Chapter Fourteen


    Ambrose found the inside of the building to be decidedly different from the town of huts he had just come from. Decidedly did not mean better; lining the walls of the long hallway that led up to a large dais were piles of treasures that lined the wall.


    Treasure may be too generous a term. It was more like piles of ‘trinkets.’ Shiny baubles, coins, cups, lockets, stones, and more were in the piles. Just past the dais was a huge statue of a dragon. It was made of carved red stone, each scale painstakingly carved out.


    Its eyes were sparkling sapphires, vast and luminous.


    What impressed him was the dragon’s wings. They were huge, expanding outward to take up most of the room. Its membrane was so thin that, for a moment, he thought it was the real thing.


    There was a huge pile of trinkets just underneath it. On the dais was a throne of white oak wood. Sitting in it was a kobold that looked somehow more feminine than the others. He wasn’t sure how he could tell; perhaps it was because she was sleeker than the others. Maybe it was the glint in her blue eyes that glinted, not unlike the sapphires that served as the dragon''s eyes.


    Or perhaps it was the red and blue robes she wore. Either way, his suspicions were confirmed when he used [Retributions Gaze] on her.


    [Lizella Bluescale High Priestess of Akaroth Level 128]: Lizella is devoted to her people, as they are dedicated to her. She serves as Akaroth’s voice. She feels shame for wanting to avoid the fate that awaits her.]


    He wasn’t sure what fate awaited her, but it didn’t sound good. It also wasn’t his problem. He was here for a purpose. He needed the claw of Akaroth. Briefly, he wondered if he would have to get a claw off of the massive dragon statue.


    It didn’t take a genius to put together that Akaroth was a dragon. The colossal statue, her title, and all of it suggested Akaroth was a dragon and that these kobolds must worship it somehow.


    Somehow, he doubted he needed to cut a claw off the statue. The item he needed would be an object recognized by the System.


    Finally, he stood in front of the priestess. Her blue eyes regarded him as if he were a fascinating puzzle. She even put a clawed hand under her chin and squinted.


    “Tir wux renthisj dragonian?”


    Ambrose sighed, shaking his head.


    “I don’t speak your tongue.”


    Her eyes narrowed further. Her claws tapped on her chin, one by one, as if drumming.


    “I asked if you spoke dragonian. Apparently not. Jaseve udoka.”


    Her voice had a strange accent, something reptilian, as if her throat had been scorched by fire. Despite that, it had an exotic hint of a melody as well.


    The guards exchanged glances and then looked back at the priestess. She said nothing and didn’t even look at them. Finally, they bowed, turned, and left. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    When they were alone, the priestess leaned back, sighing with a sudden wave of weariness. Her shoulder dipped slightly, and Ambrose saw her arms relax.


    “It is draining, the burden of leadership.”


    He shrugged. He had no interest in connecting with her.


    “Not much of a conversationalist are you? My guards told me how you handled the Fueryon. You stepped in when the monster was about to kill one of our children. By doing so, you also saved the contingent of guards bringing you in. You have power. You could leave at any moment you wished, it makes one wonder why you have allowed yourself to remain in custody. It makes one wonder what you want.”


    Her claws drummed on the throne. She was waiting for him to respond. He obliged her.


    “I have lots of questions, and ultimately, I want the claw of Akaroth.”


    The claws paused, hanging there in the air above the arm of the throne. Her head cocked to the side.


    “You don’t ask for small things, do you? I can give you what you seek, but let us address some of your questions before we get to that. Answering them is the least I can do for you since you saved my people.”


    He was tempted to skip the questions. At the end of the day, the only thing that mattered was getting the claw and moving on in the dungeon. His curiosity got the better of him, and he decided to ask the questions on his mind.


    “Do you know that you’re in a dungeon? All of my other questions stem from that one.”


    The priestess leaned back, lowering her head. Eventually, she looked up.


    “The answer to your question is…not easy to give. The short answer is yes, I know we are in a dungeon.”


    Ambrose scrunched his eyebrows together.


    “Only you’re aware of it?”


    “Yes.”


    Ambrose crossed his arms, feeling his mind walk down the paths of implication.


    “I can see you turning the matter over in your mind, human. Yes, when the dungeon resets, we return just as things were when you entered it. Not everything happens the same way, but we all return here and go about our lives until some other user delves into the dungeon, killing us all or completing the dungeon in some other way.”


    Ambrose shook his head.


    “How? I thought death was final. Are you all undead?”


    Lizella chuckled,


    “No, human, we aren’t undead. Our spirits belong to the System.”


    Ambrose rolled his hand in a ‘go on’ gesture.


    “When you die in the dungeon, the System claims your spirit and re-purposes you in its dungeons across the multiverse.”


    That caused his jaw to drop.


    “It does what?”


    Lizella nodded, flashing a grin and revealing pearl-white teeth as sharp as razors.


    “You heard me, human. It is the risk you take when you delve into a dungeon.”


    Ambrose found himself sputtering,


    “Why doesn’t it tell you that? How did you all end up here then?”


    Lizella laughed, a surprisingly light sound.


    “Ah, you’re reaction. The System cares not whether you agree to with it, fleshling. As for how we all ended up here? I don’t know. The System creates for us new bodies every time the dungeon resets, and we go about our lives ignorant of our situation. Well, most do. I always remember.”


    He stroked his beard. At the end of the day, he shouldn’t care about this, but since there was a potential for him to end up this way, he couldn’t help but ask.


    “How are you aware of it then?”


    Lizella sighed, rubbing her snout with a hand.


    “If you choose this life, then you are aware of it. The System does not change your memories.”


    He gaped at her,


    “Why would you choose it? How did you choose it?”


    She held up a clawed hand to forestall his questions,


    “Peace, human. I shall explain.”


    She seemed to settle into her throne, as if remembering.


    “It was so long ago. My people entered the dungeon to serve the dragon Akaroth. We have always served dragons, gathering and hoarding wealth for them as you have seen here. It is our way. The dragon accepted our service readily enough, but she was crueler than others. She would kill us, red our flesh and burn us to a crisp when she was bored. That was how many ended up as dungeon born, as I call us. The System offered me a way out, to lead my people if I volunteered to join the dungeon. It does that sometimes. I agreed, and thus here I am.”


    Ambrose couldn’t help but laugh at the situation the priestess was in.


    He waved a hand,


    “Fine. Good enough for me. I have more questions, but now I want to know about the claw. Tell me where it is.”