but instinct and will. 

And now, if I wanted to grow, if I wanted to truly become strong enough to carve out my place in this world with something more than my royal name, I had to go back. I had to see it again. 

The dark corridors, the endless maze with its creative traps, the undead lurking in the shadows. And I had to face it.

Not to kill it. Not to destroy it. But to prove to myself that I could stand before it again and not break.

I closed my eyes. Steadied my breath and brought forth my Magical Red Key, once again using it on the lock that just spawned out of nowhere. 

Immediately after, the portal shimmered before me, an unnatural gash in the world, rippling like the surface of disturbed water.

I stared at it.

The Magical Red Key felt heavier in my grip, as if it knew what I was about to do. As if it was waiting for me to change my mind.

I had prepared for this. Braced for it. And yet, standing here now, something twisted inside my chest. A tight coil of instinct that warned me to turn away.

But I didn't.

Instead, I took a breath, exhaling slowly. My fingers tightened around the Magical Red Key as I once again stored it away.

And yet, my feet didn't move. Not for ten seconds. Not for twenty.

A full minute passed, my breathing slow, measured. My System remained silent. No pop-up window mocking me for hesitating. No Wisdom Save to reflect the moment of weakness.

It was just me, standing at the threshold, knowing what lay beyond. Finally acknowledging all of that for the last time, I clenched my jaw and stepped forward.

The world folded in on itself. Magic swallowed me whole, the air thinning, the distant pressure of something vast and unseen brushing against my skin. 

Then…Darkness. Silence. 

I was back.

For a moment, nothing moved. My breath echoed too loud in the all too familiar entrance, my heartbeat the only sound. 

Something flickered in the corner of my eye and I turned my head, breath caught in my throat.

My old gear.

Scattered across the stone floor, exactly as I had left it. The broken hilts. The makeshift traps. The bone darts stripped from undead hands. Not a single speck of dust had settled over them. The bloodstains remained dark, the metal untouched by rust. As if I had only just set them down.

It was the same. Exactly the same. The realization crawled up my spine, slow and suffocating.

Time…it appears at a first glance, had not moved here.

Just like the real world froze when I stepped inside, this place, too, had been sealed in place the moment I left. 

No decay, no change. No reset. This wasn't just a place. It was a prison, caught between moments, waiting for me.

And now, I have returned.

Exhaling through my nose while rolling my shoulders, I forced my body to move, to do anything but stand there like some frozen prey animal.

————————————————————————

The near endless staircase was still there, leading me deeper into the bowels of the maze which I knew waited for me. 

Despite having no proper map of the place, it still felt like I had descended for miles, easily edging over the distance I had to cover just to sneak out of the Red Keep during my night escapades to Flea Bottom.

I had walked these steps before.

But as I moved, there was a difference now. A shadow of myself, lingering, not real, but present through the tracks I inadvertently left behind. My past self, a ghost memory in the shape of a boy creeping through these corridors with shaky hands and unsteady breath, thinking he was careful.

Now, I saw the flaws. The rushed footing. The hesitation before each turn. The unnecessary tension in my grip. I had survived, yes. But looking back, I saw just how sloppy I had been and how much my luck had carried me through it.

Before I could dwell too much on that, a familiar game window flickered into view.

[YOU CANNOT EXIT THE DUNGEON FROM WHERE YOU ENTERED IT. YOU MUST EITHER DEFEAT THE BOSS OR USE A RETURN STONE!]

Right. No going back. Hopefully it won't take me years and years to either find another Returning Stone or end the boss.

Worst case scenario would be that Specter which resembled a Kingsguard still having 6 more White Cloak brothers patrolling somewhere deeper into this maze and a King they all serve.

If there is anything closer to a dragon down here, then I guess I can just say goodbye to my life and give up clearing this Instant Dungeon.

Regardless, the tunnel kept stretching before me, torches flickering too steadily and unnaturally, their glow making the shadows twitch. My eyes traced the carvings along the walls, the same deep, deliberate symbols I had dismissed as unknowable on my first descent.

But this time, I was prepared. 

Lowering myself into a crouch, I pulled a small pouch from my belt. Inside, soot and salt…simple, easy-to-carry components. A pinch of each was all I needed.

[BEGINNING RITUAL CASTING: COMPREHEND LANGUAGES…]

For ten minutes, I traced small patterns in the dust, whispering the spell's cadence under my breath. My fingers brushed the cool, ancient stone, and I let the arcane energy flow, embedding itself into me.

Then, it clicked.

A pulse of magic flared behind my eyes and into my mind, the symbols twisting, no, aligning, into something I could finally understand.

[ARCANA CHECK SUCCEED!]

It was an odd experience. Unlike the simple, functional magic within my Valyrian steel dagger, which whispered words like lighter, sharper, durable, these walls were woven with something far more intricate.

The carvings reinforced the same intention over and over, in countless variations.

A trial of survival, designed to filter out those without potential. A bridge between dimensions. A hunting ground severed from the regular flow of time, shielded from any prying eyes.

I exhaled slowly, my breath barely disturbing the stale air, understanding the words, but not the power behind them. Their surface purpose was clear, but their activation, their deeper function… that was still far beyond me.

That, more than anything, told me just how far I still had to go.

As I kept moving, the tunnel expectedly widened as it once did, and the stench of rot met me like an old friend. The alcoves came into view, the same rusted iron bars, the same glass pots filled with liquid death.

Wildfire. 

Last time, I had avoided them. Smart. I wouldn't have been able to transport them safely without a plan in mind. But now? Now, I know exactly how to put them to good use. 

A controlled explosion could clear a path or be my last resort if things go south.

Finally crouching down, I examined the intact pots. 

The glass was thick, reinforced, likely alchemically treated to withstand extreme conditions. But that didn't mean they were foolproof. A wrong step, a careless movement, and I could end up as nothing more than a smear on the dungeon walls.

First, I tested the weight. Heavy, but manageable.

Next, I checked for stability. The pots were stored in ancient iron brackets, rusted but still holding firm. Good. That meant I could remove them carefully without disturbing the others.

I took out a strip of cloth from my pack, wrapping it tightly around the body of one of the glass containers before gently lifting it from its cradle. No sudden movements. No jerking. Just smooth, steady pressure.

The pot eventually came free and a slow exhale left my lips.

One down.

I repeated the process, securing three in total, padding them with cloth and carefully placing them into my pack, keeping them nestled between softer items to prevent any jostling.

That was the easy part. The real challenge would be keeping them intact while moving deeper into the dungeon.

Beyond the alcoves, where I had fought my first real enemy, the corpse of the zombie remained, a twisted, motionless heap of rot and rusted armor.

I stepped closer, weapons drawn, though I knew it wouldn't rise again. And yet… something about the scene felt off.

Crouching down, I proceeded to inspect the body with fresh eyes, seeing what I had missed before.

[INVESTIGATION CHECK SUCCEED!]

The broken pieces of its helm, the way my arrows had hit, not clean. Not perfect. Too much force was wasted. Too many movements that could have been smoother, more efficient.

My past self had fought thinking he was precise. But standing here now, seeing the angles, the placement of the strikes…I had been reckless…and lucky.

A sharp, efficient fighter didn't just win. They won without excess. Without wasted motion. 

I not only could do better, but I will. It was a matter of life or death after all.

Straightening up, I glanced at the dim passage ahead. The silence pressed in, but I could almost hear my past self breathing heavily, heart pounding after the fight, feeling victorious, feeling capable.

It wasn't enough. I wasn't the same as I was back then. And the next time I fought, I would prove it.

In any case, I eventually moved on.

————————————————————————

I knew my way through the trail of undead I left behind on my first visit.

Some still slumped where I'd felled them, half-collapsed things with missing heads or pierced skulls, like forgotten marionettes mid-performance. But even the ones that had since rotted further or shifted slightly in place told a story. 

The broken angles of their limbs, the spatter of bone and gore on the walls, the direction of their fall. Each mark whispered a wordless chronicle of my struggle, of how I had clawed my way forward with grit, sweat, and, admittedly, more luck than I'd deserved.

But that was then. Now, I survived by my own design.

The maze hadn't changed in nature, only in how I saw it. And the deeper I moved inward, the more I noticed it. The air, once cold and biting, now rose by slow degrees, not hot, not yet, but warmer than the clammy chill that ruled the maze's outer coils.

I remembered shivering as I'd first wandered these halls, the cold worming through my skin, gnawing at the joints, leeching strength from bone and thought alike. That kind of cold didn't just freeze flesh, it bred fear.

Now it was almost… cozy. Like a hearth fire in the dead of winter. It almost felt like an illusion, a trap made of comfort, wrapping around the spine instead of the throat.

I didn't trust it. But I couldn't pretend it wasn't a relief, regardless of how the tunnels eventually stopped spiraling into predictable curves. 

They branched. Crooked, cunning things, some narrow enough that I had to turn sideways to squeeze through, my pack and gear scraping harshly against calcified bone walls.

I felt it then, how I'd grown. Not by much, but enough. In size. In presence. My old steps didn't quite fit me anymore.

Others opened like the mouths of yawning crypts, revealing chambers lined with crumbling wall-tombs. Skulls watched from hollow sockets, their expressions frozen in what I imagined was hunger. Or maybe envy, seeing a living thing walk where they never could again.

Some of the traps I'd laid back then still stood, sprung but unbloodied. The ones that hadn't been tripped still had my visual signs to not let me forget of their existence. 

Passing them with a nod, as if to an old comrade. A crude pendulum here. A hidden snare there. Rusted steel and spell worked tripwires, each one a silent monument to the first war I'd fought through these walls.

I could almost hear the dungeon growling, low and bitter, each time I robbed it of a kill.

My Goldenheart bow had become a constant companion, no longer a tool of desperation as it was with my already discarded regular shortbow, but a finely tuned instrument. 

Not that I hadn't spent weeks carving and reinforcing its shaft whenever I found the time, polishing the grip with leather torn from my undead kills. Learning to repair its string with my Mending cantrip, reassembling my own broken arrows after one too many uses.

Even in the deep dark, I never felt unarmed or out of my depth. Never unprepared. Especially with my Darkvision spell granting me several hours of clear sight while anyone else would've been left fumbling in pitch black.

The ambushing skeletons were lesser pests now. Predictable. Sloppy.

Remembering the first time I'd gripped a bone club down here, sweaty hands, wild swings, praying one hit would land. 

Now…my dragonbone club, short, dense, and dark as night, had become an extension of my arm. It wasn't elegant, but it didn't need to be. One blow to the temple or neck and the things crumbled like cracked porcelain.

I paired each strike with True Strike, muttered like a breath of clarity, a whisper of precision. Every swing became an artform. Every motion, measured. Calculated.

It cost me a bit of mobility to make use of my Steady Aim and assure my Sneak Attacks, sure. But what I lost in speed, I made up for in certainty, if not with a bit of a constant overkill.

What once took everything I had just to survive…Now? Now it was training. And whether it realized or not, the Instant Dungeon had become my tutor.

————————————————————————

Incidentally, my food didn't make me sick anymore.

I remembered the early days, gnawing half-burned rat meat, drinking slime scraped off moss-slick walls, boiled over sputtering flames in rusted zombie helmets or cracked pieces of chest plate. Remembered vomiting it all up moments later, the gut-wrenching spasms, the feverish shakes, the cold sweats that clung like a second skin. 

And worst of all, the improvisation. Having to squat behind debris or carve out a makeshift latrine in the corner of a crypt. The indignity. The pain. The bile.

For a moment I finally realized what Daenerys might have felt like while she was stuck surviving in the Dothraki sea.

But that was then.

Now, I took ten minutes before every meal. Drawing slow, careful circles into the stone floor with my Valyrian steel dagger, like a prayer in steel. Purify Food and Drink. The spell thrummed through my hands and into the circle, a soft note of magic vibrating against the filth. When I ate and drank, I did so without fear.

Rest casting Goodberry gave me balance, sustenance without risking my reserve of true magic. Sweet, nourishing orbs the size of knucklebones. They kept me sharp. Steady. Focused. I'd learned to mix them with dried rat meat like jerky, wrap the bundle in moss I'd purified into something paper-thin. 

Crude cuisine, to which Alysse might have a thousand words of how I could improve on it, but still, it gave me energy. Not just to move, but to think. To plan.

Even sleep, once a gamble with fevered dreams and cold dread, had become sacred. I built my rest sites with even more layered complexity this time: traps disarmed and rebuilt as barricades, pressure plates rewired as alarms, noisemakers tied to tripwires strung like spider silk across narrow passages. 

A single scuff, a breath out of place, I'd know.

I trained myself to sleep in rotations. Breath-counting. Pulse-tracking. Falling into rhythm until unconsciousness came clean and fast, and waking up only when something was wrong, not just when a rat skittered past or the ceiling decided to weep.

Rest wasn't a pause anymore. It was part of my arsenal.

————————————————————————

Despite all my improvements, all the tricks and layers of precautions, time still blurred in the dark as I moved twice as fast, maybe more. But no light meant no sunrises, no sunsets. No markers but the scrape of boots on dirty stone and the meticulous investigation of every pathway I took.

I tried my best to keep count. By spells cast, by how long it took my magic to return after each rest. By how often my hands shook with the first warning of Exhaustion. 

At first, I counted days. Then weeks. Eventually, I stopped pretending. It might've been months. Might've been longer. But as the filth of the dungeon settled over me like a second skin, I allowed myself to change.

Began collecting fungus and moss, not just to eat, but to study and to experiment with them. I'd felt it before: faint pulses of magic, like heartbeats caught in stone. They clung to walls and ceilings, bloomed from corpses and cracked tiles.

I watched how some mushrooms died in light and thrived in blood. How others released spores only when stepped on, clouds of sleep or sickness.

With patience and several ruinous trials, I learned to distill them. A cracked vial here, a melted pouch there, but over time, I made progress. I scraped their oils into waxed cloth, mixed with purified water, ash, or blood. A green-tinged paste that corroded bone. 

A yellow dust that I could better manipulate with my Tinker's Tools.

Poison didn't matter against the dead, not in the way it would've against breathing men and beasts. But some reagents still had weight in the arcane. Some whispered of alchemy I couldn't name yet, couldn't wield yet. I kept them anyway. 

But the biggest change wasn't in my hands. It was in how I wore my skin.

It started small. A smear of undead ash across the cheeks, to dull the heat of living flesh. A broken gait, mimicking the undead limp. Holding my breath when they passed, eyes low, steps dragging.

It worked. A little. Better than the last time. Some walked by. Others stared. But fortunately none lunged this time. So I didn't abandon it. I improved.

I learned to stitch together rags and bone scraps into something closer to their shape. Bone-stitched armor. Loose, layered cloth soaked in filth, stiffened with rot and sulfur. A mask crafted from cracked jawbone and soot-darkened resin, with hollow eye holes and wire holding the jaw in place.

Masking any scent these decomposing things might track with liquefied carrion, and muffled my breath with smoldering dung and moss.

Crude? At first. But effective enough. Eventually, it was no longer just disguise. It was communion.

They walked past me. Undead that once screamed and charged now shuffled by with vacant stares. Skeletons stared, hesitated, but didn't draw blades. Even the erratic and twitching ones, jaw-clacking horrors, only paused. Studied me. And then moved on.

I was one of them. At least enough to trick the things that used to hunt me. And with that came the real prize: observation.

I watched. Learned. Listened.

Some groups moved in loops, circling the same ruined hallways again and again like prisoners pacing their cells. Others stood still until sound pulled them to life, jaws clicking in unison. Some twitched at motion, others only to heat.

Patterns. Hierarchies. There were rules. And rules meant structure. Structure meant will.

They weren't completely mindless. They were bound. Tethered. To something older, deeper, crawling at the root of this place. And that's what intrigued me most.

Because if they were bound…Something had done the binding. Will that be the Boss of this Dungeon?

————————————————————————

In all honesty, I was starting to doubt my ability to retrace my steps. 

The first time I'd wandered blindly, relying on instinct and dumb luck to stumble across the Specter and the Returning Stone that saved my life. Now, I had at least the heat as my guide, a steady pulse of rising warmth I could feel in my bones, drawing me back toward the maze's core.

Which was why I noticed the shift. The air changed, colder than it once was moments before. Not just a chill caused by the stray breeze that might've blown through the corridor I found myself at. 

It was unnatural. Still, I knew that feeling.

I immediately secured the Wildfire pots I brought along from near the entrance, hiding them before one could shatter by accident, and pressed my back to the nearest wall, breath shallow. 

The chipped stone of the corridor looked somewhat the same as before. But I wasn't. Not anymore.

I waited, listened and watched, until it finally came into my view.

That same cursed silhouette. Full plate armor that bore no weight. A white cloak that fluttered without wind. And in the center of its translucent chest, a golden crown sigil still appears faintly, like some stubborn claim to authority long since devoured by time.

Before I could feel the expected shivers down my spine, I reached for some of my Bardic magic and casted my Heroism spell.

[-2 DIVINE POINTS]

[4/6 DP]

[WISDOM SAVE SUCCEED! YOU HAVE RESISTED BEING FRIGHTENED!]

So this time, I didn't freeze. This time, my hands didn't tremble. I'd seen it before, and had become a similar nightmare in the eyes of my previous targets.

Swiftly crouching, silently, I reached for my goldenheart shortbow strapped to my back. My dragonbone club and buckler shield both rested in easy reach. And deep beneath, arcane patterns danced through my mind, faint, hidden under the layers of survival instincts. 

I'd practiced it, fight after fight in the dark of this Instant Dungeon, until the cantrip flowed like a reflex.

Whispering the costless magic spell, True Strike, possibilities branched in my mind's eye. The tension of a hundred fates collapsing into one surged through the string as I drew it back, the effort of ripping through those realities channel enough energy into my arrow to make it radiate light for a split second. 

The next strike would not merely phase through it, but might actually severely harm the Specter.

[STEALTH CHECK SUCCEED!]

My ghostly prey hovered past, unaware as I exhaled slowly, carefully aiming before releasing.

The goldenheart bow sang, not a whistle, but a note of pressure splitting the air. The arrow gleamed as it cut toward its target.

And missed. 

For the first time in this life, I felt my luck actively screwing over me. Despite how near perfect my aim might've seemed to me as I committed myself to the first strike of our combat, I still missed its target by an infuriating and negligible margin.

Luck, that wretched coin-toss of fate, failed me just when I had most odds stacked in my favor. Apparently mocking me that there would be no Critically Hitting my way through this fight. 

Just then, the Specter froze mid-air, helmet snapping toward me. The slits in its visor burned with cold malice.

Shit. My strength was in the first strike. Assassinate, one shot, one kill, no witnesses. Now? Now I had to run or be devoured.

[STEALTH CHECK SUCCEED!]

I slipped behind a crumbled wall section, heart pounding while I cursed the fact this wasn't really a game. There was no AI leash that would make it forget me after a few seconds. The Specter would search until time itself gave up.

And I wouldn't survive a second mistake. So I bought my time and calculated. 

Until I finally made up my mind, sacrificing my mobility and ability to quickly seek cover with Steady Aim just to get a second chance. 

I loosened another arrow that thankfully struck home this time. It didn't slow it down, but the Specter felt the hit now.

[-10HP]

It didn't flinch, but definitely felt it.

The distance between us vanished in a breath. It flew, weightless and wrathful. Its blade wasn't swung like a human's, which targeted its opponent's body. It aimed for my soul, to inject a curse, to drain the essence of me.

I barely ducked it while raising my buckler shield and grabbing my Dragonbone club. Its ghostly blade sliced past, brushing close enough to frost the hairs on my shield arm, as if death had scratched over my soul.

Unfortunately I failed to connect my next two melee attacks, proving once again that I was fighting out of my element.

A second ghostly strike lashed down toward my head, until I reacted and my Club met its shadowed limb, faint light blooming on impact. Not from strength. From essence. Dragonbone against the unnatural.

[-4 HP]

The blow wasn't heavy, but it didn't need to be. Its nature was something the Specter abhorred. A ripple tore through its form. 

It shrieked, but no sound came. The scream lived in my teeth, in my skull, vibrating through my bones.

[STEALTH CHECK FAILED!]

I rolled away, low to the ground. It phased into the wall, only to reappear around the corner, searching. No footsteps, no noise, only silent and tireless dread.

The buckler in my left hand wasn't used just for defense. But also for misdirection. More than a few feints have saved me.

When my opponent reappeared, I struck again, True Strike flaring. My club connected with its shoulder this time. The magic sparked like flint, carving light into its smoke-wrapped body.

[-6HP]

It reeled, twisted, and struck back. Lashing out its cursed blade scraped my shoulder just as I performed my Uncanny Dodge.

[HP: 10/15]

Not deep, just a graze, but even that stung like Karl Tanner's stab to my sides and threatened to drain me of something. A piece of warmth, of self.

[CONSTITUTION SAVE SUCCEED!]

Pain like a memory carved into my nerves. But my soul held through the grit of my very spirit, this time, I resisted. No part of me would be left behind if I remained in its reach. 

Even so, I pressed the attack.

It was faster. Stronger. But I was smarter. I finally got a good understanding of its limits. Its tactics. Its range. Its telltale flicker before vanishing into the wall.

So I knew there was a way for me to win.

The final strike was not a roaring spectacle. No clever flourish. No clever words of celebration.

[-5HP]

Just silence as my club bludgeoned its way through incorporeal armor with certainty, cracking through like ice giving way under boot.

It didn't shatter, but actually dissolved. Pale glowing mist rising in tendrils that curled upward like smoke returning to the sky. 

No scream. No curse. Just stillness until it was finally gone. 

And then…That pulse. Faint, familiar. A Returning Stone lay near the corner where the Specter had guarded before I engaged it. 

Not broken. Not burned out like the one I'd used before. That one had vanished, burning to nothing as it tore me from this place.

This one was whole. And slowly, the realization crept in. This wasn't the same one. 

Which meant… it wasn't the same Specter.

Approaching it with no hesitation, no fear, just quiet certainty as I picked it up, magic humming beneath the surface, waiting.

[RETURNING STONE FOUND! WOULD YOU LIKE TO LEAVE THE DUNGEON?]

[YES/NO]

And just like that, I could leave now. I could end this.

It was as if the Instant Dungeon itself was testing me, asking me if the couple of months I had spent here were enough.

And for the first time in a long while… I smiled. Not because I was safe, but because I knew I was far from done here.

————————————————————————

Suffice to say, I did not leave.

The dungeon offered me a way out, a door, a mercy, as if patting me on the back and telling me to know my limits.

But instead, I stayed.

Taking the Returning Stone, I slipped it into one of the smaller pockets at my waist, and stepped deeper into the Instant Dungeon.

The air kept growing hotter. Not hellfire, not yet, since I chose to circle the center before closing in on it. But the heat climbed steadily, sweat clinging to my collarbone, soaking into the leather wrap of my bow's grip. My chain shirt chafed. The burden of it grew with every day. Still, I pressed on.

All the while, somewhere out of reach, that thrill of the hunt kept calling. 

But it didn't take long for me to answer back, as the second ghostly Kingsguard fell in silence.

This time, I played it safe. Tracked it for four days. Marked its patrol routes. Charted the way it flickered through walls like mist in a graveyard. It carried a longsword like a judge and moved with a grim precision, slower than the first, but more deliberate, more dangerous.

So I waited. Struck like a vicious snake only once luck had been strangled out of the equation as much as I could.

Hunter's Mark thrummed the moment I whispered it, no hand gestures, no grand display, for the primal magic I was channeling knew exactly what my quarry was. I felt its natural resistances like whispers crawling through my blood and when its foot brushed the salt-and-soot ward I'd etched into the stone, I loosed the arrow.

The shaft punched through its spectral cloak like sunlight through fog, slamming into the ghost-flesh beneath as its head snapped forward with a violent jolt.

No blood gushed out of it, but the magic carried by the strike tore through whatever tied its undead existence to this plane. 

The creature recoiled, twisting mid-air, that same inhuman motion like a puppet on invisible strings before being cut loose.

[CRITICAL HIT!]

[SNEAK ATTACK!]

[-38HP]

It crumbled in silence, and I stood alone once more in the dimly lit maze, another Returning Stone pocketed, a satisfied grin breaking through the heat and sweat.

But victories like that didn't come without cost, for even with all my caution and recently acquired experience with dealing with these apparitions, the third Specter found me first.

No ambush. No setup. Just a silent scream and sudden lunge.

I fought, or better said, fled from it for what felt like hours. Facing it not directly in the open, but allusively in intervals between skirmishes that followed. 

Striking from afar, vanishing, I insisted on luring it to dead ends where I had the advantage. Each time it took a hit, Colossus Slayer whispered through my veins and into my aim, forcing that extra punishment into its incorporeal wounds.

Its armor cracked under the continuous weight of my arrows, while my shield arm bled from shallow necrotic cuts I barely managed to avoid. My focus narrowed to a single thread: don't get cornered and don't get hit.

When I finally brought it down, I didn't celebrate.

I vomited. Collapsed against the dungeon wall and shook as I suffered a level of Exhaustion after failing the always so dreaded Constitution Save. Another scar, this time next to my left forearm, was added to my growing catalog of near-deaths.

Still, even through the physical ache on my recently earned battle scar, I noticed the shimmer left behind by the ghost's passing.

Dust, faintly alive. It didn't always linger. If I wasn't quick, it would vanish like smoke in the wind. But this time…

[ARCANA CHECK SUCCEED!]

I drew the essence into a twisted iron vial I'd made from repurposed weapon parts, its rim sealed with a glyph in charcoal. The Specter Dust curled inside, restless, as if aware.

Later, I found something else. A single white braid of hair. Cold to the touch, but unmistakably… real. A SpecterRemnant.

Didn't know what I'd use these parts for, but knew better than to throw them away.

And while my collection grew, so did I. By then, my hands had slowly started to change before my eyes.

Not childlike anymore, no longer gentle and soft. My knuckles had grown sharper, my grip steadier. My voice cracked when I muttered incantations, and the ghostly chill that once made me flinch now merely irritated me.

And then came the dreams.

Heat-laced and strange, tangled with half-memories, women I'd seen in the Red Keep, or remembered reading about them back in my old life. Cersei, Sansa, Daenerys…Catelyn, Arianne, Val, Margaery…and many more females kept visiting me in my thoughts.

With all the drive I could muster, I buried them beneath my survival instincts. They had no place here. This dungeon wasn't a place for longing. It wanted me focused or would not hesitate to end my life in the most horrible way it could possibly come up with.

And so I gave it what it wanted. 

The deeper I kept venturing, the more the maze kept shifting.

Walls bent subtly. Angles skewed just enough to make my sense of direction twist. Some corridors led back to themselves. And the heat…no longer a creeping presence, was now a constant pressure, like a forge actively working to shape me.

To the point it eventually forced me to abandon the chain shirt that has been giving me a sense of security up till now. Not just due to the heat that was starting to affect my mind, but because my shoulders had broadened, and my last layer of defense had started to restrict me.

[AC: 13]

As I got over the annoying feeling of being less protected than I should, time once again blurred. 

Days turned to weeks. Eventually, the months bled together, to the point where my drive to keep fighting and exploring almost dimmed.

But then they finally appeared.

At first I didn't notice if they were drawn to each other, or bound by something older. 

Two Specters. Together.

One wielded a greatsword while the other a shimmering shield and arming sword that moved with eerie coordination.

Instinctively, I opted to finally try my Hail of Thorns spell, chanting its magical words right before loosening my grip over my golden heart tree shortbow string, my arrow breaking apart so it could hit a small area where both my targets were all at once.

[-2 PRIMAL POINT]

[12/14 PP]

[-9 HP]

[-8 HP]

Despite finally being capable of slinging out some spells without draining my entire pool of magic, I must admit that the current results I got from them were somewhat disappointing. At the very least my attacks didn't completely phase through them, but they still weren't the visual triumph I was expecting.

'Stupid me! Should've just gone for Horde Breaker! At least I would've got a Critical Hit Sneak Attack in!' I berate myself in silent anger.

Neither of them spoke, but they didn't need to. At that moment I just knew that I couldn't face them both directly, so I ran towards the nearest place for me to hide and dashed out of there before the two apparitions reached me. 

Even one-on-one, the fights had been coin tosses. Together, they were death incarnate.

So, after chastising myself enough about getting too cocky, I finally decided to hunt them down the right way.

Led them apart, using some old armor scraps to mimic my footsteps. Lured the Greatsword wielding one into a chamber rigged with rusted chains and broken tiles that were meant to be used as a trap for anyone exploring this maze. And then collapsed the ceiling on the clueless Specter before quickly dousing the remains in Wildfire before it had the opportunity to phase out of my trap.

The second undead surprised me by how quickly it managed to come to its ally's aid, nearly getting me by exploiting the gap my lack of proper armor left before I could make sure I had taken the first one down. 

This sword and shield wielding Specter would've finished the job, if not for my Uncanny Dodge coming in clutch like always, as it clipped my thigh, phantom blade meeting flesh.

I would be lying if that near death experience didn't seem to succeed in ruthlessly maiming part of my spirit.

[CONSTITUTION SAVE FAILED! HP MAXIMUM HAS BEEN REDUCED!]

[HP: 3/9]

The need to cry out in pain was almost overbearing, but if I wanted to live I just couldn't spare the time, I had to keep moving, to somehow outthink and outmaneuver a ghostly knight that could phase through solid walls.

Interestingly enough, I got the best proof of how valuable my Action Surge feature was beyond merely getting an extra boost to my offensive, as it pushed me beyond my limits of regular speed and allowed me to cover more ground than I usually did. Slipping around corners, vanishing as it chased me, but failed to keep sight of me through every twist and turn.

Later, when I was sure it had lost me, I collapsed in a half-broken alcove and tried to heal, as I kept seething in pain with black veins pulsating around the wound the last Specter left in me. 

No matter what I did, how many Goodberries I ate, or how many Second Winds I spent, I just couldn't heal myself back to normal.

[HP: 9/9]

And so that same night, I slept with one eye open. The ache of the wound and the ache of nearly dying blurred together.

Fortunately, a good long rest in a safe-enough spot was all that I required to finally flush the curse out of me.

[HP: 10/10]

Justanother cast of my Aid spell, which had probably saved me from an even more agonizing phantom pain hours ago, and I was the closest to being back to full strength as I possibly could.

[HP: 15/15]

So I was finally ready to have my rematch with the sword and shield Specter that almost cut my leg off. I barely got the chance to get back on that first Specter that almost ripped my soul out of me, I won't let this become a habit.

Unlike its great sword wielding companion, I didn't dare to openly provoke it and lead it to an ambush. This time, I patiently baited it towards where I wanted it.

Prepared a chamber laced with glyphs carved from Specter Dust and inscribed with one of the Remnants, a fingertip bone, white and luminous. At the center, I placed a glass container of Wildfire.

Let it chase the faint presence some of its pals left for me to loot. Let it fall into my trap like the stupid mindless monster it was.

Once again I whispered True Strike's incantation words as it flared, guiding my arrow through the best outcome I was capable of forcing into reality. 

When I fired, the shaft hit the glass dead center, providing the necessary spark for a detonation even more brutal than the one I had burned its greatsword friend.

The bright green fire burst like a sun caught mid-birth. The Specter, clad in ghostly white, burned in silence yet clearly twisted in agony, its incorporeal form unraveling.

And as I watched it burn, I wondered… Was this how the Mad King felt? When he set his enemies ablaze? Was there satisfaction, or just the silence that followed?

But I wasn't alone. Not really. Call me crazy, but I believed that the Instant Dungeon was watching me now. Silently asking me the same question.

Once I caught my breath, I recovered what remained before the still burning Wildfire fully consumed them.

Three Remnants.

A silver ring that pulsed with a soft white glow. A clasp from its spectral cloak, still cold. And ashes, sacred-smelling, almost holy despite their charred state.

I pocketed them without hesitation, still having no idea what they meant. But I'd earned them, and I wasn't done yet.

————————————————————————

And so, after weeks that bled into each other in silence and solitude, my days returned to the same monotonous rhythm, scouting the maze, mapping its impossible geometry, retracing steps I knew by heart and yet never truly understood. 

Through that seemingly never ending adventure, the changes to my body had finally culminated into something that I always wanted to put behind me.

[PING!]

[CONGRATULATIONS! YOU HAVE GROWN OUT OF YOUR CHILD'S BODY!]

[SIZE: SMALL –> MEDIUM]

[STR: 10 (0)]

*(EXP) ATHLETICS: +6

[DEX: 11 (0) // PROFICIENT SAVE (+2)]

*(EXP) ACROBATICS: +6

*(PRO) SLEIGHT OF HAND: +3

*(EXP) STEALTH: +6

[CON: 10 (0)]

Without proper mirrors or anyone else to notice the changes, I was going by what the system informed me. Mainly glad that I was no longer suffering from any penalties to my Physical Stats.

But I had also grown used to the rules of the Instant Dungeon. Had learned to respect them. But more than that… I had started to see the patterns underneath. 

The design behind the chaos.

And still, no matter how many corners I turned or hidden paths I uncovered, the first Specter I came across remained absent.

I much more expected to face the sixth and even the Dungeon boss before I found that damn Specter that caught me when I was even weaker.

It was hiding. Or worse, the dungeon was hiding it from me.

At first, I suspected some error. A blind spot in my method. But eventually, I realized that this wasn't some coincidence. It was deliberate. The game, the system, the damn thing, it was withholding it from me like a carrot on a stick.

By then, I already had five Returning Stones, their quiet weight a familiar presence in my pocket. They no longer felt like panic-buttons. Not desperate lifelines clutched in fear, but cool, calculated options. Tools of choice. 

I could leave. I could rest. I could come back stronger. I could bide my time, sharpen my blade, stack my odds.

And still, for what felt like the thousandth time I'd pondered it… I didn't leave.

The air remained scorching, every breath like inhaling dry ash, but I no longer sweated like a panicked fool. My body had adapted, hardened. Skin no longer blistered, only bronzed and cracked. 

The heat clung to me like breath on the back of my neck, never ceasing, always watching. Waiting for a drop of temperature. The kind of drop that used to mark the presence of a Specter.

But I hadn't felt one in weeks, and the silence was worse. Years without another voice, without a shape in the dark that wasn't an undead or a phantom of my own making.

Survival was no longer my goal. I wasn't here to endure anymore. I was here to master it.

And so, like a fool drunk on progress, I pressed deeper into the maze. Thinking I was the hunter. Fooling myself into thinking I was in control.

That's when the dungeon reminded me it was alive.

Because the sixth Specter didn't come to me. No matter how many traps I baited. No matter how long I wandered. 

So eventually, stupidly, I decided that going after it was the best path. Or so I foolishly thought.

Maybe it was some kind of veiled magic. Maybe it was just my own arrogance, steering me without knowing. But at some point, I stopped wandering and started walking with purpose. 

Toward a section I couldn't remember passing through before. And once I stepped through an archway, I finally felt the temperature changing.

Not cooler, but heavier. The heat took on a weight. It pressed down like a smothering hand. The air shimmered in waves, and I realized I had entered something old. Something true.

The heart of the maze. 

A vast chamber, scorched black by ancient flame. The floor was cracked marble, spiderwebbed with shadowy veins beneath a skin of stone. 

Dragonbone pillars loomed, spiraling toward a ceiling I couldn't see, like the ribs of a fallen titan. And at the far end, set above a dais carved into the rock itself, sat a throne.

No, not a throne. A maw.

Twisted black iron, shaped like the open jaw of a dragon, its teeth jagged and melted, curled inward like the promise of death. Fire pulsed faintly between them. 

The heat here wasn't ambient anymore. It was watching me.

'The center of the Instant Dungeon.' I thought while stopping myself as breath hitched. 'Shouldn't it be locked until I dealt with the Specters?'

Still, no Specter stood before me. No patrol. No lurking presence, no echo of steel in the shadows. But I knew. I knew the moment I saw that throne, that this was the stage.

And the dungeon was done playing with me.

Behind me, the corridors I had just walked began to twist, not mechanically, not with the grinding of gears, but like a dream folding in on itself. Like logic being rewritten. The marble shifted, the paths uncoiled like serpents swallowing their own tails.

There would be no escape this time.

My hand instinctively brushed the pouch at my hip, fingers grazing the cool shapes of Returning Stones. It should've felt like reassurance.

But it didn't. And that's when I heard it. The laugh. Low. Cracked. Burning.

It slithered through the air like oil over flame, not loud but present, winding between pillars, crawling through the marrow of the chamber. A pressure on my spine. A breath against my ear.

Then came the shadows.

Not cast, but crawling. Pouring across the floor, up the dragonbone pillars, moving against the light, like blood flowing uphill.

And from the dark, it emerged. A silhouette. Crowned in shadowy flames.

Hair like wax melting in reverse. Robes stitched from living fire, tongues of black flame trailing behind like a funeral shroud. And at its hip, a blade that dripped screams, not blood, not steel, but the sound of people dying in agony, endless and spiraling.

It didn't walk, It descended.

A game window blinked into life above its head.

[DUNGEON BOSS: THE MAD WRAITH KING // MEDIUM UNDEAD // LV: 5]

But fate, true to form, didn't come alone. From behind the pillars, two white figures stepped forward. Both glowing. Both wrong.

Specters. The last two. 

And one of them…was that one. The first. The one who nearly ended me. The one who had clawed into my core and almost ripped my soul out. 

I knew it was the one, not by its featureless face, but by the way it moved. The cold silence in its stride. The gleam of its shield, still carrying the shape of that first nightmare.

The other was new. But wrong in the same way.

Both bound by strings of shadow. Both pulled forward like marionettes. Guarding the throne like Kingsguard made from bright fog and hate.

Three of them against me alone. No time to prepare and no way to run.

My hand tightened around the pouch at my side. I could leave. I could flee. I could survive.

But I didn't move, not because I couldn't. But because this was the test. The next wall. The price of power.

If I ran now, I'd always wonder. And so I stood my ground.

The Wraith raised its blackened hand, flame wreathing its wrist. And with a flick of one burning finger, it commanded them.

So the Specters lunged without hesitation and the fight finally began.

I barely had time to move, rolling at the last moment and throwing myself behind the collapsed rib of a ruined pillar, dust blasting into my lungs as a blade tore through the air I had just occupied. 

A metallic screech echoed, steel against stone, sharp enough to rattle my ears.

One of their weapons hissed past my calf, close enough to make the skin there ache from its unnatural cold. It didn't even cut me, and yet I felt it, the icy hunger, like it had still tasted a piece of me through the air alone.

Clenching my teeth, I reached for two arrows in a single motion and snapped them against the bowstring. No time to think, no time to breathe. I loosed them both like reflexes made flesh.

The first bounced uselessly off the nearest Specter's armor, clattering to the floor. The second caught the other one in its shoulder, barely, but it staggered just enough to make me realize a bitter truth: my ranged attacks were a death sentence at close quarters.

Switching the bow aside and reaching instead for my Dragonbone club and my buckler, their familiar weight immediately grounded me in the moment like anchors against a storm.

The air twisted. The heat, already unbearable, mutated. It thickened and pressed down over me. Changing shape. 

I looked up just in time to see the Wraith King glide from his throne like a nightmare made manifest. It didn't walk. It drifted. Flames curled behind its cloak like dying prayers.

"BURN THEM ALL." The voice crawled into my skull, low and damning, though its mouth never moved.

Panic slammed into me, violent and raw. My hand shot for my last jar of Wildfire, the glass already beginning to warm, ready to erupt if I hesitated even a moment too long.

I hurled it, overarm, aimed not for precision but desperation.

The pot soared past the Wraith and detonated as it struck the marble, a violent blossom of green fire consuming half the chamber in emerald hellfire. 

For a second, just a breath, I thought that was it. That I had pulled some last-minute miracle and cheesed my way out of having to deal with the Boss of the Dungeon.

But then it emerged.

Stalking from the inferno as if born from it, the Wraith King's silhouette was not completely untouched by the blaze, but it wasn't the same sure win it had been against the Specters up till that point. 

In a blink, it finally closed the distance, and before I could react, its burning hands grabbed me, as if its clutches could grasp my very ribs.

Agony erupted.

Every wound I had taken, every brush with death in this cursed dungeon, every moment I had been sliced, burned, pierced, or crushed, none of it compared to this.

It was like being set on fire from the inside out. Like having my soul dragged across hot coals.

If not for my reflexes, my Uncanny Dodge, to pull back when I did, I would've died right there. No second chances.

[-9 HP]

[6/15 HP]

And then I felt it, the true purpose behind the pain. It was trying to take something from me. Not my blood. Not my limbs. Me.

I fought against it. Clenched every muscle. Tried to anchor my soul to my spine and resist.

[CONSTITUTION SAVE FAILED!…]

No! I'm not done yet!

[HEROIC INSPIRATION USE EXPENDED!]

[CONSTITUTION SAVE SUCCEED!]

I forced it back. Whatever tendrils of death it had slithered into me were severed just as I stumbled out of its grasp, dragging half a corpse but still upright.

And gods be damned, I was still angry.

By the way the Wraith King's maniacal laughter stopped, I knew it hadn't expected me to survive its first strike. 

The silence that followed wasn't fear, it was insulted disbelief. But one of its loyal servants immediately surged forth to correct that disappointment, spectral blade whistling through the air.

Fortunately, my Dragonbone buckler shield took the brunt of it, absorbing just enough force to keep me alive. Seizing the moment to disengage, I weaved between the looming columns, breaking line of sight where I could. 

Behind me, the Wraith King advanced, not fast, not furious, but inevitable. The slow crawl of death made manifest. Every step echoed with the weight of centuries.

My hands trembled as I whispered the words of my Mirror Image spell, pouring every drop of flair into my movements, not just for the magical effect, but the assurance it granted me.

[-3 DIVINE POINTS]

[3/6 DP]

Then I tapped into my Beguiling Magic, peering out from behind the column. I picked my target, a lesser undead, the weakest link in the one I still had a debt to pay.

[TARGET FAILED ITS SAVE! THE SPECTER IS NOW FRIGHTENED!]

The effect was immediate. The Specter shrieked and fled, its smoky form retreating with desperate haste. I smirked, unable to resist the jab. 'Sucks being scared, doesn't it?'

"Coward! Bring me his head!" The Wraith King bellowed, the fury in its voice shaking loose dust from the ancient ceiling. Despite how the undead trembled beneath its command, my magical effect still held.

It was then I saw the outline of my plan. Divide them. Let their numbers work against them. Pick one. Disable. Retreat. Repeat. If I could just isolate—

BOOM.

The column behind which I was hiding exploded in a violent burst of green flame. The Wraith King had raised its hand again, conjuring another burst of twisted magic. That lit up like wildfire. Reality bent at the seams.

[- 2 HP]

[4/15 HP]

If I hadn't thrown myself sideways, I would've been nothing more than ash. Even still, I choked on the acrid smoke and staggered right into a Specter's swing, only dodging in time thanks to the warning pulse of my Blindsight.

I vanished into the smoke using my Cunning Action, and struck from the haze. My Dragonbone club, empowered by True Strike, landed home.

[SNEAK ATTACK!]

[-18 HP]

That was the same Specter I'd wounded earlier with my arrow. Catharsis surged through me as it shrieked and dissipated, collapsing into dust and silence. I retrieved its Returning Stone before it hit the floor.

But still no time for healing my wounds, as the Wraith King came at me again, even faster this time, but my Mirror Image spell still held strong. Its strike passed through an after image left through a feint.

[TARGET FAILED ITS SAVE! THE SPECTER IS STILL FRIGHTENED!]

'Good boy!' I nearly called out as I glanced at the cowering Specter pressing itself into the far wall. Then I faced the Wraith King again and couldn't resist. "You think I'm the one trapped in here with you? No… you're the ones trapped in here with me."

Channeling Shillelagh into my club, feeling its weight shift, heavier, denser, more potent without sacrificing my skill with it, I followed with another True Strike.

[-9 HP]

Not much, nowhere near the damage I'd done with the Wildfire pot earlier. But this wasn't about raw damage anymore. It was about preparation. Something that would eventually have its pay off.

The Wraith King screeched with unholy rage and struck again. However I still spun beneath its claws, dancing completely untouched.

[TARGET FAILED ITS SAVE! THE SPECTER IS STILL FRIGHTENED!]

I darted away once more, leading it into another column's blind spot, then struck like a ghost myself once I vaulted from the other side.

[SNEAK ATTACK!]

[-18 HP]

"Enough!" The Wraith King howled, its voice a chorus of agony and hatred. "You want my crown? My throne? Then rule over ashes!"

Instead of pursuing me, it turned and hovered back to its throne, green flames sparking to life around its dragon-shaped altar. A ritual. A last-ditch failsafe. Desperate. Dangerous.

The floor lit up, channels of the dark liquid became green as they ignited one after the other, like veins of wildfire pulsing through the chamber. 

No. Through the maze. My maze. The one I had explored with blood and memory for years.

[THE BOSS OF THE DUNGEON IS ABOUT TO DESTROY THE ENTIRE MAZE! STOP IT BEFORE IT IS TOO LATE!]

I surged forward, and froze at the second warning I received.

[TARGET SUCCEED ITS SAVE! THE SPECTER IS NO LONGER FRIGHTENED!]

'Shit.' I thought to myself, before facing the very same Specter I had come here to hunt. 'It had to be you.'

The same Specter I came here to hunt, the one that nearly killed me the first time, now stood before me again. 

From it I received no words, no hesitation. Just saw the purpose of protecting its king.

We clashed. This time, I was stronger. Smarter. I had the defense, the offense, the tools. But it didn't need to win, just stall me long enough.

And it did. It kept dodging rather than struck, forcing me into a slow, deadly dance. 

Just as the shadow of what I suspected was meant to evoke the Mad King was about to finish its ritual, I tried my last resort while secretly grasping a Returning Stone.

Out of options, I gambled everything and decided to pull a Talk-no-jutsu.

"I know, I know, I invaded your home." I said, weaving every ounce of deception and persuasion I had into the words, hoping I was facing the echo of another famous Kingsguard. "I know I slaughtered your companions. And I know you were just doing your duty when you nearly killed me."

The Specter paused.

"I'm not asking you to betray your king. I'm asking you to think. That ritual, it won't just destroy me. It'll destroy everything. The maze. The others who dwell here. The dungeon itself. Will you let all that be destroyed?"

I braced myself. Ready to strike the moment it lowered its guard or just outright ignored my words.

[PERSUASION CHECK SUCCEED!]

But it actually surprised me simply by nodding.

And then, it moved. Faster than I could. Like a streak of vengeful moonlight, it charged straight toward the Wraith King and drove its sword through its back.

"Urgh!" the Wraith King cried out, spectral form flickering with pain. "So… you are a coward and a traitor! Die!"

The ritual halted. The Wraith King turned, and with a single gesture, unmade the Specter. Dispelled it like a breath in winter.

But as the Wraith laughed at its servant's short-lived defiance, that made it hesitate in completing its ritual. And that was all I needed.

Calling on my Action Surge, I dashed forward with every last reserve of strength and fury. My club crackled with power through the great combination of both Shillelagh and True Strike, and my attack struck true.

[CRITICAL HIT!]

[SNEAK ATTACK!]

[-25 HP]

The Wraith King's form shattered in a cyclone of green fire and ash, its crown tumbling from the air and rolling to a stop beside me.

It was over. Or so I thought.

A whisper of steel cut the silence, not just any steel. A blade, black and ancient, coalesced in the Wraith King's reappearing hand even as its body fought against being dissolved. 

One final spiteful trick, bound to its death. It hadn't even used its weapon until now. Of course it hadn't. It was saving it…for this.

I saw the arc of the sword coming before I even registered the movement, a spectral slash forged of hatred and death. A death meant for me.

But it didn't aim for me. Not directly. 

It had learned. If it couldn't hit me, it would erase the space I stood in. The Wraith's blade struck the ground, and the world detonated, vaporizing stone like parchment before a forge.

[-3 HP]

And so the blast hurled me backward, ribs screaming, ears ringing, eyes barely focusing even with all my efforts to avoid the brunt of the explosion. My back slammed against the far wall of the chamber and I crumpled, breathless. 

For a heartbeat, maybe more, I lay still.

[1/15 HP]

This was it, my luck had spared all it could.

I was out of tricks. One more spell, one more hit, one more step, and I'd—

[SPELL STORING RING ATTUNED!]

The bronze ring on my finger, the one Alysse had trusted me to awaken its magic, flared.

A sudden pulse of magic, not from the Wraith's fire, but something colder. Not pain, but protection. Runes ignited across the old bronze like veins of moonlight through copper, and the world slowed as the stored magic surged into me.

No time to think. No time to hesitate. My body just reacted and my hand snapped up as the Wraith's blade descended.

A shimmer erupted between us, invisible but solid, a frozen barrier snapping into existence like a pane of force between life and death.

The strike erupted once more, but this time, something stopped it, something protected me better than any armor could.

Not just held, repelled. The burning explosion screeched off the frozen ward like a predator denied its prey, the Wraith recoiling, momentarily stunned.

Barely able to inspect my body, I noticed that I now had thick layers of frost guarding me like a second skin. Glimpsing over my Status Window, I noticed how my Health Bar had received a momentary boost of +25.

[1/15 HP (+25 TEMPORARY HP)]

[-5 HP]

[1/15 HP (+20 TEMPORARY HIT POINTS)]

One hour of borrowed safety. One hour to live. One hour to kill. And I wasn't wasting a single one.

Switching my Dragonbone Buckler, I matched my Dragonbone club with my Valyrian Steel Dagger and proceeded to smash its ghostly blade aside and strike at its core with my magical blade.

[-12 HP]

[-4 HP]

That finally seemed to send that grotesque reflection of the Mad King back to whatever afterlife it came from, as it screeched with enough malice to shake me a little.

[WISDOM SAVE FAILED! YOU ARE NOW FRIGHTENED!]

[THE TARGET OF YOUR FEAR IS NO LONGER WITHIN SIGHT! YOU ARE NO LONGER FRIGHTENED!]

Okay, more than just a little.

Falling down to one knew, I took my time to recover my breath. Too tired to properly investigate the Wraith remains, too tired to even look around and make sure if I had finally won.

[PING!]

I heard the usual notification sound, but kept focused on not just fainting.

[CONSTITUTION SAVE FAILED! YOU GAINED ONE LEVEL OF EXHAUSTION!]

I-I needed a rest. Gods, I'd earned one.

————————————————————————

Not long after, my back ached from the stone. My ribs throbbed in time with my heartbeat. Faint scars that were darkened and with a cracked appearance that nearly reminded me of greyscale.

But the silence held, and the world hadn't ended in the hour I let myself collapse.

I immediately noticed the disappearance of the frozen layers that had granted me the temporary boost I needed to survive. But Alysse's ring remained intact, its magic dimmed, but it had been awakened from slumber.

As for the windows that still floated above me, they kept pulsing faintly at the edges like embers waiting to reignite. I didn't touch them at first. 

Just breathing. Letting the weight of surviving settle in my bones.

[YOU HAVE TAKEN A SHORT REST IN A HARD FLOOR. HP HAVE BEEN RESTORED 50% OF ITS MAXIMUM. YOU MAY HAVE ANOTHER SHORT REST BEFORE REQUIRING TO TAKE A LONG ONE.]

[7/15 HP]

[ACTION SURGE USE RESTORED!]

I sat up slowly, gritting my teeth through the pain in my side. The bruises were deeper than I thought, ribs, maybe. Nothing cracked, but every breath reminded me how close I'd been to death. 

Again.

More windows unfurled. Not red like warnings. These were… proof of my progress.

[QUEST COMPLETED!]

[THE HERO'S TRIALS ARE NOT OVER! TIME TO FACE YOUR BIGGEST ORDEAL SO FAR!]

[CONDITION MET: DEFEAT THE INSTANT DUNGEON'S BOSS!]

[OPTIONAL CONDITION MET: DO NOT USE ANOTHER RETURNING STONE!]

[REWARD: LEVEL UP TWO OF YOUR CLASSES!]

[OPTIONAL REWARD: BETTER LOOT!]

Cool, do I get to choose which classes or…

[CLASS PROGRESS UPDATE: ASSASSIN (RANK C+)]

The words flickered sharp and silver, like a dagger catching light.

[Evasion: You can nimbly dodge out of the way of certain dangers. When you are subjected to an effect that allows you to make a Dexterity saving throw to take only half damage, you instead take no damage if you succeed on the saving throw and only half damage if you fail. You can't use this feature if you have the Incapacitated condition.]

[Reliable Talent: Either through luck or your sheer commitment in avoiding any avoidable mistakes, whenever you make an Ability Check that uses your proficiency bonus, you never perform less than average.]

I let out a breath. Not a laugh, I didn't have the air for that, but something like amusement ghosted in my chest.

No more flukes. No more hoping I got lucky. I'd bled enough to earn this. Every step, every strike, every silent breath taken behind a mark's back, it was adding up.

A new window nudged in beside it.

[CONGRATULATIONS: YOU HAVE UNLOCKED A NEW FEAT: SHARPSHOOTER]

*You have mastered ranged weapons and can make shots that others find impossible. You gain the following benefits:

Ability Score Increase: Your Dexterity score increases by 1.

Bypass Cover: Your ranged attacks with weapons ignore Half Cover and Three-Quarters Cover.

Fire In Melee: Being within 5 feet of an enemy doesn't impose Disadvantage on your attack rolls with Ranged weapons.

Long Shots: Attacking at long range doesn't impose Disadvantage on your attack rolls with Ranged weapons.

I could see it already, arrows whipping through gaps no sane archer would ever aim for, even with a warrior rushing toward them, weapon raised high.

And I finally understood how my arrows' weight and the air they sailed through affected my accuracy.

[CLASS PROGRESS UPDATE: FIGHTER SUBCLASS - CHAMPION (RANK D+)]

*By focusing on the development of your martial prowess in a relentless pursuit of victory. You've learned to combine rigorous training with physical excellence to deal devastating blows, withstand peril, and garner glory. Whether in athletic contests or bloody battles, you strive for the crown of the victor.

The frame shifted, less sleek, more ironclad. These weren't skills earned in the shadows. These were forged in grit and blood.

[IMPROVED CRITICAL: Your strikes have become unnervingly precise, finding gaps in armor and weaknesses in your foe's stance with terrifying ease. Where others must rely on brute force or luck to land a crippling blow, your attacks glance off bones and slip between ribs like fate itself guides your hand. In addition, immediately after you score a Critical Hit, you can move up to half your Speed without provoking Opportunity Attacks.]

[REMARKABLE ATHLETE: Thanks to your athleticism and physical fitness you can brute force your way out of certain dangers. When you are subjected to an effect that allows you to make a Strength or Constitution saving throw to take only half damage, you instead take no damage if you succeed on the saving throw and only half damage if you fail. You can't use this feature if you have the Incapacitated condition.]

Slowly exhaling, I felt something click inside me. The edge of my body, the timing in my breath, it was tighter now. Sharper. I could move faster, hit harder, react like muscle and mind were finally on the same page.

Another window appeared next to everything else I got from my Fighter class.

[CONGRATULATIONS: YOU HAVE UNLOCKED A NEW FEAT: DEFENSIVE DUELIST]

*You use weapons not just for offense but also for protection. You gain the following benefits:

Ability Score Increase: Your Dexterity score increases by 1.

Parry: If you're holding a Finesse weapon and another creature hits you with a melee attack, you may react and add your Proficiency Bonus to your Armor Class, potentially causing the attack to miss you. You gain this bonus to your AC against melee attacks until the start of your next turn.

That one made me smile. A real one, if brief. Not just a killer in the dark now, a duelist, a showman. 

And the best part? I didn't need to scream to win. I just needed a single moment where their weapons met mine…and failed.

The windows lingered, waiting for acknowledgment. I didn't close them. Not yet. Let them stay. Let them burn into memory. Proof I'd made it.

Instead, I pushed myself to stand. Slowly, I felt bones creaking under my strain as my muscles pulled tight. But I eventually stood.

The world tilted a little, hunger, pain, fatigue, but I was stronger now than when I entered this chamber. That mattered. 

Every piece of me was built to survive, and with every kill, every risk, every inch of progress…I was becoming something more.

And gods help the next fool who tries to stop me.

Right as I was about to consider resting for another hour, a chime sounded, clearer than the others. Not urgent, not hostile. Almost…triumphant.

[CONGRATULATIONS: YOU HAVE DEFEATED THE BOSS OF THE INSTANT DUNGEON.]

[YOU ARE NOW THE MASTER OF THIS DUNGEON.]

My brow furrowed before I could help it. Master? What—

The stone beneath me hummed. Subtle at first, then stronger. The walls shimmered, no longer crumbling or decayed. A slow ripple of restoration pulsed out from the Wraith's broken remains, mending cracks and sweeping away blood as if the dungeon itself was breathing again for the first time in ages.

[AS MASTER, YOU MAY NOW EXIT THE DUNGEON AT WILL.]

[AS MASTER, YOU MAY NOW DECIDE IF YOU WANT THE TIME INSIDE THE INSTANT DUNGEON TO MATCH YOUR DIMENSION OF ORIGIN. THIS CHANGE CAN BE ALTERED IF YOU SO DESIRE.]

[RETURNING STONES PRESERVED: 6]

The six stones began hovering in a gentle arc before me, the ones I had carried in with me. They pulsed, then rose into the air, drifting like stars toward the far wall where a circular staircase emerged from solid rock, ascending toward a sealed archway now glowing faintly silver.

Treasury, I realized.

But before I could drag my aching body up the steps, I turned back toward the Wraith's remains. Nothing solid had survived, only mist and rags drifting through the air like soot caught in a breeze. But I could feel it, a residue of power.

I reached out with one hand, channeling everything I'd learned, the instinct and theory braided into me by blood, sweat, and months learning everything I could from Tobho's forge and The Alchemist Guild's laboratory.

It was then I felt how my Reliable Talent changed my way of thinking, how I managed to avoid all the avoidable mistakes whenever I worked with something I had already had enough experience in knowing how things were supposed to work.

That combined with my Guidance cantrip, and I felt I could do anything I set my mind on.

[ARCANA CHECK SUCCEED!]

The mist thickened at my touch, swirling into my palm, coalescing into a fine layer of ashen dust that shimmered faintly violet when the light hit it just right.

[YOU HAVE OBTAINED: WRAITH DUST (RARE ALCHEMICAL INGREDIENT)]

As it seems when a wraith is killed, its form disperses into a fine mist, scattering motes of necrotic energy. Wraith Dust was invisible to the untrained eye but resonates with dark arcane potential. Alchemists, necromancers, and rune-forgers alike should prize it for rituals involving death, binding or shadow. Highly volatile in raw form.

I sealed it into a pouch, near the Specter remains I managed to harvest beforehand, with trembling fingers, still kneeling in silence.

This wasn't just loot. It was a door to more power, more danger, more answers. 

Before I could think of it further, another window flickered within my sights.

[PING!] 

[DUNGEON TREASURY UNLOCKED!]

[TIME REMAINING INSIDE: INFINITE (AS MASTER)]

Finally, something in this world that I owned outright, not by name, not by birthright, but by surviving what would've killed any other bastard who stumbled in.

I stood up again. Or tried to. My legs protested, every bruise flaring back to life, but I gritted my teeth and pushed up.

The dungeon no longer tested me. Now it was offering tribute.

————————————————————————

(22/09/2020)

(24/09/2020)

(30/09/2021)

(07/04/2022)

(01/01/2025)

*Hope this chapter is of your liking. 

Anything you wish to ask, feel free to do so.

Check out my auxiliary chapter if you still haven't.

Thanks as always for your attention and please be safe.

Any problems with my writing, just point them out and I will correct them as soon as possible.