Dungeon Crawler

[The Fifth Floor | Undead Caverns]

‘...Well, this is not an optimal situation…’ He thought to himself, worried.

With his back pressed against the grimy wall of stone, he tucked himself from the view of the lurking creatures around the corner. It was a dark, decrepit place, though not an environment he wasn’t used to being in–a “dungeon.”

The young man was dressed in light, black-leather armor, wearing matching gloves and boots as if seeking to blend in with the dim lair he found himself in. Keeping his head tucked over his head of jet-black hair, he glanced around the corner:

“...Graaaa…”

A light growl-like noise left the mouth of the sword-wielding skeleton just down the hall, accompanied by another pair of equipped undead that looked around. They weren’t lightly armored; the skeletons were dressed in onyx equipment, clad abundantly in the gear that oozed with strength.

‘I’ll have to scold that info broker lately. No baddies on the right wing of the lower floor? That’s not the kind of information to get wrong. I almost walked straight into that group of bones–close one,’ he thought.

The stealth man reached into one of the many pouches stationed on his belt, taking out a circular piece of sapphire glass, putting it up to his right eye as he peered at the skeletons:

[Undead Swordsman] [Lv. 3]

[Undead Spearman] [Lv. 3]

[Undead Sentinel] [Lv. 4]

When peering through the sapphire monocle, descriptions of the monsters he looked at came to him with vital information.

‘Level four? That’ll be a pain in the ass,’ he thought.

He stuffed the mystical glass back into his belt before rustling around for something else, removing a pair of snow-white, glistening gemstones. A few breaths to instill confidence in himself were inhaled as he listened to the hollow footsteps of the armored undead closeby, holding each of the gems between his fingers.

‘…Alright, time not to die,’ he thought.

Rolling out from the hidden spot behind the wall, he revealed himself to the band of skulking undead. Immediately, the skeletons that guarded the dimly-lit chamber raised their grimy weapons with hostile intent.

Their bony feet scampered against the grimy, stone tiles, rushing towards the darkly-dressed intruder to the dungeon. In a quick flick of his wrist, the hooded man tossed the gemstones towards the skeletons before–FLASH.

A blinding light swallowed the dim chamber, overwhelming the stagnant darkness that had so abundantly existed down in the depths. It brought the undead to a pause, as if turned into statues–though the hooded man knew it was only a temporary solution.

He kept his head down so as not to endure the potent flashing on his eyes as he sprinted straight past the skeletons. As he cleared the group of undead guards, he immediately found himself having to jump up as he saw a tripwire in the corner of his eye, nearly setting it off near his ankle.

‘Close,’ he thought.

After putting enough space between himself and the undead, he finally slowed down, arriving in a narrow corridor. It was kept alight by only two torches that spread soft, orange light thin across the gray walls.

Though it looked like any creepy hall of a dungeon, his eyes were experienced in inspecting the finest details of such places; the way each stone brick was fixated, how much each one protruded from either wall, any indents or peculiarities with the structure—he examined it all.

“Hmm,” he quietly thought to himself as he reached into his pocket, retrieving a smooth rock.

It was lightly tossed before him, landing on a tile that had caught his eye with a small “thunk.” For a moment, nothing occurred; complete silence except for the groans of wind trapped in the dark dungeon.

“—“ He waited.

SWOOSH

From the walls, a set of swinging blades swept back and forth right before him—a classic trap. To an uninitiated dungeon crawler, the heavy, cruel axes would undoubtedly be a death sentence.

However, the hooded man only took a moment of watching the swinging axes before dashing forward. Without breaking his pace or having to intentionally evade the blades, he perfectly avoided each of the three axes before reaching the other side of the corridor.

It was all about getting a feel for the momentum and timing; something he had already accomplished countless times by his confidence.

‘Alright, I should be getting close to the good part,’ he thought.

As he entered the next room, he found himself surrounded by suspicious tiles on the floor, each seeming to be a boobytrap.

Testing the tiles with one of his weighted stones, it immediately caved in, crumbling away to reveal a dark pit below. Under the false floor was a graveyard of bones and deadly spikes.

‘Ah, one of these. I must be closer than I thought then,’ he figured out.

It was an “all-or-nothing” chamber, at least that’s what he had dubbed such rooms: the penultimate obstacle before the end of a dungeon where the stakes were at their highest and failure was at its most likely. Most of the time, it’s where rookie adventurers turned around and accepted the goods they had already found, opting not to lose their lives.

However, the confident dungeon explorer didn’t bat an eye: pulling out early wasn’t even a consideration for him.

Once more, he reached into his trusty belt of pouches, this time retrieving something of a colorful shine: a rope made of a gelatinous, cyan material.

‘My own personal creation: the world’s most reliable “slime rope,” he thought as he wrapped one end of the gooey line to his hand.

He focused on the center of the ceiling above the falling floor, cocking his arm back before flinging the slime rope straight towards his target–splat.

A perfect toss; the end of the gooey cord glued itself to the stone above. A few tugs were given to make sure it was secure before the hooded man readied himself for the next step.

“...Alright, good enough,” he mumbled to himself before getting into a crouched position as if ready to take off at any moment.

With a dash off of his left foot, he flung himself forward, beginning to rush across the false floor while he kept a tight grasp on the gooey anchor above. Each step felt as though his boots were befalling brittle, feeling the weight suddenly vanish from beneath him just as his feet lifted and moved onto the next portion of the flooring.

It was a rush of adrenaline; an excitement that flowed straight through his veins, from head-to-toe, a wondrous feeling that he sought within the dungeons.

As each tile crumbled away, leaving a vast gap to the pit of spikes behind him, it felt as though a wind was pressing against his back, carrying him faster towards the other side. If there was one physical gift he owned, it was his agility; he had done quite a bit of running in his life, so naturally he became good at it.

‘...Almost there!’ He thought, seeing the other side clear of the deathly pit.

The sound of tiles falling and shattering apart filled his ears, echoing against the dark, grimy-layered walls of stone. With one, big leap, he entrusted his weight to the anchor of the slime rope as the entire set of tiles collapsed from beneath him.

Both of his feet landed safely on the other side, firmly planted onto the stone, which thankfully did not give from underneath him.

‘Alright, that’s cleared now,’ he thought to himself as he glanced back at the bare pit.

All that was left was the path ahead as he began to descend a staircase that led to another doorway. Neighboring the stairs were statues embedded into the dark, stone walls, resembling barbaric orcs.

He kept quiet, leaning past the entrance and peering into the vast chamber that laid ahead: a number of burly, green-skinned barbarians stood guard around a staircase draped with a torn, velvet carpet, leading to a rusty throne where one figure sat.

It was an orc with a crown of bones atop his head, dressed in terrifying, ivory armor with a hammer larger than the adventurer’s own body ready beside the throne.

Of course, he expected to find the orcs occupying the area, and with it, the glint of a treasure chest sat near the leader of the dungeon-dwelling orcs.

‘There it is. Looks like the info she gave me was accurate–that orc up there has a pretty big bounty on his head–”Vildren, the Dread”--one of the few Lair Guardians that roams the entire floor. A lot of rookies and veterans alike have fallen to him–I can’t be careless,’ he thought.

He kept a low profile as he entered the chamber, staying behind a pile of bones as he peered at the group of orcs. There were five in total, with a couple lounging, chewing on bones boredly and another pair staying close to the throne-sitting leader.

Retrieving his enchanted glass, he placed it in front of his right eye as he inspected each of the orcs:

[Orc Warrior] [Lv. 4]

[Orc Warrior] [Lv. 4]

[Orc Pugilist] [Lv. 5]

[Orc Warrior] [Lv. 4]

[Lair Guardian] [Vildren, Black Knuckle Chieftain] [Lv. 7]

Though there wasn’t much point he found in seeing the combat levels assigned to the barbaric dwellers, seeing as though in a direct fight, he knew even the weakest among the orcs would get the better of him.

He crouched back down, quietly pulling out a dark mask that was devoid of any design, smelling of old leather. SIlently, he placed it over his face, using the straps on it to keep it in place. While the orcs grumbled and tossed bones at each other over some sort of unintelligible disagreement they had, the hidden man reached behind his back into a sack attached to his belt. A pair of pitch-black balls and fiery-red dust were what he retrieved, looking down at them as he set one down.

He rolled the sphere in his hand before finding where the fuse was at. In his other hand, he ground up a small portion of the bright-orange dust between his index finger and thumb, keeping the end of the fuse caught between as well before–spark.

Fire was born, hissing as sparks danced outward, quickly engulfing the fuse. He had to discard the sphere as the fuse was being eaten away quickly, quietly tossing it over the wall of bones.

It landed between the stationed orcs, bouncing a single time as it slowly rolled a meter before coming to a stop.

“Gru?”

The orcs noticed the peculiar ball, with the one that was sitting against the wall and chewing a bone curiously reaching over and picking it up.

It was clearly a mystery to the monstrous barbarians who gathered around the odd sphere, goggling and poking at it.

The hooded adventurer took it as a perfect distraction as he rubbed the flammable dust against the fuse of the second ball before tossing it over.

“Rah—?” One of the orcs looked up, noticing the second one drop close by.

The fuses were eaten away second by second, growing smaller while one of the green-skinned orcs kept the ball in his hand before—BOOM.

‘Perfect,’ he thought.

The first one exploded, though not with much power as it barely caused the hulking orcs to stumble back. It wasn’t the explosion that was the main purpose, however; a thick, dark-purple gas quickly flooded outward. As it expanded, it didn’t take long for the haze to consume the entire chamber, enveloping it in its miasmic grasp.

“Gruuuh…!”

“Gruah–!”

BOOM

The second bomb went off, filling the room with an even higher density of the mysterious gas, leaving no room to breathe normal oxygen anymore.

Each of the orcs struggled, spinning around at the sudden presence of the smoke, though they each began to weaken, their movements becoming sluggish as one-by-one, they slumped over, falling unconscious within the gas.

Of the group of barbarians, the steel-armored leader was the last to fall, attempting to sit back into his makeshift throne, though his own strength gave out from beneath him as he fell face down onto the steps.

From behind the pile of discarded bones, the hooded man remained conscious, thanking his mask that smoke didn’t infiltrate his own lungs. He waited for a prolonged moment, listening closely until there were only the snores of the gassed barbarians left audible.

‘“Dragon’s Corpse Breath”--stuff is worth every silver. One whiff of it and it’ll give you the sweetest dreams for a good day. Huff as much of it as these poor brutes, well…they probably won’t wake up for awhile,’ he thought as he walked up to the sleeping orcs, staring down at the snoring dungeon dwellers.

Even a small kick to the shoulders of one of the burly barbarians didn’t so much as make the slumbering orc flinch.

‘Yup. Out cold,’ he confirmed.

The underlings weren’t what he worried about as he stepped over them, approaching the steps as he found the unconscious leader–the armored orc with a hefty bounty on his head. As he knelt down, he reached behind his back, gripping the handle that was positioned sideways on his lower back. A slick, silver dagger was slid out from the brown-leather sheath, held above the steel-clad orc’s head.

“--” The hooded man waited a moment before quietly plunging the blade into the skull of the slumbering figure.

Squelch.

“Hrrrk–” The orc let out a muffled yelp before falling silent, overcome with a permanent stillness.

It wasn’t a glorious victory; that’s not what was sought. A simple, clean kill, one without any fighting–that’s the way he operated. After sinking the dagger far into the skull of the “Black Knuckle Chieftain”, he pulled it out as crimson liquid oozed out from the wound.

“You won’t be killing anyone else now,” he whispered indifferently.

He took a moment to wipe his blade clean against the armor of the slain orc before looking at the lifeless figure before him. If he was to claim the bounty of Vildren, he would need evidence of his kill–hauling the hulking body of the armored orc certainly wasn’t a possibility for him.

After some consideration, he set his sights on the notable large tusks that protrude from the chieftain’s underbite. It was another unsavory task, but one he did without wasting any time as he used the tip of his dagger to dig out the massive, curved tusks that were a unique, dark-red shade.

‘This should do,’ he thought, carefully stuffing the bounty evidence into his pocket.

Glancing back, he considered finishing off the other snoring orcs, though didn’t feel any need to, instead crouching beside each of them as he rummaged through their pockets. Most of what he discovered held on the barbarians were chewed bones or ornaments made of the same material that held no value.

Though he wasn’t deterred, sifting through the pockets of one of the orcs that had face planted against the tile, finding something solid and smooth in its pocket.

“A-ha,” he smiled, already knowing he had found something of worth as he retrieved what had met his grasp.

A silver ring with a dazzling ruby embedded in it, with small inscriptions along its sides; something of unmistakable value. Pocketing his lavish find, he turned his focus to the grand prize of the dungeon, peering at the large chest that sat beside the chieftain’s seat.

“...Alright,” he mumbled as he crouched in front of the chest, being careful not to touch it before carefully inspecting it.

What he looked for were tripwires, ones set to trigger once the lid of the chest was lifted. It was a common, but deadly trap–one of the primary killers of inexperienced dungeon explorers.

‘It’s when you’re sure you’ve overcome every obstacle the dungeon had for you, when you’re blinded by the excitement of your spoils that your guard is down–that’s when things like this get you,’ he thought.

Sure enough, he found a thin string attached to the chest, leading down to a piece of fabric, which he lifted to find a lock that kept the sneaky boobystrap in place. He retrieved a thin needle from under his sleeve, sliding it into the keyhole of the lock and maneuvering it around a bit before–click.

The trap was disabled, and with that, he placed his hands upon the heavy lid of the treasure chest with a smile of his own. It was dense, though not enough to stop him from lifting it open as the innards of the chest breathed out dust against him.

‘Let’s see if that information I bought was worth the silver. It should be in here…’ He thought.

Using his hand to wave away the dust, he explored his spoils, finding a handful of silver coins and mediocre, but sellable jewelry. He unbuckled a small, dark-blue bag from his belt, large enough to perhaps store a handful of coins before he stretched it open–whoosh. It expanded into a vast sack seamlessly, large enough to store his entire body with room to spare.

With some haste, he tossed the valuables into the sack before finally, he uncovered something that met his eyes with delight: a pitch-black cowl that looked worn out. Something that seemed hardly worth a single copper, though he grabbed it carefully with both hands as if holding the most precious artifact forged of lavish diamonds.

It was exactly what he was looking for, holding it in front of his eyes as he felt the grainy texture of the rough material against his fingers. The cowl didn’t exactly smell fantastic, having been stewing in the chest for who knows how long, unwashed and layered in dust, which he patted off.

‘The Cowl of The Dusk Raven. I read about it in the Curio Archive, but I can’t believe it’s actually still here–good thing I was the first to reach the end of this dungeon,’ he thought.

He opted not to place the enigmatic treasure in the sack, tucking it under his hood before he stood up. After clearing the chest out, he pulled the silver strings on each end of the mystical sack, causing it to close up and shrink down to a handheld size once again.

‘Alright, time to head out. I’ve got more than enough–could really go for a bite to eat at this point, really,’ he thought, feeling the emptiness of his own stomach after an intense dungeon haul.

It was nothing more than going through the motions for him; leaving the dungeon he had already come in through was simple, now that he had already memorized its layout and oddities into his mind. The chamber with falling tiles would be a near impossible obstacle to backtrack from, seeing as there was no floor left to cover the pit of spikes, though the adolescent explorer simply flung his slime rope back onto the ceiling.

As it anchored itself atop, he jumped off the edge of the floor, swinging over the deadly pit with full trust in the strength of his rope.

‘Easy does it,’ he thought to himself, using the momentum to land both of his boots right near the edge of the other side.

Even if experience had etched itself into the youthful adventurer, it wasn’t as though he could be careless. A single misstep could lead to an untimely departure from the world–that was a lesson he made sure he knew first and foremost, as should everybody else.

Bypassing the arsenal of boobytraps laid out through the grimy corridors, sliding past swinging axes, ducking beneath arrow mechanisms, he found himself once more in the vicinity of the undead that guarded the lair.

He tucked himself by a wall, peeking to the side as he counted even more undead than before–six, seven, eight skeletons in total, he counted for himself. Though it was nothing he hadn’t maneuvered past before, he found himself having to promote utmost caution by their numbers.

‘If it really came down to it, I could maybe take one or two in a fight, but I want to avoid that. This amount though?...Yeah, I’d be joining their undead ranks pretty quickly. Don’t get impatient; this is the final stretch–this is where the dungeon always gets the last laugh on the greedy,’ he thought.

As he pressed his body against the corner of the stone wall, he felt his shoulder slip as the brick against it came loose. He felt his own heart skip a beat, attempting to catch the falling slab as it seemed to descend in slow motion.

“--Ah!” He quietly let out in surprise.

Against the brick, his fingertips grazed it before it collided with the ground below, instantly shattering into countless pieces with a jarring sound that echoed through the lifeless chamber. Pebbles scattered, creating even more noise that drew the attention of every lurking skeleton towards his hiding spot.

‘Are you kidding me?! This is the worst-of-the-worst! The worst case scenario–shit! That damned cat…She just had to jinx me before I came here, telling me “my devilish luck was bound to meet its counterpart soon enough”--well, looks like it did,’ he thought as his blood ran hot through his veins.

The hollow footsteps of the lifeless guardians of the dank lair marched in unison, closing in on his location as a thousand thoughts raced through the young man’s mind at the same time. He had been in no shortage of precarious situations during such expeditions, but this time it was different–the armored skeletons were a grade too high for him to confidently face, even individually.

It wasn’t as though he came to the dungeon with combat in mind, either, bringing little to no tools to use to ward off the prowling undead. As he patted down his own body, rummaging through his pockets in a hurried fashion, he couldn’t find anything he was looking, or hoping, to find, bringing a cold sweat to his skin.

‘To hell with my cheap ass! I skimped out on gemstones because I wanted to save some silver this month! Look where that’s got me–if I survive this, I’m never cutting corners again on my budget!’ He thought.

“Raaah…”

“Uuuuee…”

The murmurs of the suspicious undead echoed through the hall like a howling wind, accompanying the sluggish, uneven footsteps of the foul guardians. At this point, there was no way for him to slip by without being seen, and nowhere to go if he ran in the opposite direction–he had to get past the undead.

A solution popped into his head as his time wore down, though it was a reluctant option, one that he didn’t plan on committing to.

‘...It’s my only out,’ he thought.

Reaching into his hood and under his collar, he pulled out the pitch-black cowl, looking at it with a nervousness embedded into his emerald irises.

‘I was going to practice using this in the safety of my own home…The negative effects of the cowl can be overwhelming–no, they will be. The book made damn sure whoever read it knew that. I have no choice though–it’s either this or I die to these boneheads,’ he decided.

Though it was a reckless plan that frightened him, he finally sucked in a large breath into his lungs before pulling the accursed cowl over his head just as the undead turned around the corner.

“Graaa–?”

The steelclad skeleton growled, tilting its head–there was nobody there.

At least, that’s how it appeared.

The cornered adventurer hadn’t moved an inch, finding himself face-to-face with the undead, staring into its glazed-over, icy eyes, though it stared straight past him.

‘It doesn’t see me,’ he realized, frozen as only the resonance of his own heartbeat filled his ears.

Like a phantom, he had vanished from all sight; even to himself, he couldn’t see his own hands nor his feet. It worked; the cowl granted him complete invisibility.

He stayed perfectly still, not even letting a breath escape his lips–not that he could, anyway. It was one of the side effects of the nebulous cowl: while worn, he couldn’t inhale or exhale, instead forced to be breathless.

The undead with the horned helmet swayed, glancing around in the invisible adventurer’s direction as if still suspicious.

‘C’mon. Move. There’s nobody here, see? So get a move on, crusty bones!’ He pleaded in his mind.

It wasn’t just the inability to breathe that made the cowl a dreadful wear; a nausea crept on his body, causing his height to feel as light as a feather and the room around him to subtly spin, causing unwelcome feelings in his stomach.

“Gruuu…”

By some miracle, the dusty skeleton finally turned away, wandering off as the other undead dispersed as well, finding no source of the human intruder.

It was only the first step to safety, however, as now he had the challenge of slipping past the foul defenders of the dungeon. Though he was unseen, it didn’t mean he was unheard; he slowly moved himself from his spot around the corner, walking down the corridor with slow, methodical steps.

Beside the bolstered skeletons, he found himself having to move, focusing on moving one foot in front of the other without making a sound.

“...Gruaaa…”

“...Hhrraaa…”

Against his ears, he listened to the all-too-close growls and sighs of the undead. The clunkiness of their armor, loosely fit to their skeletal bodies, jingled with every movement; the erratic way the lurking skeletons moved constantly kept him on guard as he walked directly by a pair of the guards.

‘Almost out of here,’ he thought.

There was little room for him to walk through, nearly grazing his own arm against one of the bony fiends. He felt his mind and body growing more nauseous by the moment as he quietly moved, feeling as though the floor itself was moving like the waves of an unruly sea.

‘...Just a bit more–a little further,’ he thought to himself, using every bit of strength to focus.

Each time he lifted his boot further one step, he felt as though he may fall sideways.

Like a constant vibration humming through his head, he could feel the cowl emanating its accursed whispers through him. The chamber he was in was occupied by tables with dusty, cobweb-strung cutlery, giving him even less space to work with as he found himself in the center of the undead guardians.

It was a tough gap before him; two undead stood near tables, leaving only a small space for him to silently move through. He shuffled by, passing by the–

“--Gruuuah?...”

Directly in his face, the foul breath of the animated bones pressed against him. It was cold, like the morning frost, though he kept himself composed as the helmed undead’s empty eye sockets stared past him from a breath away.

Just as he got past the fully-clad skeleton, he moved with less caution, having to risk making some noise as he put distance between himself and the undead guards.

‘--Gonna pass out. I have to breathe–I have to,’ he thought.

The absence of oxygen from his lungs had begun to take full effect as he felt himself beginning to black out, his body growing weaker as the nausea of the accursed cowl only magnified. He raced through the halls, taking sharp turns as he nimbly avoided traps before sprinting up a set of stairs in a narrow passage.

He could see it; the dim exit that he sought. Each step felt like a monumental triumph in itself as his lungs felt as if they were set ablaze; his fingers and toes began to go numb, nearly making him tumble down the stairs he climbed before–

“Fffuuuah!”

As he reached the summit of the stairs and left the reach of the dungeon, stepping into a rocky cavern, he tugged the cowl from his head as his body reappeared. All at once, the ability to breathe returned to him as he gasped like a fish out of water.

He knelt by the dungeon entrance, catching his breath. What laid outside of the stone-brick doorway to the dank lair wasn’t the outside world, but a further interior; a moss-layered, uneven region of stone.

“...Encounters like that aren’t good for my heart,” the young man muttered under his breath as he sat there for a moment.

In his hands, he looked at the cowl. Though it was the only reason he was still in one piece, it was clear to him it wasn’t something to be used lightly; the sickening feeling it induced while worn was not something he was excited to revisit.

‘A good haul is a good haul, can’t complain. Time to head back down, I guess,’ he decided.