《Dungeon Mage》


 1: Turn Back the Clock

    A whip lashed out and hit on the back of a child aged no more than ten, the force of the blow sending the kid sprawling onto the sandy ground. Blood oozed out of where the whip had broken skin on his shirtless back. Much to the supervisor''s surprise, the boy didn''t even cry out in pain. He simply struggled to his feet and continued walking.


    Gura narrowed his eyes. He didn''t like that. He didn''t like that one bit. He was the supervisor of this slave train. Twenty slaves in total. There were men, women and children among them - all of them with their hands tied in front of them with sturdy ropes and wearing little more than rags. Their feet were bound together as well, with just enough slack to let them shuffle forward without tripping. Without exception, the slaves were all human. Gura most certainly was not. The beady eyed boar-man, commonly known as an orc, was nearly two and a half metres tall and a metre wide. His ugly mug was a misshapen lump of fat and his nostrils were clearly visible on his upturned piggy nose. And like most slavers, he was a sadist. He loved to hear his slaves scream. To call him a bit free with his beloved whip would be an understatement. But now, he had used his whip but no one had screamed.


    He studied the child carefully. There was nothing extraordinary about his emaciated back or small stature. That was how all children born in captivity looked. The enforced march as the slaver caravan travelled across the desert to peddle their wares coupled with the infrequent meals robbed most slave children of their chance to grow. Yet, Gura couldn''t help but feel that there was a dignity to the boy''s gait that hadn''t been there a moment ago. A mental oppression that made his spine tingle and his hand, that had been raised to lash him again, loosen its grip on the ebony handle of his leather whip.


    He nearly took a step back before he realized what he was doing and grew furious. His hand tightened on the whip and he brought it arcing down with all his strength. The whip whistled through the air and with a sharp crack that sent flesh and blood flying, it sent the child sprawling yet again. This time, the child''s heart-rending scream echoed through the dry desert air. Gura didn''t stop. Once, twice, three times he lashed the helpless kid with all his might leaving his back with gaping wounds. He revelled in the boy''s screams; using them to assuage his injured courage. How could he - Gura, the slave master; the man with the power to decide the life and death of each and every one of these human slaves be scared of a mere slave-child. Absurd!


    Gura stopped just before the wounds grew dire enough to threaten the boy''s life. After all, he was merchandise and if he croaked, Garo, the leader of the caravan would cut the cost out of his pay. Pointng his whip at the healthiest looking slave in the train, he grunted out, "Carry the whelp. And if he croaks, or ye slow down, I''ll lash ye to an inch of yer life." The slave immediately scrambled to shoulder the unconscious boy, stripping off the boys clothes to make a makeshift bandage to stanch his wounds. That''d last the couple of hours needed to reach Gehenna and then he could sell the boy. After that, whether he lived or died was no concern of his.


    As Gura turned around to get back on his sand-surfer, he couldn''t help but lick his one protruding tusk - the other snapped off in a barfight long ago - as he recalled the taste of all the meat dishes one could only find in The City of Sin. He knew where he was spending his coin that night. His belly-fat jiggled in agreement.


    Sand. That was his name. It was the name the slavers gave to every child born to the humans under their thrall. Sand supposed that the name was supposed to remind them, frequently, that they were as insignificant as the endless grains that composed the Tyhr Desert. Remind them that they didn¡¯t even have the freedom to name their own children.


    Even after he became a full-blown Dungeon mage. Even after he gained the inheritance that would allow him to tread the path of a Dungeon chef and his name was whispered from one corner of the Tyhr Desert to the other. Even after his ominous reputation for using the blood of his foes as kitchen ingredients spread to the ears of the Orc Chiefs and they bayed for his blood in return.


    After all that was left of his pursuers was a desert strewn with mummified corpses and all twelve Orc chieftains gathered together to hunt him down. When they found him. When they fought him. When their wounds refused to heal and dyed the sands red with their blood. Specially then. He called himself Sand. To remind them of the name they had given him. To remind them that children like him were as numerous as grains of sand. All waiting for a chance to spill their blood. In their fear, they had called him the Devil ¨C Blood Devil, Sand.


    He should have died that day. In that hopeless situation, he had used a skill. A skill he had obtained from a Time Dungeon. A single use skill that needed to be fed everything he had for it to work. His mana. His skill shards. His life. Everything. Whether it would work or not wasn¡¯t something he could know in advance. After all, it wasn¡¯t like he could test it. It was a gamble. And it succeeded.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Sand awoke with a jolt of pain as he was unceremoniously dumped on his back into a wooden cart. Instincts ingrained over years of battle demanded that he sober quickly, that he get into a position ready for fight or flight based on the circumstances. His young body, though, wasn¡¯t so cooperative, flopping about weakly on the bed of the cart as his muscles weakened by blood loss and malnutrition gave out. All his flailing managed to achieve was aggravate the wounds on his flayed back, causing blood to seep out of them and dye his already bloodied loincloth that had been used as a makeshift bandage, a darker shade of red.


    The grotesque mug of an orc intruded into his field of view. A scar ran across the orc¡¯s forehead, drawing a jagged line of white in his pale pink skin. Exactly three strands of hair were lovingly combed back over his otherwise bald head in a pretension of coverage. ¡°Oi lookie ¡®ere. The freebie¡¯s awake. Who¡¯s putting some cash down on ¡®im croakin¡¯ by tonight, eh?¡± The orc¡¯s intonation was guttural, just like every other member of his race. Their voices didn¡¯t handle anything outside their grunting and squealing language very well. Definitely not the common tongue he was using now.


    Sand¡¯s mind groaned and clanked as all its cogs began to fall into place as he rapidly took stock of his situation through the obscuring haze of pain and exhaustion. He had used the skill he had obtained from the Time Dungeon. Without an Appraiser¡¯s help, all he had been able to make out was the skill shard was a consumable one and that to start, it required one to feed it everything one had. As to its effect, he knew nothing. At the end of his rope, he had decided to take a gamble and activate the skill. After that, he had blanked out, unaware of what was happening to him. When he came to, he found that he had returned to the body of his younger self. No mana. No skill shards. Not even the honed body he had built up over the hundred years of his freedom. Just an emaciated boy in a slave train. As he stood frozen on his spot, trying to come to terms with his situation, the orc supervisor¡¯s whip had fallen on his back. Just a ¡®gentle reminder¡¯ to move his legs.


    What kind of existence was Sand? The Crimson Chef¡­ The Blood Devil¡­ The Terror of the Tyhr¡­ Could mere physical pain cow him into submission. The Supervisor was a mere Red mage. He had been a Dungeon mage. He had killed Dungeon mages. The blood of three Orc chiefs dyed his hands. Even in his emaciated younger body, the Supervisor¡¯s whip couldn''t even elicit a grunt out of him. That was his mistake. The sheer variance in status between one moment and the next had given him no time to adjust his mentality. A mere slave-child silently bearing a whiplash and getting up and walking without a single cry of pain was an anomaly. A clear sign of rebellion. And slavers, the craven control freaks that they were, detested any sort of uncertainty. They baulked at the mere whiff of rebellion. His ¡®insolence¡¯ had earned him a lashing unto unconsciousness. If the survival instincts ingrained into his younger body over the ten years of its life as a slave hadn¡¯t taken over and made him wail miserably ¨C the whipping wouldn''t have stopped till he joined the innumerable human corpses under the sands of Tyhr.


    Another grain of Sand to join the many.


    The orc reached over and roughly slapped his face a few times. ¡°Oi oi oi. Did that Gura whip ye silly? Eh?¡± Pinching Sand¡¯s face so that his lips puckered up like a fish, the orc roughly raised Sand by his face, causing his neck to creak ominously as his entire body weight hung by it. ¡°I knew somethin¡¯ was wrong with ye when that miserly bastard gave ye away as a freebie with ¡®is other miners but he never said ye couldn''t talk. Now be a nice little birdie and call me ¡®Master¡¯. Sing sweet enough and I might jest get the medic to give yer wound a little look-see? Hmm?¡± He shook Sand¡¯s face a little causing his neck to creak further as his entire body swung in the air. ¡°Hmm?¡±


    ¡°M-aster.¡±


    The orc put his little finger in his floppy pig ear and jiggled it about. Taking it out and flicking the wax away, he leaned in and said, ¡°Didn¡¯t quite catch that.¡±


    ¡°Master.¡±


    ¡°The name¡¯s Kreg. And to ye, it¡¯s?¡±


    Sand¡¯s eyes were like two portals to the abyss as the words escaped his lips. ¡°Master Kreg.¡±


    ¡°Ahaha. Clever little bugger, ain¡¯t ¡®e?¡± Kreg laughed as he rhetorically asked the other slaves arrayed behind him, eliciting murmurs of flattery and assent. ¡°I quite like ¡®im. Pity if he croaks so soon, eh? Get ¡®im the medic¡­¡± Looking down, he chuckled and flicked Sand¡¯s balls with his finger, making him go cross-eyed in pain and clamp his legs even as he hung helplessly in Kreg¡¯s grasp. ¡°And get ¡®im some clothes to hide that little wiener¡­ maybe he¡¯ll live long enough to use it. Ahahaha.¡±


    Tossing Sand back onto the wooden cart, Kreg walked away laughing raucously at his own joke as Sand lay curled up, enduring the dual waves of agony radiating off his flayed back and injured balls. That and the ache of his shattered pride. A hundred years. A hundred years he had been a slave in his last life. A hundred years of humiliation before he had the chance to break free of his shackles. Then for the next hundred years, he had wrought bloody vengeance on those who would clap him in chains once more. An entire two centuries of effort lost to the backwash of time. He had been sent back to the past. He was weak and a slave. Again.


    This time though, he would free himself faster. Two hundred years of experience and fore-knowledge was the wind in his sails. Although things had changed already with his assignment to the mines instead of as a scullery boy in a restaurant in Gehenna, the major events should still occur when they were supposed to. Since life had given him a second chance, he would erase every regret he had in his past one. And the regrets had names: Garo. Gura. And now, Master Kreg.

 2: The Favour and the Fool

    The medic was human. An old man with thinning grey hair and a skinny frame. His wrinkled skin was leathery and burnt a dark brown from his years exposed to the abrasive winds and harsh sun of the Tyhr Desert. His most distinctive feature was that he was blind. Some sort of corrosive substance had splashed upon his face and burnt his sight away. Milky white sightless eyes remained fixed in a motionless stare from under lids that had been melted into a half open state forever. The skin around his eyes had been bleached a bone white, drawing even more attention to his disfiguration. Eyebrows and eyelashes had been burnt away.


    Yet, when Sand somehow managed to drag his weary and aching body through the wooden door of the ramshackle clinic, the old man looked up from where he was fiddling with a few bottled ingredients on his table with his slender, spidery fingers. Despite the obvious disability, Sand had a clear feeling that the man could see him and see him much better than many with perfectly functional eyes. ¡®Some sort of ability.¡¯ He concluded. He had long since come to trust this intuition of his. It had saved his life several times in his past life.


    ¡°Another unfortunate one joins the ranks of the walking dead. One so young too. A pity. Such a pity.¡±


    ¡°H-heal me, old man.¡± Sand rasped out, his parched throat roughening his tone. Letting go of the frame of the doorway that he had been clutching for support, he staggered into the room. Utterly exhausted, hungry, thirsty and in pain, his young body had been teetering on the verge of collapse. Only his strong will had been holding him upright, and even that had been worn down by the combined protest of his body and the humiliation dished out by Kreg so recently. As to why the other slaves, the healthiest adult males in Gura¡¯s train, had simply watched on without bothering to lend a hand to a mere child. It was simple. They didn¡¯t want to become a source of amusement for their new orc master.


    It was a common tactic employed by each slaver whenever they took in a new batch. They even had a name for it ¨C the Favour and the Fool. They would choose the strongest or most skilled amongst the slaves and lavish them with conditions much better than their brethren. He, or she would become the Favour, the lackey of the slave-master. Of course, such disproportionate treatment would breed discontent among the other slaves and estrange the Favour from their ranks. But that didn¡¯t matter to the Favour. As long as the master was in charge, the Favour would continue to prosper and to maintain their advantage. They would often try their best to ingratiate themselves to their master by snitching on the other slaves. The Fool on the other hand was in a diametrically opposite position. Having only the Favour could cause the other slaves to unite against a common enemy. To alleviate their sense of dissatisfaction, a random slave, mostly the one who was the smallest and weakest or the least skilled, would be chosen by the Master and utterly humiliated for the master¡¯s amusement.Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site.


    It is true that we judge our happiness in comparison to other¡¯s. So too do we judge our misery. The presence of the Fool would create a clear feeling of ¡®at least I don¡¯t have to suffer that¡¯ within the slaves. ¡®If I go against the master, I might degenerate into the Fool,¡¯ they would think. ¡®But if I flatter him, follow his will, I might someday receive equal treatment to the Favour.¡¯ Obedience born of a system of rewards and punishment. The oldest trick in the book. And in this batch, Sand had been clearly chosen as the Fool. Association with him was taboo.


    A sorrowful feeling welled up in Sand¡¯s heart. An entire sentient race treated with little more dignity than domestic animals, sometimes even less. It was what he had been fighting against for the entirety of his last life. Now, all his achievements, the flower of freedom that had budded on the sands moistened by the blood of martyrs, all of it¡­ gone. Washed away by the river of time¡¯s sudden reversal of course. The waters of the errant river had flooded its banks washing away the dark red marks left by human heroes on its banks. History had been washed away and a fresh slate prepared to record facts anew. And the cause of it all ¨C Sand. The Bloody Devil who had been one of the leaders of the human emancipation movement.


    Did he feel guilty for invalidating all that his fellow heroes had achieved? Yes. Did he feel guilty for erasing the fact of their conversion from heroes to martyrs? No. Not at all. This time, they would live. They all would. As Sand somehow managed to make his way to the bed in one side of the room, he felt the sightless gaze of the medic following him all the way. Collapsing onto the bed, he lay face down on what amounted to little more than a sheet laid on several wooden planks nailed together.


    The medic cocked his head to the side, ¡°Really, the vigour of youth. You burn so bright, it hurts even these eyes of mine.¡±


    Sand snorted impatiently, ¡°Hurry up.¡±


    Slowly, languorously, the man stood from his seat behind his desk and shuffled towards Sand, reaching him just as he finally lost his fight against the darkness pressing against the edges of his vision. The last he heard before he lost himself to the comforting embrace of darkness was the rustling and ripping of cloth as the medic¡¯s deft fingers gently pulled away the makeshift cloth bandage that had become stuck to his wounds by the clotting blood.


    ¡°A pity you burnt too bright.¡±

 3: Arena of Sin

    Sand woke to the smell of poultices and paints. He found himself lying face down on the medical bed, his head pillowed on a rolled-up bundle of cloth. Slowly, gingerly so as to avoid jolting his wounds, he pushed himself up into a sitting position and inspected himself.


    Strips of greyish cloth had been wrapped around his back and chest, replacing his loincloth in its function as a bandage. A pair of dark trousers several sizes too large had been put on him while he slept. Reaching backwards, he touched the bandages on his back, wincing when the movement affected the wound, sending a dull twinge of pain shooting through him. The bandage was still wet with whatever herbal poultice the medic had slathered on his back before wrapping him up. His fingertips came away dyed green from the juice seeping through the cloth. Bringing them up to his nose, he sniffed.


    A mixture of wolfsbane to numb the pain and some antiseptic herb to prevent infections ¨C he was unable to distinguish exactly what. Although he¡¯d had much to do with herbs his previous life, they had mostly been of the magical kind. As a Dungeon chef, the ingredients he had needed ¨C whether the blood or the herbs ¨C all shared the same characteristics: they were dangerous to obtain. His knowledge of mortal herbs was limited.


    Even though he couldn''t identify the constituents of the poultice, he didn¡¯t worry. He had been marked by Kreg as the Fool. Even if the medic had ten times the courage, he wouldn''t dare to blatantly fudge his treatment. While the attention of the orc was the bane of his existence, if he leveraged it well, it could also be his strongest backing.


    Sand turned his gaze to one side off the room where the blind medic was crouching beside a vat of lye, introducing some rags into it. He dangled his feet over the side of the bed, the tips of his toes just touching the ground, then got off. He swayed unsteadily on his feet as a spell of dizziness assaulted him from his loss of blood. Supporting himself by a hand on the bed, he waited until the feeling passed. Tightening the drawstrings of his oversized trousers to prevent them from falling off and rolling up his pant legs to avoid them getting in the way, he made his way towards the old man.


    When Sand was within five steps of the man, his head snapped around. He studied Sand with those sightless eyes of his before turning back to his work satisfied that he was no threat. Sand could empathize with that kind of reflex. When you were a slave, sometimes the only way to survive was to take the lives of your fellows. The most fearful thing wasn¡¯t the orc slavers, their behaviour was predictable. No, the most fearful thing was a knife in the dark from someone you had put your trust in. Several human heroes had died that way in Sand¡¯s previous life. Sometimes, the thing hindering humanity¡¯s progress was humanity itself.


    ¡°W-water.¡± Sand croaked out, his voice cracking due to his parched throat.


    Without turning back to him, the medic nodded towards the desk he¡¯d been working at when Sand had barged into the room. Walking around it, Sand found a wooden mug filled with water and a piece of hard bread placed on the wooden stool. Picking the two things up and seating himself, he dipped the hard bread in the water to moisten it, then slowly sucked out the liquid.


    Water was precious in the desert. For a slave, it was a delicacy to be savoured. It wouldn''t do for him to suddenly start acting like the orcs and straight up chug the water down, even spilling some in his haste. Over the hundred years of his freedom, he¡¯d been able to let loose slightly. He¡¯d been able to enjoy a meal without worrying about the next one. He¡¯d been able to drink water without trying to savour each drop. But in his current situation, that kind of unrestrained behaviour would draw attention. He¡¯d made that mistake once ¨C ending up whipped within an inch of his life and sold off to the mines. He wouldn''t make it again.


    As he alternately dunked the bread in the water and chewed on it to soften the tooth-breaking lump of dough, he watched the medic at work. The man was taking up strips of cloth from the pile by his side and placing them into the vat of lye, hanging them over the edge so that the entire strip didn¡¯t fall into the vat. The solution had already turned a dirty grey from the accumulated grime from all the strips. Sand narrowed his eyes as he recognized the rag being dunked into the vat. It was his bloodied loincloth. He touched the greyish bandages wrapped around him. ¡®So, they reuse the discarded cloth as bandages,¡¯ he thought.


    After putting the last rag into the vat to soak, the medic rose with a groan, placing a hand on the small of his back and bending backwards slightly to limber his creaking joints. ¡°Aah, youth,¡± he remarked as he drew up a stool and sat down across the desk from Sand. ¡°Such serious wounds and you¡¯re up and about within hours. Me? These frail old bones of mine grumble every time I need to squat to take a shit. I quite envy you.¡±


    Putting the last of the bread in his mouth, chewing, swallowing and washing it down with the last of the water, Sand placed the mug down on the desk and said, ¡°And I haven¡¯t seen many folks get as old as you, old man.¡±


    The medic grinned at that, revealing a gap-toothed smile. ¡°Now, that they don¡¯t. I guess I am lucky in my own way.¡±


    ¡°Oi, old man, how come you can see? Your eyes sure don¡¯t seem to work.¡±If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    ¡°Brat! Hasn¡¯t anyone taught you manners?¡±


    Sand frowned, ¡°Gura used to want us to look at the ground when we were speaking to him. You want me to do that too?"


    ¡°No, no¡­ not that. Ok, just forget it. It¡¯s not a secret. Might as well tell you. It¡¯s a skill shard called Estimation. You know mages have skill shards, right?¡±


    ¡°Mage! You''re a mage!?¡± Sand¡¯s eyes shone with undisguised desire and excitement as he leaned forward in his seat.


    The medic chuckled wryly and shook his head. ¡°Just a Red Mage, brat. Nothing too special.¡±


    Sand shook his head vehemently, ¡°Gura was a Red Mage and look at him lording it over us all. And Garo, the leader of our caravan, was just one step higher, a Yellow mage. Everyone looked at him with so much respect. A Red Mage is plenty strong.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m the shoddiest kind of Red Mage¡­ I wouldn¡¯t hold a candle to that orc master of yours. Let alone, my skill shard ain¡¯t for combat.¡±


    Sand shot him a disbelieving look but didn¡¯t press further. Instead he asked, ¡°What¡¯s a skill shard? What does yours do?¡±


    ¡°Well, just being a Mage doesn¡¯t get you magic. You need skill shards for that. The kind you have determines what you can do. Mine, lets me see things and compare them instantly. Like, you put two piles of sand in front of me and I can tell at a glance which one has more grains. Can''t tell the exact number, mind you, but I can tell which pile¡¯s bigger. My old master, before he lost me in a gamble to Kreg, got me this shard to better mix my poultices with.¡±


    ¡°How does that let you see?¡± asked Sand doubtfully.


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t. It just lets me compare stuff. I just got good enough at using it so I could make up for my lost sight with it. I compare which part of the room has more air than the others, gives me the shape of the solid stuff. I compare which part is brighter and it gives me the light and shadows. I compare which colour is higher or lower up the rainbow and it lets me see in colour. Took me a while to get used to it, but now, I can do it as natural as breathing.¡± He said smugly.


    Sand didn¡¯t have to fake his amazement this time. With his life experience, acting out the role of a child wasn¡¯t that difficult. But the medic¡¯s magical achievement was truly shocking. There were innumerable skill shards in the world and they granted similarly varied skills. Some skills were common. Some uncommon. Some exceedingly rare. But a rarer skill wasn¡¯t necessarily stronger or more practical. A common Strength shard was much more practical than an Illusory Butterfly shard even though the latter was considered one of the rarest skills in existence. But above and beyond that was how well the Mage could utilize their shard. The slightly uncommon Estimate skill shard that was used by merchants and pharmacists to quickly compare quantities, in the medic¡¯s hand, had turned into his second sight.


    ¡®And it is only at Tier 1 right now. If he manages to promote it to Tier 2? Tier 3? Tier 5? To the level of a Dungeon?¡¯ Sand could only imagine what the man could achieve. A thought floated up in his mind, ¡®Can I use him?¡¯ He immediately discarded the notion. The man was too old. Too far past his prime to achieve anything significant. His natural talent was bad otherwise he wouldn''t have remained as a Red Mage for all his life. And only this one skill wasn¡¯t enough to determine his value. If he wasn¡¯t equally talented in the other four of his major skills, he wouldn''t be able to merge them to create his Dungeon in the end. Sand gave up on recruiting him but decided to maintain a good relationship with him in case he came in use later.


    ¡°But¡­¡± the medic seemed hesitant to say something before finally clenching his teeth and making a decision. ¡°You¡­ you want to be a mage, right?¡±


    ¡°Of course!¡± exclaimed Sand.


    ¡°Listen to this old man. Don¡¯t.¡± Seeing Sand¡¯s scowl, he hastily continued, ¡°Wait! Hear me out. Look, they¡¯ll give you a shot at becoming a mage¡­ It strengthens the endurance a lot. It¡¯s so you can work for them more with less breaks. That¡¯s fine. But if you show too much potential, your fate will be very pitiful. Much worse than staying here. So, whatever you do, if you follow their instructions and see yourself getting quick results. Hide it from them. Keep it secret. Slack off. Just don¡¯t let them find out. Wherever they send you will be much worse than here.¡±


    Sand stood up angrily, knocking his stool over. ¡°You''re a mage!¡± he exclaimed loudly, ¡°I don¡¯t see you any worse off. You''re the oldest person I know. You have a comfortable place to stay and sleep. You get enough food and water. I think you¡¯re just scared! You¡¯re scared that I¡¯ll be a better mage than you!¡± Slamming the desk with his palm to emphasize his last word, Sand spun on his heel and strode towards the door.


    ¡°Wait!¡± the medic called out.


    Pausing in his tracks, ¡°What!?¡± demanded Sand irately without looking back.


    With a deep sigh, the old man shuffled over to a cupboard and brought out a neatly folded tunic. ¡°Just take this with you.¡± he said as he walked over to Sand and handed it to him.


    ¡°Hmph.¡± Snatching the clothes out of his hand, Sand stormed out of the clinic with a snort, slamming the door behind him. Once in the corridor, when he was sure no one was watching, his face became an emotionless mask, his eyes two portals into the abyss. He glanced down at the tunic in his hand and ran his fingers over the rough but well-worn cloth. He had been quite surprised at the medic¡¯s warning. By leaking such an important piece of information, the old man was putting himself in substantial danger. His concern was sincere, not a fa?ade.


    It wasn¡¯t that Sand was being over-suspicious. For the medic to live that long, become a mage and even get a shard, he must have been the Favour of his previous master. Who knew how many times he¡¯d suppressed his fellow slaves with schemes and tricks ¨C how much benefit he¡¯d brought to the orcs by infringing on the benefits of the humans to finally crawl up to his current position. Trusting him outright would have been foolish to say the least. But now, it was different. He was the current Fool. Helping him was taboo. Leaking important information, to him, was nearly suicidal. Why did the man do it? The pangs of his musty conscience? Sand didn¡¯t know. He didn¡¯t care. But since he had tried to help him, Sand wouldn''t implicate the man. That was why he had pretended to part on bad terms with him for the benefit of any watchers.


    As for where the slaves who displayed excellent magical talent went? Of course Sand knew about it. It had become his goal the moment he had realized his situation. As a future Dungeon Mage, his magical talent was obviously extraordinary. There was no doubt he¡¯d be selected. His next step towards freedom: becoming a Gladiator in the Arena of Sin.

 4: Red Mage

    There were no thin orcs. Not surprising, considering that their entire race was an amalgam of human and swine. A young race at less than three millenniums old, they originated from the Chimaera Project: vampire High Lord Enzeal¡¯s attempt at creating a new race by merging existing species.


    Composed of the skill shards: Variation, Evolution and Mutation among others, the interior of Lord Enzeal¡¯s Dungeon provided the perfect environment for the study of the origin of species. Rumour has it that in his reckless enthusiasm, the High Lord ended up creating a monster too powerful for him to control, perishing together with it, shattering the Dungeon in the process. The orcs, along with the nagas were the only two viable races that survived the collapse of the Chimaera Dungeon. Their high sex drive and corresponding fertility was the reason for their subsequent rapid expansion.


    Ashamed of the death of one of their High Lords at the hands of his own experiment, the vampires sealed all knowledge of the Chimaera Project, forcing the orcs and the nagas as far away from their metropolises as they could. Driven into the Tyhr Desert, the orcs were forced to survive on the harsh sands, while the fate of the nagas was left to the whimsies of the Thousand Seas.


    Sand stood at the very end of the line of slaves, with several paces separating him from the next person, watching the orc slaver pacing from one end of the line to the other. Idly, he contrasted him with his previous master. Unlike Gura, whose tunic often found it difficult to constrain his jiggling stomach and breasts that would put most women to shame, Kreg¡¯s shirt revealed barely any wobble as he strode from one end of the line to the other. His sleeves, that were rolled back to reveal his thick forearms, bulged over the corded muscles of his upper arms.


    ¡®A Strength shard; most likely at Tier 2,¡¯ judged Sand with an experienced eye. ¡®To support the energy demand of that, he needs to be a Yellow Mage at the very least. Green Mage is unlikely. If he was so strong, he wouldn¡¯t be assigned such a dead-end job. So, Yellow it is.¡¯


    Some skill shards had very distinctive effects on their owners, making it easy to pick them out by mere visual examination. Of course, a broad knowledge base and experienced eye was required for such analysis, and even then, the information obtained was very fragmentary. For example, Sand had no idea what Kreg¡¯s second skill shard could be, or whether he even had one. All sorts of strange and unusual skills abounded and without completely figuring out every detail about the orc, Sand was unwilling to commit to any plan of action. For even the best laid of schemes could be derailed by the appearance of the wrong skill.


    As Kreg passed by each of the slaves, they would subconsciously try to stand straighter even if there wasn¡¯t a single curve in their spine. Not standing straight enough, fidgeting and even blinking while the orc was passing by could be grounds for a whipping. Back when they were still part of the slave caravan, this sort of hazing was a part of the takeover ritual. The batches of slaves would often be shuffled internally to break up any possible relationships and right afterwards, the orc in charge of the newly formed batch would pace in front of them in a re-enactment of some primitive dominance ritual. The slaves would be conditioned to stand straight, motionless and unblinking as a sign of submission. It was supposed to make takeover much simpler for their subsequent owners. Sand observed it all detachedly, finding it ironic that the humans standing the straightest had the least iron in their spines.


    There were only two slaves that didn¡¯t need to worry about this ritual. The Favour, who was standing apart from the rest of the group facing them from behind the pacing orc, because he had been exempted from it. And the Fool, because no matter how well he performed, it wouldn''t change the result of him getting picked if none of the other slaves slipped up. As he had been unconscious the other day, Sand didn¡¯t know who it was that got picked as the Favour. Now that he saw him, he couldn''t help but commend Kreg on his choice. It was the sturdy slave who had been ordered to carry him by Gura. It appeared that even swine could appreciate irony.


    Finally satisfied by the performance of the slaves, Kreg walked up to Sand, towering over his diminutive form with his two-and-a-half metre tall frame. The flickering flames of the sconces cast the orc¡¯s shadow over him, yet Sand kept his eyes on the ground. A large hand gripped his hair and jerked his head back, forcing him to look up into the eyes of the orc. ¡°Did that ol¡¯ medic wrap ye up right?¡± asked Kreg, in mock concern.


    ¡°Yes, Master Kreg.¡± replied Sand, concealing his desire to slit the orc¡¯s throat behind a scared expression.


    ¡°Tsk..¡± Kreg clicked his tongue, obviously regretful that he hadn¡¯t been able to trip Sand up on how he was to be addressed. ¡°Smart kids ain¡¯t any fun,¡± he pouted, causing his grotesque face to distort further. His eyes flashed with a cruel light, ¡°But since yer so smart, I¡¯ll do ye a big favour.¡± Dragging Sand to the front of the line of slaves, Kreg barked out, ¡°Listen up ye worthless maggots! I feed ye. I clothe ye. I give ye a place ta sleep. Without me, ye¡¯d be dying on the sands. Freezin¡¯ at night, burnin¡¯ in the day. Ye¡¯d think that ye sorry lot¡¯d be a bit grateful, eh?¡±


    Looking down at Sand, he spoke in a stage-whisper, ¡°Yer grateful, right?¡± then he forced him to nod with the grip on his hair. ¡°See that! Even a kid knows to be grateful. And ye? None of ye even said a thank you. Hurt me poor little heart.¡± Turning to his side, he slapped the back of the Favour with his free hand, making him stagger and cough from the force of the blow. ¡°Only this lad ¡®ere had the sense ta thank me. So ¡®e gets ta be in charge.¡± Pointing to a pile of pickaxes, he said, ¡°Take those and get ta the end of the tunnels. There¡¯s some ol¡¯ hands waiting ta show ye the ropes. Hand over whatever ye get by the end of the day ta the lad, he¡¯ll tell me how each of ye did and I¡¯ll decide who gets the whip and who gets the meat.¡±


    ¡°As for ye,¡± Kreg sneered down at Sand, ¡°I wouldn''t want ye ta hurt yer back again, now would I? So, ye get to carry whatever they mine to the cart. Aren¡¯t ye grateful now?¡±


    Carrying the baskets laden with ore to the cart was the most strenuous part of the job and Sand had to do it in the place of all the other slaves.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°Thank you, Master Kreg,¡± he replied, maintaining the nervous fa?ade.


    Kreg seemed to lose interest at his servile attitude and with a contemptuous snort, he released his grip on Sand¡¯s hair with a push, sending him sprawling on the ground. Without another word, he turned on his heel and strode away. After he was gone, the slaves went into a tizzy of discussion as Sand picked himself up and tamped down his hair. The orc had nearly pulled his hair out by the roots. Maybe he was jealous of his lush crop of hair when all he had was three limp strands.


    It didn¡¯t take long for the slaves to get their pickaxes and make their way down the tunnel with the Favour taking the lead with Sand following behind them. At the end of the passage stood a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man leaning against the wall with a pickaxe resting on the ground beside him.


    Noticing their approach, the man shouldered the implement and stepped forward to greet them. ¡°Follow me.¡± he ordered in a gravelly voice, leading them down a couple of corridors to a region where the mine tunnel widened out into a cavern. Several large baskets along with a wooden cart presented themselves to their view. ¡°This here¡¯s your spot.¡± Walking up to one of the walls, he pointed out a mineral vein that glinted under the flickering torchlight. ¡°Find these veins in the rock then dig them out, like so ¨C¡± he said as he unshouldered his pickaxe and in one practised movement, swung it down, embedding the piton deep into the rock. Then with a twist of the handle, he dug out a large chunk of the glinting, mineral-veined rock.


    ¡°Got it?¡± he asked. Noticing the unsure looks on their faces, he shook his head. ¡°Alright, just try it out. I¡¯ll help you get the hang of it.¡± As the rest of the slaves moved into position, the Favour walked up to the man and whispered something into his ear. Seeing that the man looked at him, Sand could approximately guess the contents.


    Sure enough, on the grounds of his recent injury, he was forced to sit out while the man helped adjust the stance of the others. If he¡¯d been a common slave, this method was sufficient to ruin his future. Without the knowledge of how to correctly mine ore, his output would be much lower than the others, resulting in repeated penalties. But now, his memories of the future insured him against such mishaps. He might have never held a pickaxe in his previous life but his combat experience meant that he knew just where to strike and how hard to eke out the maximum effect. The man departed after about an hour of instruction, leaving them to their devices.


    ¡°How long are you gonna keep slacking off?¡± asked the Favour, swaggering up to Sand. He was named Crooked after his nose, which hadn¡¯t set right after one of the orcs had punched him in the face.


    Ignoring him, Sand silently walked up to one of the baskets that had been filled and bent down to lift it up, wincing as scabs on his back split at the exertion, causing blood to soak into his bandages. ¡®Since, I¡¯m already exerting myself, I might as well start training my magic,¡¯ thought Sand as he staggered towards the cart, strenuously carrying the heavy basket full of ore.


    Unnoticed by everyone present, every single pore on Sand¡¯s body shut tight, isolating the inside and the outside. The heat produced by his straining body began to accumulate, making each of his breaths scalding hot. The temperature of his body rose drastically, making his line of sight fuzzy as he was hit by a bout of dizziness. Yet his expression remained the same. No clenching of jaws, no bulging veins, no rapid breathing¡­ just a mechanical uniformity in his strides, an unchanging countenance and steady breaths as he put each step before the other towards the cart, dumped the contents of the basket into it, returned to the miners, exchanged a full basket for the empty one, then walked back towards the cart. Again, and again and again¡­ and again.


    It wasn¡¯t the time for desperation. It wasn¡¯t the time to go all-out. It was just the beginning of his journey. The first step of many. It was the time for a firm heart, a still mind and perseverance.


    The slaves had been deriving sadistic pleasure from watching him struggle. Some had even used this feeling as a motivation to work faster. The more ore they mined, the more baskets Sand would have to carry. That was the kind of thought driving them to work. And in fact, that was the purpose of the Fool¡¯s existence. They even taunted him when he came to pick up their basket.


    Slowly but surely, they grew silent as they watched this child, aged no more than ten, work tirelessly without complaint. Shame welled up in their hearts and they turned away from that emaciated form, unable to keep watching any longer. Yet their ears couldn''t help but pick up the sound of his steady footsteps no matter how loudly and vigorously they used their pickaxes. Each step seemed to tread upon their heart, guiding its rhythm.


    The sound of metal against stone slowly faded away. What replaced it was the sound of a child¡¯s footsteps, each step deliberate, measured¡­ as if it wasn¡¯t a basket of rocks he carried in his arms but the future of an entire race. Caught up in that mood, the slaves watched silently as one basket after another was emptied into the cart. A voice ascended in their hearts cheering the little figure on. They had an inexplicable feeling that they would gain something if the boy succeeded.


    The final basket.


    Sand¡¯s steps seemed heavier, more ponderous, yet just as steady as before. ¡®Do it.¡¯ ¡®Just a few more steps.¡¯ ¡®Don¡¯t stop now.¡¯ ¡®Come on.¡¯ The slaves silently encouraged him in their hearts. Just a few steps from the cart, Sand stepped on a loose rock and stumbled, the basket spilling out of his hands and scattering the ores everywhere. The hearts of the slaves dropped into the pits of their stomach. A desolate feeling welled up in their minds. Would it always be this way? Was there no hope?


    Smiling sadly, they turned back to their tasks, the dark thoughts already creeping back. ¡®Damn that Fool, making me waste so much time.¡¯ ¡®It¡¯s all his fault.¡¯ ¡®What if they don¡¯t give me my ration because I didn¡¯t deliver enough ore?¡¯ ¡®Damn!¡¯ ¡®Bastard!¡¯ ¡®Idiot!¡¯ ¡®Fool.¡¯


    Face twisted with anger, just as a slave was going to swing his pickaxe ¨C


    *clack*


    They all turned around at once. While they were busy cursing him, Sand had struggled to his feet. His expression was still that calm. His gaze was still that steady, as if staring at some goal deep into the future. In his hand was a stone ¨C one of the pieces of ore that had rolled away.


    Meticulously, he placed the stone back into that basket.


    *clack*


    It was like he wasn¡¯t handling a stone, but a human life. One after the other, until they had all been gathered back into the basket, he worked without cease, heedless of the blood that now flowed freely from his reopened wounds, soaking through the bandages and through his shirt. When the blood touched his heated skin, it evaporated, wreathing him in a light bloody mist. Bending down, he picked the basket up yet again. Then he began to walk the final three steps.


    One step. Two steps. Three.


    *crasshhh*


    The moment he dumped the contents of the basket amidst the cheers of the slaves, an airwave proliferated from him, blowing away the bloody mist. He had broken through. Yet, there was no change in the expression on his face. Success, failure, it mattered not for his goal was still far away.

 5: Humanity

    ¡°There is only one path to power ¨C Eat and grow strong!¡±


    - Khara, Rakshasa General


    Humans are creatures of perception. Sometimes all it takes to inspire them is watching someone they thought of as inferior to them struggle and overcome a hurdle they themselves failed at leaping. They think, ¡®If he can do it, I can too.¡¯ Even when that isn¡¯t necessarily true. But throughout the ages, it is these very humans who have created miracles. Based upon their tenacious faith, false has been turned into true.


    Sand watched helplessly as the other slaves bustled about doing his work for him. When he had decided to use the hard labour to break through into the initial stage of magic, he hadn¡¯t planned for his actions to affect the other slaves so profoundly. He hadn¡¯t planned to affect them at all. After all, in his tentative plans, the mine was only a short pit-stop in his journey to reclaim the power he had lost to the river of time.


    But he had underestimated the influence watching a ten-year-old child silently, stubbornly complete his tasks despite his wounds and their taunts, would have on the slaves. A man could survive on only food and water but to live, he needed hope. And as a slave, hope was in very short supply. Sand had given it to them. They couldn''t help but be affected. After he had deposited the last basket of rocks in the cart, successfully breaking through into the echelons of a Red Mage in the process, the slaves had forced him to rest and tend to his wounds while they deposited whatever ore they mined into the cart on their own.


    Sand sighed inwardly. ¡®All I wanted was to seize the opportunity to stock up on some red mana. How am I supposed to do that if they do all my work for me?¡¯ Sitting on a rock in one corner of the cavern, Sand took his shirt off and unwrapped his bandages, placing them in a neat pile by the side. He didn¡¯t want them sticking to his reopened wounds as the blood clotted. Shaking his head in resignation, he turned his attention back to inspecting the condition of his body after his breakthrough.


    ¡®The amount of mana is a bit low. It''s within expectations. I couldn''t close all my pores in this inexperienced body¡­ I¡¯ll have to work on it.¡¯


    The method of mana generation was quite simple. Every creature in the world followed the law of tenths. Whatever the creature ate, only about a tenth could be utilized by its body while the rest would be lost to the world as heat. Mages went against this natural law by preserving this energy, which would have otherwise been lost to the world, within their body. To do so, one had to perform strenuous exercise to generate heat and lock it within their body by shutting all of their pores. Once the heat went beyond a certain level, it would coalesce into another form of energy known as mana. Depending on the density of the mana, it would have different colours leading to the differentiation of a mage¡¯s stages.


    The first stage of mana was red. Hence, mages at this realm were called Red Mages.


    ¡®The efficiency of conversion is around nine-tenths. A bit lower than I remember. I guess my talent isn¡¯t fully mature yet.¡¯


    The magical talent of a mage was measured by inspecting what fraction of the heat energy locked within their body they could transform into mana. Anyone with an efficiency of ninety percent or higher was considered to have top grade natural talent and expected to reach the level of a Violet Mage somewhere down the line. An efficiency of eighty percent or above was considered a highly talented individual with the prospect of reaching the level of a Blue Mage if they were diligent in their efforts.


    A medium level of talent implied that the mage could convert over seventy percent of the heat to mana, demonstrating the potential to reach the level of a Green Mage. A low-level talent could hope to reach the level of a yellow mage in his or her lifetime but further progress was unlikely. They had around sixty percent conversion efficiency. Finally, anyone with above fifty percent efficiency was classified as barely talented and a Red Mage was their hard limit. Anyone with less than fifty percent efficiency wouldn''t even be able to condense mana in the first place. Their path to magic severed even before they could begin walking down it.


    Of course, there were skill shards that could improve the magical talent of a person but without exception, they were consumption class skills. This meant that once they were used, they would integrate with the physique of the owner and improve it, thereby getting consumed in the process. Such skill shards were extremely rare and precious and almost never appeared on the market. After all, who wouldn''t mind a bit more natural talent and magical potential?


    As for Sand, in his heyday he¡¯d had an efficiency of over ninety-five percent. There was a reason he had been able to rise to the level of a Dungeon Mage despite the oppression of the orcs.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    ¡®But my mana is getting consumed to heal my wound. This way, I won''t be able to increase my mana until I convalesce fully. Actually, this is good. I was worrying how I would hide my natural talent but if I use this wound well, I can give off the impression that I have a medium level talent. Even that will cause a commotion but there¡¯s nothing I can do about that.¡¯


    Having mana in one¡¯s body provided a mage with all kinds of benefits. Enhanced endurance and accelerated healing were the two most prominent effects. As long as a mage had mana, he or she would not tire. At least not bodily. Mental fatigue was still possible therefore mana didn¡¯t eschew the need for sleep. And as long as a mage had mana, any injuries they had would heal much faster. Both these abilities consumed mana and were automatic in nature, meaning that a mage couldn''t just ¡®turn them off¡¯ as required. Therefore, mages took great care of their bodies, avoiding overworking themselves or any form of injury like the plague.


    ¡®Really, this body needs a lot of work.¡¯


    One more benefit that came with mana ¨C well, not exactly a benefit but a feature ¨C was the ability to sense one¡¯s own mana. Now, this was a lot more useful than it sounded at first. Mana permeated every corner of a mage¡¯s body. Sensing mana meant that that the mage had a panoramic awareness of his entire body. That allowed him to stay in the best possible shape and diagnose his own illnesses with extreme accuracy.


    Sand couldn''t help but frown as he found exactly how damaged his young body really was. The wounds on his back were merely the tip of the iceberg. The ten years of malnutrition and misery heaped on him since his birth had taken its toll on him, leaving deeply rooted imperfections that couldn''t be resolved without some sort of healing skill or magical potion. But soon, his eyebrows stretched as he relaxed. It was a problem he had dealt with in his previous life. There was no reason he wouldn''t be able to resolve it in this life as well. Especially with all the advantages he had.


    Snapping out of his contemplations, he cast a glance at the slaves who were struggling to complete their quota. His mask of apathy cracked slightly as he watched their struggles. These men weren¡¯t important in the grand scheme of things. He¡¯d never heard of a freedom fighter remotely related to anyone from the silver mines on the outskirts of Gehenna. Helping these men wouldn''t advance his cause. In fact, if his performance was too striking, it might arouse the vigilance of Kreg. The best course of action would be to just ignore them.


    ¡®But I am the reason they are running behind schedule. If they didn¡¯t stand around idle, gawking at me lugging some rocks about, this wouldn''t have happened. Anyway, if they overshoot the requirements, Kreg will allow us some meat. This body needs whatever extra nutrition it can get.¡¯


    Having justified his actions to himself, Sand wrapped the bandages around his wounds. The wisp of mana he¡¯d managed to generate had already clotted the blood, getting consumed in the process. Donning his shirt, he stood up and went over to Crooked.


    ¡°Hey,¡± he said, ¡°Don¡¯t you think the work is going slowly?¡±


    Turning around from his excavation of the ores, the sturdy man spoke in a surprised tone, ¡°You can walk? How? It¡¯s only been what ¨C an hour.¡±


    Sand waved his concerns away. ¡°I¡¯m fine. I¡¯ve always recovered fast. Now, don¡¯t you think that the work is going quite slowly?¡±


    Despite looking at him with suspicion, Crooked shrugged and answered, ¡°Nothing I can do about it. That orc¡¯s target was impossible to reach anyway. The miser wasn¡¯t going to give us any meat.¡±


    ¡°Well, I might have an idea as to how to reach that target,¡± said Sand. ¡°And it¡¯ll take less effort than now.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± asked Crooked, licking his lips in anticipation.


    The team had been mining the ores individually, picking a spot and taking their pickaxes to the rock. But that way was quite inefficient. The veins of silver were distributed throughout the rocks unequally. A lot of the slaves were wasting their efforts by digging away at regions of quite low concentration. In the absence of unity, a hierarchy based on strength had formed were the strongest slaves worked where the mineral was richest. After all, their rations would be distributed on the basis of their individual contribution. Crooked had even been thinking of collecting some commission from them for reporting their contributions to Kreg accurately. But after Sand¡¯s performance, he¡¯d given up that idea.


    Now, under Sand¡¯s guidance, the team only mined the most mineral rich areas of the cavern and rotated the workers, allowing them to be well rested when their turn came again. That way, they managed to speed up the production process several fold. Therefore, when the middle-aged man who¡¯d shown them the ropes finally came by to inspect their progress and dismiss them for the day, he was shocked to see the cart overflowing with ore.


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s quite the day¡¯s work,¡± he commented before leading them to the front of Kreg.


    The orc narrowed his beady eyes as he studied them before his eyes fell on Sand. Striding up to him, he grabbed his wrist in a crushing grip. Immediately, Sand felt a foreign mana invade him, and prod around his body for a while before retreating. Letting go with a jerk that nearly dislocated Sand¡¯s arm, Kreg addressed the slaves with a chuckle, ¡°Looks like that Gura trained ye pretty well. Tell the cook that I said that ye did some good work today.¡± He walked away, leaving a few words behind: ¡°The lad decides who gets what. The runt can have the leftovers.¡±


    That night, in the mine¡¯s mess, Sand observed the rest of the slaves being moved to tears at their first proper meal in ages. Looking down at his own bowl, his gaze grew profound. Gruel that threatened to brim over, several scraps of meat of indeterminate origin, some greens; his bowl had the largest amount of food, more than even Crooked¡¯s ¨C a result of contributions from all the slaves. As he raised the bowl to his mouth and took the first sip, he came to a decision. ¡®If I get the chance, I¡¯ll come back and see them freed.¡¯

 6: A Beginning

    ¡°Money, money, money¡­ all I talk about is money? Of course I talk about it! Not only do I talk about it, I think about it, dream about it¡­ It has become my entire life! And why shouldn''t it?


    ¡°I¡¯m a mage and magic is just a gilded grave. The grave of Wealth.¡±


    - Shylock; Executive Head, National Guild of Mercantor


    When every step you take has to be calculated for profit and loss, you naturally become extremely prudent. Magic is but a game of strategy. One with as many approaches as there are mages. Some freeze up when it is time to take action, indecisiveness binding them in shackles stronger than steel. Some are overly reckless, trading momentary magnificence for years of grief. Others hoard their wealth, finding the very idea of using it abhorrent. Yet others perform those calculations with every effort, alas, reaching all the wrong conclusions. These people ¨C without exception ¨C don¡¯t live very long.


    Dawn dyed the sands of the Tyhr the colour of the rising sun, the scarlet rays illuminating the figure of a boy running laps around the housing complex where the ore slaves lived. As he ran, his shadow ran along with him, stretched long and thin by the slanting sunbeams. Each of his steps was the same as the last, lending a cast of perpetuity to his motion. He didn¡¯t pant, he didn¡¯t sweat, the only sign of his exertion was the ruddy flush that was visible even on his sun and wind burnt skin. The boy was Sand.


    Following their first day at work, the slaves from Garo¡¯s caravan had been distributed among the various veteran groups and put to work. And they had been given an introduction to Magic. The temporary atmosphere of harmony that had come about on the first day had been shredded like the flimsiest of parchments under the enticement of a path to power. Magic meant status and for those at the bottommost rung of the social hierarchy, nothing was more important.


    Sand gradually slowed from a run into a walk and then came to a standstill in the shadow of the short and squat wooden buildings that served as their dorms in the short periods of time the slaves were allowed to rest. He exhaled slow and long, the scalding hot breath fogging up in the chill of the desert dawn. Inspecting the state of his body, he couldn''t help but frown slightly. His wound was mostly healed and with the meagre wisps of mana he had generated with this run, it would finally be enough for him to climb out of the red and finally start building his reserves.


    ¡®It took too long. Barely a week left¡­¡¯


    When Kreg had announced that they had a chance at becoming mages, he had also set a date for an inspection a month later. The slaves with the most talent would ¨C in his words ¨C be destined for greater things in life. Including, but not limited to the halidom of mages: a skill shard. Understandably, that had sent the slaves into a tizzy of activity. It had become every man for himself and every other slave was a competitor. Hostility was the only emotion that defined their relationship these days.


    Sand sneered inwardly, even with the memories of his future, he had been caught off guard by the sinister tactics of the slavers. He had been too gullible. ¡®Too na?ve.¡¯ All it had taken was sharing a meal for him to mellow out towards them.


    But he couldn''t be blamed, after all, most of his interactions with humans in his last life had been with former slaves who had scratched and clawed their way out of their cages. The cream of the crop. It had skewed his perception. The way the slaves fawned over and flattered Kreg while scratching and biting at each other at the mere promise of an advantage sickened him. He turned his dark eyes towards the dorms. ¡®I wonder how they¡¯ll feel when they realize what exactly that skill shard is.¡¯


    It was a very sound tactic. Separate the slaves and then promise them an overwhelming advantage, setting them at each other¡¯s throats. Even after it was all over, after the truly talented had been sifted out, the ones left in the mines would be in a state of utter disunity. The grudges accrued over this period of infighting wouldn''t allow them to unite in revolt against their masters. And it had worked like a charm.


    As Sand stepped into the communal sleeping quarters, a hayloft with a few worn blankets spread out serving as their beds, he was greeted by the stench of unwashed bodies and fart. Ignoring the noxious odours by habit, he walked over to his own ¡®bed¡¯ to retrieve his shirt which he had left behind for his morning run. When his hand came into contact with it, his eyebrows twisted into a lump as he found it soaked through, and going by the dark patch on his blanket, it was too. He didn¡¯t need to investigate further to realize that someone had relieved himself on it.


    ¡°It¡¯s time for food, squirt. Or, maybe you don¡¯t need it? You seem to have too much energy, running like mad in the mornings.¡± Crooked¡¯s mocking voice came from behind him, revealing the identity of that someone.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    Sand¡¯s expression grew icy, ¡°I¡¯ll be there,¡± he replied unemotionally.


    ¡°Hmph!¡± the sturdy slave turned around and stomped away with a derisive snort.


    Crooked¡¯s intentions were sinister. A wet blanket in the frigid desert night would mean a cold at the very least, if not a fever. Both causes for a missed day of work. A missed day of progress.


    Tossing the shirt onto his blanket, Sand simply left them there. He still had his bandages wrapping around his torso, they would have to do. He could understand why the slaves were so hostile to him. He had demonstrated extreme tenacity and determination, and while those were desirable traits in an ally, in a competitor, they were most unwelcome.


    Progressing through the ranks of magic was like climbing up an oiled pole. For every few feet up, you would slide a foot down. The only way mana could be supplemented was through strenuous exercise and to fuel that, large amounts of nutritious food was required, otherwise, instead of generating mana, the body would only consume it. And all this laboriously generated mana would exhaust itself to heal a minor scrape if one was a bit overzealous in their efforts.


    Simple exercise was way too inefficient. Supplementing one¡¯s energy through food was the legitimate way. And food was rationed based on contribution. Work hard, eat more, generate more mana, work harder ¨C it all spiralled into a cycle that could be considered positive or vicious depending on one¡¯s perspective. Clever rationing by the orcs ensured that the humans saw progress, while at the same time, were kept hungry for more.


    ¡®Seven more days¡­¡¯


    Shovelling down his meal, Sand walked over to the clay pit and slathered his body with a layer of the sticky mud then waited for it to dry, blocking all his pores. The only reason he could close his pores was the experience he had carried over from his previous life. The slaves had no such advantage. Therefore, they had to resort to the layer of clay to make up for their deficiency. To fit in, he had to use it too.


    And clay in the desert was expensive. If not for Gehenna¡¯s proximity to the tributary of the river Jhelum that cut through the edge of the desert, the cost would have been too prohibitive for the orcs to bother with investing the resources on human slaves. As it stood, the income barely justified the expenditure. So, if one couldn''t emerge from the slaves and get selected during the inspection, their path to magic would forever be cut off and they would be doomed to languish in the mines as mortals.


    ¡®Well, it¡¯s not that the mages will have a better fate. It¡¯s a better looking cage, but still a cage in the end. A much sturdier one.¡¯


    After the clay dried, he made his way to his workstation and invested himself in the work. It was monotonous, mind-numbing labour. Sifting through the piles of rock dug up by the miners to separate out the ores, filling baskets with them and finally, lugging the heavy baskets, dumping their contents into the cart. The only solace was the steady stream of red mana filling his body. Now that his wound was healed, he could finally accumulate mana.


    At the end of the day, he dragged his aching body to the clay pit where he cracked up the layer of dry clay and dusted it off his body before going to the mess to receive his second meal of the day. The orcs didn¡¯t allow the waste of even a bit of soil.


    The advantage Sand had over the other slaves was his high natural talent and ability to seal his pores even without the clay, allowing him to gain mana from his morning jaunts. If the others tried that, they would find it unfeasible.


    The next few days passed by in a blur of gluttony and labour until the sun rose over the horizon, bringing with it the promise of a brighter future. Usually, only one in ten people had magical talent and out of that the majority fell firmly in the category of ¡®barely talented¡¯ therefore, it was no surprise when out of the eight slaves sold to Kreg by Gura, only two demonstrated magical talent. In fact, it was a great ratio and Kreg couldn''t keep a grin off his ugly face.


    Over the years, there had been many a batch that hadn¡¯t produced even a single mage, rendering all his investments moot. But this year, it seemed that Lady Luck had taken a shine to him and blessed him with not one but two valuable commodities.


    An enslaved mage was obviously much more valuable than a mortal, enough to justify the training costs several times over. Unlike Garo, as the supervisor of the silver mine, he had a lot more spare cash from his embezzlement and could afford one or two years of failed harvest if it meant an ultimate profit in the end. The fact that all the slaves he bought were healthy young males made his success rates higher as well. There seemed to be a vague correlation between magical talent and physical or mental aptitude. For all races, children that had higher strength inborn or were unusually intelligent seemed to make for the best mages.


    The six other slaves had tried their utmost to condense their mana but had to give up in the face of destiny in the end. They left the chamber under Kreg¡¯s orders, shooting backward glances of hatred and envy at Crooked and Sand, leaving the two newly awakened mages alone with Kreg.


    ¡°Well, well, well¡­ who¡¯d ¡®ave thought it¡¯d be ye two in the end?¡± he said, looking down his snout at the two of them. ¡°Then again I guess it makes senses for it ta be ye two. The strong one and the stubborn one, ain¡¯t it?¡±


    Sand remained silent as Crooked heaped flattery on the orc. Curiously, Kreg tilted his head as he sized up the small form of the boy. It had only been a month, but with proper food and a lot of exercise, his body had improved drastically and now, rather than his ribs jutting out of his skin, there was a visible layer of developing muscle. He had even become a mage, overcoming the hurdle of his wound in the process. ¡®This one¡¯s more talented than ¡®e lets on,¡¯ thought Kreg. ¡®All the better for me though. I can sell ¡®im for more. But before that¡­¡¯


    ¡°I promised ye a shard if any of ye made it. But ye should know by now that there¡¯s nothing in this world such as a free lunch. If ye want it, ye earn it. Take the day off, stuff yer face as much as ye want. And tomorrow ye¡¯re comin¡¯ to the city with me. Whether ye get that shard or not, depends entirely on ye.¡±

 7: Creatures of the Land

    Praise be the mother of music, the progenitor of our kind,


    Her tunes ever-changing to match the voices of her mind.


    When she sang, she gave us life,


    When she sang, we grew.


    When she sang we learnt her art,


    And created songs anew.


    Praise be the mother of music, the progenitor of our kind,


    To worlds beyond she passed away, leaving us all behind.


    - The Tunefolk


    Where do skill shards come from? That is a question that baffles even the most intrepid of mages. Some of them grasp at straws and blurt out the word Dungeon, believing that they have solved this age-old mystery. But all they have discovered is another chicken-egg paradox. Shards come from Dungeons, sure. But then, where do the Dungeons come from? Aren¡¯t they an agglomeration of shards?


    Kreg, Sand and Crooked left for the city at the break of dawn. Only the three of them and the monthly quota of ore to be delivered. Dressed in proper clothing rather than the haphazardly stitched pieces of fabric that the slaves were made to wear, Sand watched the slaves of their batch load the ores into the large wooden boxes that were mounted on sleds. He narrowed his eyes slightly at the resentful looks the slaves shot at him and Crooked. ¡®They really don¡¯t let a single opportunity go, now do they,¡¯ he thought to himself. He and Crooked had spent most of the previous day stuffing their faces. It was a rare opportunity to increase their mana on the orc¡¯s coin that neither of them wanted to let up.


    That had clearly engendered envy in the slaves, and combined with how they had been forced to rise so early and slog away for what they perceived as the two of their benefit, the slaves definitely harboured ill feelings towards them.


    And why would someone have any attachment to people who hated their guts. It was another one of the inexhaustible methods the orcs used to estrange their human slaves from each other.


    Divide and conquer. Bred like animals, humans were separated from their fathers by ignorance of their identity. They were separated from their mothers at birth. In their childhood, they were separated from their clan. And when they touched the threshold of magic, the orcs drove a wedge between mortal and mage. Humans had been divided and they had been conquered.


    Sand''s gaze was cold. ¡®Not this time...¡¯


    Finally, the loading was completed and all twelve of the sleds carrying the boxes of ore were lashed together in a criss-crossing net of rope. Then the rope net was attached to the harnesses of the two stone camels that had been docilely chewing the cud, unconcerned by the tizzy of human activity a few paces from them.


    Stone camels were beasts of burden indigenous to the Tyhr Desert. Outwardly they looked like a bulkier version of a regular camel, one carved out of sandstone. When they stood still, they could easily be mistaken for the work of a master sculptor. Their immense strength and endurance were obviously desirable but the trait that really endeared them to merchants and caravan owners everywhere was the fact that their food was the desert itself.


    They ate sand.


    The marvellous creatures ingested the sand and under the influence of their powerful stomachs, most of it was converted to sustenance. The remaining, toughest portion was secreted out of their pores, forming a layer of sandstone upon their skin. Other than water, they needed nothing at all.


    The layer of stone on their bodies acted like armour, protecting them from the attacks of the predators of the desert. Whenever attacked by a predator that wasn¡¯t deterred by their stony defences, they could voluntarily shed their heavy armour and leg it at the maximum speed. A nomadic species, stone camel tribes travelled from oasis to oasis periodically, leaving their offspring along with a few of the older members of the tribe to care for them at each one they encountered. Over millennia, they had overspread the entire desert.


    Populous they might be, but only the most illustrious individuals among them managed to condense their own skill shards and develop into a Tier 1 beast. That was why, Sand was quite surprised when he judged from the thickness of the stone armour of the two camels that they were both at Tier 1. Unless they had the support of a Strength shard, it would have been impossible to move with that heavy an armour, let alone draw the sleds tied to them.


    ¡°Sit on the boxes.¡± commanded Kreg before leaping onto the saddled back of one of the camels. After Crooked and Sand had seated themselves, Kreg clicked his tongue twice and the camels began to move forwards at a sedate pace, pulling all the sleds along. Under the orc¡¯s direction, the separation of the two camels and the way the ropes had been tied caused the sleds to fan out behind them, evenly distributing the drag on the beasts.


    Sand sat facing backwards, watching the mines disappear into the distance along with the red sandstone buttes they were based in. Years of weathering had eroded away the sandstone, leaving only the hardest of rock behind. Nature had carved them in interesting shapes ranging from monolithic pillars to flat-topped cliffs with sheer sides.


    The sleds left shallow furrows in the sand that were almost instantaneously erased by the light morning breeze. Sand drew his head-scarf over his nose, letting it filter out the sand in the air. Shooting a glance sideways, he found Crooked infatuated with the piece of fabric, repeatedly adjusting it this way and that. Sand didn¡¯t blame him, after all, it was a symbol ¨C a head-scarf in the desert. It could keep the scorching sun off one¡¯s head, it could keep the sand out of one¡¯s lungs and the slaves had only ever seen an orc slaver wearing one. Head-scarves and power ¨C It was an easy association to make.


    Sand shook his head and looked towards the front.


    Belying their immense weight, the broad pads of the camels¡¯ feet caused them to barely leave any traces on the sand as they trotted onwards towards Gehenna. Before setting out, Kreg had informed them that they were going to visit the owner of the mine and his superior, Torak Silveros ¨C Master Silveros to them ¨C in order to present the monthly quota of ore as well as the two of them.The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Orcs generally had one name. Only the most distinguished of orcish families were granted a hereditary title like Silveros by the orc Chieftains. And these titles had to be earned through some sort of feat. A couple of hundred years prior, a young orc had created quite a stir in Gehenna by discovering a silver lode at the base of some sandstone cliffs while out exploring the desert. Fame and fortune had visited him and almost overnight he had become one of the most influential orcs in the city, founding the Silveros family.


    Over the years, the family¡¯s influence had grown until now, they were headed by Torak Silveros a blue mage.


    Even in his past life, Sand had heard tell of the orc from the patrons of the restaurant he had worked at. It was a very ordinary establishment, serving the mortal middle-class population and most of what he had heard was vague mutters of envy and awe. To them, a blue mage was an unattainable existence ¨C just a rung below their Chieftains in the social ladder.


    In this life, the emaciated boy, who had wiped the mess made by the gluttonous orcs off the restaurant floor in his previous one, would shortly be presented to that same exalted existence. For a moment, Sand became worried about the stability of the timeline. There were too many differences in this life compared to his previous one. What if the changes he made altered the future? Wouldn''t he lose the superiority of his rebirth? He frowned.


    Then immediately, he relaxed. ¡®Even if everything in the future changes, I will still retain my knowledge and experiences. Every secret I unearthed at the risk of life, every technique I trained with blood, sweat and tears ¨C I will still have them. If I can''t accomplish anything with such an immense advantage, then I was reborn in vain. If instead, I let my desire for stability hobble me, I will be shackling myself to a predetermined future.¡¯


    His dark eyes stared into the distance where the yellow dunes merged into a sea of gold. ¡®Wasn¡¯t it because I didn¡¯t like that future that I kept fighting? Then why should I worry about the changes I make?¡¯


    Shimmering in the horizon, a patch of darkness broke the monotony of the desert, resolving itself into a magnificent city as they approached. Gehenna ¨C the City of Sin.


    ¡®The future is free.¡¯


    Chest out, back straight, feet together, Kreg stood at attention in front of an ornately filigreed stone gate. ¡°If ye embarrass me in front of the Sir, I¡¯ll skin ye and eat ye raw! See if I don¡¯t.¡± he hissed at the two young human slaves by his side who were similarly standing at attention. Before he could threaten them further with promises of dire consequences, the gates swung apart noiselessly of their own accord and he had to shut up.


    ¡°Come in.¡±


    The voice that invited them in was grave and refined. Lacking much of the guttural quality most orcs possessed. It carried with it the dignity of long years in a position of command. With stiff strides, Kreg entered the office of Master Silveros and with a nervous, stilted gait, Crooked followed. Sand went last, looking around, taking in the layout of the room.


    The walls and ceilings were still the same ochre sandstone that made up the rest of the building but the floor had been laid with red sandstone which had been polished till it gleamed. There was a broad fireplace in one corner of the room, replete with an entire log on a bed of wood chips ready to be lit at a moment¡¯s notice. There was even a magnificent silver chandelier hanging from the high ceiling. Yet the most prominent feature of the room was the large desk made of polished dark wood that took up most of one wall and the orc sitting behind it.


    At first glance, Torak Silveros was ¨C nondescript. He didn¡¯t have the morbid obesity and broken tusk of Gura, he lacked the musculature of Kreg, or his characteristic scar and baldness. He was excessively average. The only thing that made him stand out a bit was the pair of silver rimmed spectacles placed above his snout. The pieces of polished glass held in the circular wire frames magnified his beady eyes, making his gaze more intense.


    Yet, what he lacked in appearance, he made up for with his presence. Just sitting there behind his desk, peering at them from above his interlaced fingers, his glasses gleaming white in the sunlight streaming in through the window, he seemed to fill the room.


    ¡°You barely met the target this time. Last month you delivered more ore. Why?¡± he asked mildly.


    Kreg stiffened and replied hastily, ¡°Sir, I got a new batch of slaves. Training ¡®em cost more rations so the rest couldn''t work as much.¡±


    ¡°Oh? And?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s good news Sir. We got two mages out of ¡®em.¡±


    Torak raised an eyebrow and inspected the two humans, his eyes glowing with a mysterious gloss behind his glasses. Crooked shifted uncomfortably under his gaze while Sand kept his eyes lowered, pretending not to notice.


    ¡°Not bad.¡± He nodded. ¡°Come with me.¡± Getting up from his seat, he walked towards one wall of the room and drew aside a black woollen carpet with the insignia of the Silveros family, two interlocking rings, embroidered onto it with silver thread. Behind it, was a plain stone door only sufficient for a single person to file out of. They followed Torak through it to a balcony that overlooked a large cavern beyond, Kreg having to duck his head to avoid hitting the frame.


    Turning to Sand and Crooked, Torak¡¯s expression grew genial as he wrapped an arm around both of their shoulders and brought them over to the railings. Crooked fidgeted uncomfortably in his grasp but didn¡¯t dare to shrug his arm off while Sand simply endured stoically.


    As though unaware of their discomfort, Torak indicated towards the scene beneath the balcony. ¡°Look, this is what happens to all that ore you mine.¡±


    The entire cavern was lit up with torches recessed into the walls, revealing the tranquil pit of sand at the bottom. Sand noticed a door, similar to the one they had entered through, set into one of the walls of the cavern raised a little way above the bed of sand.


    As he watched, the doors swung open and two nervous human slaves rolled a wheelbarrow full of ore to the edge of the door and Sand realized that the door was connected to the warehouse where they had deposited their cargo. Clenching their teeth, the men tipped the cart and with a crash, the ores tumbled out onto the sand.


    For a moment nothing happened. Then the sand seethed and churned as a circular maw lined with row after row of razor-sharp teeth burst out of the sand chomping down on the ores. The long sinuous body of the sand-wyrm followed its mouth, drawing an arc in the air before diving back into the sand and disappearing without a trace.


    The two slaves cowered in the shelter of the tilted barrow as the constant trickle of ores attracted more and more of the creatures and they devolved into a feeding frenzy, snapping and biting at each other as they fought over the rocks. The entire bed of sand seemed to boil as the commotion attracted the ones hidden at the very depths of the pit.


    Finally, a serrated maw much larger than all the others burst out of the sand, crashing against the door frame in an attempt to get at the source of the ore. The impact caused the entire cavern to vibrate. Screaming, the two slaves dropped the barrow, desperately backpedalling on their hands and feet to distance themselves from the monster.


    Frustrated, the wyrm queen grated its teeth against each other releasing an agitated rustling before it fell back into the sand and vanished. Soon, the rest of the wyrms polished off the last of the ore and the sand bed returned to its previous tranquillity.


    But now, Crooked¡¯s gaze as he gazed down at the pit was filled with dread, his knees knocking against each other in abject terror. Even Kreg looked daunted. A wyrm nest led by a Tier 3 wyrm queen. If he somehow fell into the pit, his odds of survival were miniscule.


    The only ones unaffected by the scene were Torak and Sand. Sand because he had seen beasts much stronger than these in his lifetime and Torak because he was busy laughing. ¡°Did you see that?¡± Torak asked as he slapped their backs, causing them to stagger dangerously close to the railings.


    ¡°Did you see the looks on their faces? Pale as ghosts and looking like they¡¯d piss themselves any moment.¡± He grew pensive, ¡°Maybe they did. Ahaha¡­¡±


    Torak devolved into raucous laughter, destroying the dignified image he¡¯d built till now.


    Clutching his stomach, he gasped for breath after his mirth ran its course. Straightening up, he took off his glasses and wiped away the tears from his eyes. ¡°Oh. That always cracks me up.¡± he said with the same genial tone he¡¯d been using to address them before. But this time, it only sent a chill up his listeners¡¯ spines.


    ¡°Now, I was told that the two of you were promised skill shards.¡± He smiled warmly as he pointed at the pit below them. ¡°Each of those little wyrms has one. Why don¡¯t you try and persuade them to give you one? If you need any tools, let me know. A sword? A spear? Or maybe¡­ a whip?¡±

 8: Trial

    There are two main sources of skill shards: Dungeons and beasts. The former only yields the kinds of shards it is composed of and exploring them is extremely dangerous. Even the strongest of mortal mages, in the face of a Dungeon will turn into a helpless ant ¨C an ant with strong jaws and potent toxin, sure, but in the end, still an ant. Dungeon delving is a high risk, high reward proposition ¨C one that doesn¡¯t go well most of the time.


    The second source is where most skill shards come from. Unlike the humanoid races, beasts aren¡¯t born with a high degree of sentience, but in return, they have formidable bodies and the inborn ability to condense skill shards as they grow and develop. Depending on the species and even the individual, the shards condensed are different.


    When a beast dies, its shards remain. Scavenging, hunting and even domesticating beasts are all methods employed to collect their shards. As only the elite among the species can generate mana and only a small fraction of them can condense shards, the production cost is quite high. But this method has risking one¡¯s life in a Dungeon beat in terms of safety and stability.


    In his previous life, if there was one person Sand was willing to acknowledge as his friend, then it would be him. The scrawny young man he¡¯d rescued from the mansion of the first orc chieftain that he¡¯d slain.


    ¡°Sand wyrms are r-really interesting creatures you know?¡±


    Book had a staccato stutter that made him look like a gasping fish whenever he got caught on a word. Book ¨C because he¡¯d been in charge of the library in the chieftain¡¯s manor, and like Sand, he¡¯d kept the simplistic name to remind himself of his roots.


    ¡°They have s-so many uses¡­ they¡¯re like a factory. All you need to do is to s-somehow manage feed them and you¡¯ll profit all your life.¡±


    In his time as a slave, he had managed to teach himself how to read and write ¨C an achievement for which Sand respected him greatly. He was only a red mage, that too at the most initial of stages. His talent wasn¡¯t something to write home about either. He had touched magic by the barest of margins. But that had been enough to raise his value in the eyes of the orcs.


    Compounded by the rare skill shard he was assigned ¨C Catalogue, he had managed to make his way into the chieftain¡¯s manor and subsequently his library. At first, Sand kept Book around so that he could learn how to read and write. Later, he kept him around for the wealth of knowledge he had accumulated during his stint as the chieftain¡¯s librarian.


    And afterwards, Sand kept the scrawny young man, who had lost both of his legs below the knee, because somewhere down the line, he had become a friend.


    ¡°How did you manage to learn the letters so fast with nobody to teach you?¡± Sand had asked him once.


    ¡°W-well, it¡¯s because I am s-super smart!¡± he had replied with a smug grin. ¡°My shard Catalogues stuff." He had explained more seriously. "It helps me make lists of things that I can easily reference later. The chieftain used my skill to h-help him locate books in the library but I secretly used it to learn the language.¡±


    ¡°How?¡±


    ¡°You know how stuff is written exactly the way it¡¯s sp-spoken? I just used my shard to Catalogue the most frequently used syllables and compared them to the most frequently used marking in the books ¨C then the second most frequent and so on. Soon, I was r-reading like I¡¯d been doing it all my life.¡±


    Impressed by his ingenuity, Sand had never underestimated a shard again. There was no strongest skill, only the strongest skill user.


    Book loved sharing his knowledge. ¡°You know?¡± was his pet phrase. A preamble he used before he began to ramble on and on about some obscure topic.


    ¡°You¡¯ll never find a wyrm on its own, or at least, not too far from its colony. You know why? I-i-it¡¯s because they aren¡¯t a colony but a single creature. The term wyrm ¡®queen¡¯ is wrong. It¡¯d be more correct to call them wyrm ¡®mother¡¯. They split parts of themselves off and those ¡®children¡¯ are the smaller wyrms you see. These offspring perform various functions depending on the situation." He had lectured Sand enthusiastically while waving his arms about animatedly, threatening to disbalance himself and fall off the chair he was sitting on. "The w-wyrms are blind you know? They can only sense metallic substances that might be nearby. Other than that, they can''t see or hear. They just don¡¯t have the organs for it. So, some of these offspring condense a Third Eye shard and are able to see with its help. They are the ones that scout for danger and warn the mother by sharing their vision with her through their bonded shards.¡±


    He had continued, ¡°Other than the scouts, t-there are the diggers that have shards specialized for tunnelling through rock. Then there are the shields with defensive shards and in some colonies, they have developed skills that allow them to escape easier ¨C say, the Sandstorm shard. As for attack, despite how ferocious they look, wyrms rarely develop in that direction. Offensive shards are a huge drain on mana and anyway, the diggers with their Steel Tooth shards can double as attackers in a pinch. After all, one can''t afford to be wasteful in the desert.¡±


    According to Book, the wyrms lived their lives searching the desert for veins of metallic ore to feed upon. The higher the quality of the metal, the faster the queen would grow and the more offspring she could split off, expanding the colony. Another unique feature of the wyrm colony was their adaptability. The composition of the colony could easily be altered. For example, if they reached a region of hard rock where the diggers became more important than the defenders, the queen would eat the useless wyrms and spawn more diggers instead.


    The reason the smaller wyrms were so obedient, willingly waltzing into the queen¡¯s mouth, was the presence of the Mother and Child shards. The wyrm queen had the Mother shard which could split off Child shards that embedded themselves into her offspring giving her the ability to command them and even, in conjunction with their other shards, share their senses.


    Another advantage of the wyrms was that most of the metal they consumed was merely a catalyst for their growth. The gangue was their actual food. Thus, their excrement was rich in the purified metal. Wyrm-purified metal just needed a few more rounds of smelting before it was commercially usable. Thus, to the owner of a wyrm colony, provided they had enough ore to supply the creatures¡¯ ravenous appetites, it was an endless source of wealth in the form of purified metal and skill shards. The wyrm colony and the silver mine, when these two had come together, they had resulted in the explosive growth of the Silveros family.


    And now, laid before Sand was an opportunity to gain a shard. But for that, he needed to slay one of the Tier 1 wyrms that populated the sand pit below. He had a miniscule amount of mana; his body hadn¡¯t fully recovered yet, and he was only ten years old. Most importantly, he had no offensive shards. A sword? A spear? A whip? Neglecting if he would even be able to use weapons sized for adult hands, unless they were magical artefacts with shards embedded in them, with his current strength he wouldn''t even be able to pierce the tough hide of the wyrms if they stood still and let him chop away at them.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.


    He had no choice though. It wasn¡¯t like Torak Silveros was asking them for their opinion.


    Suddenly, the smiling orc grasped at something in the air and Crooked exclaimed in surprise and fear as a huge, translucent, phantom hand grasped him, pinning his arms to his sides. Despite his struggles, he couldn''t even budge the fingers of the fist. ¡°L-lord. Forgive me. Let me go! Please!¡± he entreated desperately as Torak observed him with a happy expression on his face.


    As Crooked kept begging for mercy, his smile slowly faded and his gaze grew icy. He spoke softly, his voice cutting through Crooked¡¯s noisy wails like a sharp knife, silencing him. ¡°I¡¯m giving you a gift. A chance for a maggot like you to walk on land instead of wallowing in the filth. Are you rejecting me?¡±


    Stranded in the phantom hand¡¯s grasp, Crooked clenched his teeth and shivered. His face covered with snot and tears, he didn¡¯t dare say yes. His eyes roved wildly in search of an outlet before they fell on Sand. Ruthlessness flashed past in his eyes before he blurted out, ¡°Lord! How dare this lowly one accept your gift? My talent is too low to deserve such an honour. Lord, Sand is definitely more talented than me. He has more mana even though he was heavily wounded and we started training at the same time. He is much more suitable.¡±


    ¡°Oh?¡± Torak¡¯s smile returned as suddenly as it had vanished and he turned to Kreg inquisitively.


    ¡°Sir, it¡¯s true. When I got ¡®im, he was a scrawny little thing that had been whipped within an inch of ¡®is life. And now look at ¡®im.¡± Kreg informed him respectfully.


    Torak regarded Sand with a thoughtful smile. ¡°Interesting. Kreg, the right leg will do. Below the knee.¡± The muscular orc nodded and walked up to the Crooked, snapping a silver cuff on his right leg, just below his knee. With a wave of Torak¡¯s hand, the phantom hand lifted Crooked and tossed him over the balcony.


    Screaming and flailing in the air, he slammed onto the sand below, the impact driving all the air out of his lungs. Protected by the soft sand from injury, he quickly struggled to his feet, fidgeting as he observed the ground on all sides of him with a deathly pale face.


    A sword cut through the air, sinking into the sand and quivering an inch from his foot, shocking him out of his haze of fear.


    Up on the balcony, Torak pulled a lever and with a grating rumble, a wooden cage rose out of the sand, boxing him in. Sand identified the origin of the dark, twisting wood that made up the cage as ironbark, a very sturdy mortal tree. Going by the lustre of the wood, it had come from a tier 3 plant, so, even if the queen herself attacked, it would be able to withstand the impact.


    ¡®Why prepare such extravagant arrangements for mere slave mages? Is it just for his amusement? Unlikely. Anyone who has reached his degree of success wouldn''t squander their time and money like this. Even if he is screening slaves for the Arena of Sin, it shouldn''t be to this degree. It appears as though the fighting in the arena is much more significant than I previously thought.¡¯ Sand pondered with narrowed eyes.


    He shot a look at the fuzzy phantom of four hands floating behind Torak. ¡®A Phantom Hand shard. Quite rare and very versatile. Only four hands¡­ it¡¯s at Tier 3. At Tier 4, the number of hands will double and at Tier 5, it will double again. It¡¯s quite the tricky skill. It can either become solid and be manipulated remotely to attack or it can phase through an opponent¡¯s defences and directly attack the mind. Depending on his other skills, he can even attach an attribute to the hands. Used well, it can simultaneously take care of attack or defence. I¡¯ll need to prepare something to counter it¡­¡¯ he analysed.


    While he had been lost in thought, a wyrm, attracted by the band of silver on Crooked¡¯s leg, had forced itself through the narrow opening on one wall of the cage which had promptly shut behind it, locking it in with Crooked.


    Crooked backed away from the wyrm, pointing his sword at it with a shaky hand. ¡°Stay away!¡± he yelled at it, randomly swinging the sword around in an attempt to scare it off. The wyrm¡¯s head bobbed as it advanced on him, following the motion of the sword as it gnashed its multitude of teeth, creating a spine-chilling rustling.


    Crooked¡¯s back touched the cage behind him, blocking his path of retreat. Before he could react, the wyrm lunged and snatched the sword out of his hand, swallowing it down. With a horrified scream, Crooked tried to escape but he found that he had backed himself into a corner. Desperate, he tried to squeeze out through the narrow gaps between the bars and when that failed, he leapt up and grabbed the bars of the cage, trying to climb out, only to slide down as he couldn''t get a grip on the polished bars.


    Having swallowed down the sword, the wyrm turned its attention to the band of silver on Crooked¡¯s leg. With a mighty chomp, it bit the leg off right below the knee as Crooked tried to clamber out of the cage yet again. Losing his grip on the bars, he slumped on the ground, convulsing silently, his body going into shock from the pain. Blood spurted out of his truncated limb, painting flowers of red on the sand. Stiffening, he lost consciousness.


    Blood spattered out of the wyrm¡¯s mouth as its razor-sharp teeth ground the limb into bloody paste. Spitting it out, it only swallowed down the silver cuff before slithering off to explore the rest of the cage without paying any attention to the unconscious slave.


    With a tranquil smile, Torak grasped in the air again. The phantom hand appeared near Crooked and picked him up out of the cage. Dangling limply from the massive fingers, his heart pumped his blood out of him in spurts as he was dumped unceremoniously onto the balcony.


    Sand gazed at the bloody form with cold detachment. The smell of blood bringing back memories of long years of battle.


    ¡®How familiar¡­¡¯


    This was the fate of those who failed the orcs¡¯ test to become a gladiator. Human mages that didn¡¯t need to fight were deliberately marked by some sort of disability. The medic¡¯s blindness, Book¡¯s legs, Crooked¡¯s limb ¨C the price of their failure. A deterrent against escape.


    Pointing at Crooked¡¯s stump distantly with his index finger, Torak pressed down. One of the phantom hands shot out and mimicked his movement. The tip of its finger glowed white-hot upon contact with the stump. With a sizzling sound, the stump was cauterized.


    Crooked¡¯s eyes flew open, a tortured scream ripping its way out of his throat. When Torak withdrew the hand, his eyes rolled up in his head and he crashed back into the merciful embrace of darkness. The acrid stench of burnt flesh overspread the balcony.


    Turning to Sand, Torak ordered Kreg to cuff him. Following his directive, Kreg snapped a silver cuff on Sand¡¯s left forearm, jostling his arm roughly in the process.


    Torak was just about to pick him up with his phantom hand when ¡°Sword,¡± said Sand suddenly, bringing him up short. It was the first time the boy had opened his mouth since they¡¯d met.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I want a sword, a sharp one.¡±


    After staring at him in surprise, Torak burst out into laughter. ¡°That can be easily arranged. At least you have some fight in you unlike that spiritless thing over there.¡±


    Reaching into a barrel of assorted weapons, he pulled out a sword and tossed it to Sand. Catching it, Sand didn¡¯t wait for Torak to push him off, jumping off the balcony and into the cage by himself.


    The wyrm, that was searching for a way out of the cage, turned towards Sand the moment it detected the presence of the silver cuff on his arm. Unsheathing the sword, Sand checked the edge. ¡®A little blunt but it¡¯ll have to do¡­¡¯


    Taking a deep breath, he grabbed one of the bars of the cage with his left hand, clenched his teeth and chopped down on his forearm above the cuff. Warm blood spattered his face and his mind blanked momentarily as the blade cut halfway through his arm and got stuck in his bone.


    He teetered on the verge of unconsciousness as the ache ravaged his mind. He could hear the wyrm approaching from behind him. With a guttural roar, he powered through the pain and increased the pressure on the sword, finally severing the entire arm. Grabbing the arm, he dived to the side at the last moment, causing the wyrm to slam against the walls of the cage.


    Bringing the arm up to his mouth, he bit down on the silver cuff and tugged it off. Spitting it out onto the ground, he moved aside, lying in wait for the beast. The wyrm could only sense metals, so it could only ¡®see¡¯ the cuff and the sword. Now he had to bet, he had to bet that the instead of the sword, it would go for the cuff. Even if it went for the sword, he could just discard it and then there would be a stalemate where he wouldn''t be able to harm it while it wouldn''t be able to sense him. Given that he was able to stanch his bleeding arm of course.


    Thankfully, the wyrm had been bred on a diet of silver ore and the cuff was much more lucrative to it. Just as it surged past him to get to the cuff, he leapt on its back and stabbed its head with the sword, accurately aiming for the weak spot on its forehead where the third eye was supposed to grow.


    The sword impaled its brain, killing it instantaneously. Crashing onto the ground, its corpse drew a furrow in the sand with its momentum, the impact knocking Sand off its back. He flopped limply in the air, unconscious even before his body hit the ground.

 9: Demon Gate

    Sand came to, coughing and sputtering, as icy water was splashed on his face. Rapidly taking stock of his situation, he relaxed slightly as he noticed no immediate threats to his person.


    He was sitting on a bed in a room reminiscent of the clinic back at the mines. Except that this one was furnished much more luxuriously. The bed was a proper bed, replete with a mattress and sheets, instead of a slab of stone with pretensions. The chairs and couches were upholstered in leather, the doors of the medicine cabinets weren¡¯t barely hanging off their hinges, and the paint wasn¡¯t peeling off. Most importantly, there wasn¡¯t a makeshift laundry cum dyeing vat in one corner of the room.


    The better circumstances were to be expected seeing that the medic in this case was an orc. A female orc who was looming over Sand with an empty tumbler in her hand ¨C the source of the water that had woken him up.


    Like all females of their race, she lacked the protruding tusks that characterized the males. Her hair was tied back with a colourful bandana. What surprised Sand was that her stomach was heavy with child, her loose medical smock failing to conceal the outlines of her twelve teats swollen with milk. He wondered why the orc would risk her unborn children by using magic so close to term.


    Seeing that he was awake, the medic huffed and flung the tumbler away. Bouncing off a wall, it clattered onto the ground. Without another word to him, the female waddled off towards a particularly overstuffed couch and sank into it, proceeding to ignore his existence.


    That suited Sand fine as he busied himself with inspecting the condition of his body. His arm had been re-attached and his mana had been fully depleted. Both conditions were within his expectations. Flexing his left arm, testing it for any sequelae, he found that its range of motion was unimpeded.


    When he had decided to chop his own arm off, it wasn¡¯t just on a whim. With the orcs, it was always a cost-benefit computation when it came to human lives. If healing him up became more expensive than the returns they could expect from him, he wouldn''t be healed. So, if he let the wyrm rip his arm off and use it as a chew toy, even if he managed to kill it, they wouldn''t consider making him a Gladiator. Regenerating an entire appendage was costly ¨C requiring a healing shard at Tier 3 at the very least. Rather than invite a Tier 3 medic to heal him, they would find it more feasible to just use him as a logistics mage.


    As for letting him fight with one arm ¨C why would they waste their money on subsidizing a disabled slave? Battle-mages were costly to raise and they didn¡¯t really produce any revenue. Unless they could keep winning in the Arena, Gladiators were a money-sink. Investing in a sinking ship wasn¡¯t something the likes of an astute businessman such as Torak Silveros would do.


    By chopping his own arm off, not only had he demonstrated exceptional grit and fighting spirit, he had managed to preserve his arm perfectly. Even the break in the bone had been clean. That had reduced the cost of healing him by several scales. A Tier 1 healing shard would be sufficient to re-attach his arm.


    Sand had gambled that his potential would be more valuable in Torak¡¯s eyes than the cost of his treatment. He had succeeded.


    He slicked back his sopping wet hair and sat cross-legged on the bed, leaning his back against the wall beside it so that he was facing the brooding female orc. His hair had grown long in the month at the mines. The slavers in the caravan had the slaves shave their hair close to their skull irrespective of man or woman. It made maintenance easier and the lack of the jet-black hair inherent to their people helped keep their heads cool under the harsh desert sun. At the mines, he had been too busy working to worry about the issue. Now as his fingers passed through it, they were obstructed by several knots and tangles.


    Giving up, he slumped back against the wall. Ruefully, he shot a glance at the empty tumbler lying on the ground. That was probably the water he was supposed to drink. Sighing, he licked the droplets at the corner of his lip. His tongue felt like old leather in his mouth. His throat was parched. But he knew better than to ask the moody woman in the chair across from him for a drink. Closing his eyes, he waited for someone to come fetch him.


    ¡®They healed me, so they¡¯ll want me to fight. As my patron, Silveros will supply me with resources and shards. All I need to do is to keep winning and I¡¯ll be treated better and better. If I recall things correctly, then there will be a chance to escape around two years from now. I¡¯ll have to hold out till then.¡¯


    The Arena of Sin was the most popular entertainment destination for the population of Gehenna. Human slaves, crime-slaves, wild beasts; they all fought and bled on the sandy grounds of the arena for the amusement of the spectators. Victory and defeat were bet upon and entire fortunes were gambled away. The popularity of the blood-sport even drew visitors from other cities of the Tyhr and even from the lands beyond the desert.


    The earnings constituted a large chunk of the city¡¯s revenue, causing the Chieftain in charge of Gehenna to promote the Arena''s development vigorously.


    Pushing the door to the clinic open, Kreg cautiously poked his head in. The female turned her head at the sound. Noticing that it was him, she crossed her arms across her chest and turned away with a disgruntled huff.


    Closing the door behind him, Kreg chuckled nervously. ¡°Now, don¡¯ be like that, sweetums. The orders came from upstairs. Ain¡¯t nothin¡¯ I can do about it.¡±A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    She rounded on him furiously. ¡°Nothin¡¯ ye can do, eh? Then what use are ye if ye can¡¯t even protect yer unborn kids. Can''t ye tell that boss of yours to find another medic? I ain¡¯t the only Tier 1 medic in the whole place, ye know? Ye made me use up my mana. What if¡­ what if¡­¡± Choking up, she buried her face in her hands and began to cry with great heaving sobs.


    His eyes widening in panic, Kreg crossed the room in several strides. ¡°Shh. Shh, sweetums. Don¡¯t cry. I¡¯m sorry, ¡®kay? Ye know that ye can¡¯t just say ¡®no¡¯ to a Silveros. Shh. Don¡¯t cry. It ain¡¯t good for the kids.¡± He cajoled as he rubbed her back comfortingly.


    Slapping his hand away furiously, the woman looked up and berated, ¡°Don¡¯t ye tell me ¡®bout the kids!"


    When the agitated woman made to slap him, Kreg grabbed her wrist. ¡°Let me go, ye brute!¡± she yelled as she tried to pull her hand away. His grip was an iron band around her wrist. No matter how she struggled, she couldn''t break free. Not even when she tried to pry his fingers apart with her other hand.


    Reaching into his pocket, he took out a wooden box and stuffed it into her hand. Letting her go, he took a step away from her.


    Calming down slightly, ¡°What¡¯s this?¡± she asked suspiciously as she sniffled. ¡°Don¡¯t think ye¡¯ll get off with giving me a trinket or something.¡±


    ¡°Open it.¡± He said.


    Opening the latch of the box, she flipped it open, her eyes widening in pleasant surprise at the sight of its contents. Sand couldn''t see what it was as Kreg¡¯s body was blocking his line of sight but he could guess that it was probably something to aid her safe delivery.


    ¡°Husband!¡± she exclaimed joyfully, throwing her arms around Kreg¡¯s waist and hugging him from her sitting position on the chair.


    Meanwhile, Sand had become an unwitting spectator to this family drama. He could easily deduce the reason for the woman¡¯s distress. In order to heal his arm, she would have had to use her shard several times. As a Tier 1 mage, there was no way she had enough mana to do it in one go. She would''ve had to fill her mana in the middle of the process. As strenuous physical exercise was impossible, she would''ve had to use some sort of mana-replenishing pill or potion. Whatever it was, it would put her unborn litter at risk.


    He couldn''t help but feel faintly uncomfortable at this reminder of the orcs¡¯ ¡®humanity¡¯. But soon, his gaze grew cold. There was no right and wrong. Their standpoints were just different.


    Kreg chuckled happily. ¡°Still angry?¡± he asked as he patted the woman''s head.


    ¡°Nay. How could I be?¡± she replied as she rubbed her face into his stomach.


    ¡°Master Torak ain¡¯t the bad sort. He gave it to me as compensation for having ye use magic ta heal the brat. He favours ¡®im and doesn¡¯t want other¡¯s ta know about ¡®im till he debuts in the Arena.¡±


    Letting go of Kreg, she stared at Sand curiously. ¡°What¡¯s special about ¡®im? All I can see is that he¡¯s younger than the usual.¡±


    ¡°Ye had ta join his arm, right?¡±


    ¡°Ya.¡±


    ¡°He cut it off ¡®imself. Didn¡¯t let out a squeak while doin¡¯ it. If I hadn¡¯t seen it, I wouldn''t believe it myself.¡± said Kreg, causing her to stare at Sand in amazement. ¡°Anyway,¡± he continued, ¡°I have to get ¡®im his shard and then put ¡®im in his quarters. I¡¯ll be back in a bit, ''kay?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡± She said with a smile as she held the box to her chest like the most precious of treasures.


    ¡°Come ¡®ere brat. Ye don¡¯t know jest how lucky ye are. Make it snappy.¡±


    ¡®So, they finally stop treating me like air. Should I feel gratified?¡¯ sneered Sand internally as he hastily clambered off the bed and followed Kreg out of the room.


    As they walked down winding stone corridors, Kreg introduced, ¡°This ¡®ere is the Arena. It¡¯ll be yer new home from now on. Here, ye can get anythin¡¯ ye want. Ye want food? Ye can have it ¨C however much, whenever ye want it. Ye want a skill shard? There¡¯s a whole storehouse fer ye to choose from. All ye need to do is win.


    ¡°Ye¡¯ll be fighting, against criminals, against beasts, against others like ye; and either ye die or yer opponent does. So, ye gotta keep winnin¡¯. Remember, Lord Silveros is yer patron. He¡¯s spending a hella lot of cash on ye to get ye some advantages over the rest. If ye die, he¡¯ll lose quite a bit of gold. So, if ye want ta show yer gratitude ta ¡®im, just stay alive longer. Who knows, he might take a shine to ye and take ye on as a family guard. He¡¯s done it before.¡±


    He shot a glance to the side to gauge Sand¡¯s reaction. Seeing that there was no change in the boy''s expression, he felt his interest waning. Falling silent, he sped up his steps, forcing Sand to jog to keep up.


    Traversing several corridors and taking several flights of stairs down, they finally stopped before a huge stone door that spanned from floor to the ceiling. Sand found it odd that they hadn¡¯t met anyone on the way down here but recalling Kreg¡¯s statement back in the clinic that Torak wanted his existence to remain a secret till his debut, he discarded his doubts.


    The mural of a demonic face was sculpted into the door. It had ram¡¯s horns on the sides of its head and elephantine tusks sticking out of the corners of its mouth. A vertical third eye remained tightly shut in the middle of its forehead but when the two of them approached, it snapped open.


    A violet-black beam of light originating from it illuminated both their forms. A strong sense of crisis covered Sand¡¯s heart. He was sure that if he made a wrong move now, he would be eliminated by the light.


    ¡®A Trial Light shard. By the colour of its light, it¡¯s at Tier 5. For the Arena storehouse to have such stern protection¡­ Maybe the rumours were true and the Gehenna treasury is directly connected to this place. In my previous life, just before I was besieged, a few human groups were planning to take this place as a breach and attack the treasury. I heard that they met with a disastrous defeat. This shard is probably why.¡¯


    As he was thinking, Kreg took out a palm-sized hexagonal token made out of a material that seemed to absorb all light that fell on it. The third eye moved in its socket, focusing the beam on the token to examine it. After a moment, the light dimmed and finally extinguished as the eye shut, restoring the demonic mural to its former inactive state.


    Turning to Sand, Kreg handed him the token. Pinching it in his fingers, Sand could feel its cold, smooth edges. For such a small piece of stone, it was surprisingly heavy.


    ¡°Now, take this and walk up to the gate, it¡¯ll let ye in. Inside, ye¡¯ll see all sorts of shards. Each one has a description written on a wooden plaque by its side. Ye don¡¯t havta read it. Jest touch the token to the plaque and the information will flow into yer mind. Remember, ye only get ta pick one shard with that token. If ye try ta grab more, or don¡¯t behave yerself in there¡­ Well, ye saw that light didn¡¯t ye? There¡¯ll be nothing left of ye. Not even ash.¡±


    Nodding to indicate that he had taken the warning to heart, Sand held the token in front of himself and walked up to the gate. When his outstretched arm holding the token touched the stone, the demonic face suddenly opened its mouth impossibly wide. Lunging forward, it swallowed him whole.


    Slowly, the stone face sank back into the gate, leaving Kreg standing alone in the desolate corridor.

 10: Embryonic Dungeon

    A Whisperer is a magical tree that usually grows in clumps. The roots of the trees are connected to each other, fusing them together into a collective known unimaginatively as the Whispering Woods. Depending on the scale, the entire grove is assigned a Tier. Upon reaching the scale of Tier 1, the collective condenses a shard called Scribe that can record every sound within the range of the grove in the form of notches on its bark. When the wind blows through the trees, it triggers the shard to read out the recorded sounds, causing mortals who stray into the woods to fearfully assume that the forest is haunted.


    In combination with other skill shards, this property can be used to convert text to sound and vice-versa. And in fact, written language originated from the study of these traces on the bark of the trees. Till this day, irrespective of how phonetically diverse two languages are, they all share the same unified script. Whisperer truly deserves its moniker ¨C the Font of Scripts.


    Sand¡¯s field of view changed abruptly as he was swallowed down by the demonic face. Staggering, he regained his balance and took stock of his surroundings. White. Pristine white floor, featureless ceiling and blank walls, all in a perfectly cubical room. His eyes widened as he realized the true nature of the demon gate. It was a Dungeon ¨C the embryonic form of one.


    If he wasn¡¯t wrong in his analysis, then the shard used to teleport him here was a Spatial Tunnel shard. And it had to be at Tier 5 to merge so flawlessly with the Tier 5 Trial Light shard. That wasn¡¯t all, there had to be a time shard of a similar level otherwise it wouldn''t be practical to use the Dungeon as a storehouse that was frequented by people.


    A space shard was absolutely necessary for a Dungeon to form. Without it, the Dungeon would lack the concept of space and would just be an infinitesimally small point. And if the Dungeon was to allow the survival of life within it, a time shard was indispensable as well. Without a time shard, the interior of the Dungeon would be frozen in time like a still picture. Many of the natural Dungeons found scattered around the world suffered from this problem. If any living being strayed within such a Dungeon without an appropriate time skill, they would be forever stuck there like an insect preserved in amber.


    Even then, not just any time shard would do. One had to be selective. Depending on the skill possessed by the shard, the speed of flow of time within the Dungeon formed would vary greatly. For example, a Agility shard would make the time within the Dungeon flow faster relative to the time in the outside world. This was both an advantage and a disadvantage. While it allowed the environment within the Dungeon to develop at an accelerated pace, letting the Dungeon mage produce resources much faster, it would also reduce the lifespan of anyone who entered by ageing them faster. A Slow shard would have the exactly opposite effect, slowing the relative flow of time instead.


    Then there were even stranger Dungeons such as ones with shards such as the Day, Week, Month or Year shards as a constituent element. They would reset to their initial state after a fixed period of time that was determined by the shard in question. This was particularly useful for some very specific resources such as plants with short life-cycles that totally exhausted the fertility of the soil they grew in.


    But the cost of promoting a time shard to Tier 5 was astronomical, especially with the rarity of the food required to sustain it. Thus, the mages had to consider the utility of their time shard of choice. If it was something useless like a Clock shard that did nothing but tell time more and more accurately as it promoted up the Tiers, they wouldn''t be able to make ends meet unless they were vigorously subsidized.


    ¡®It¡¯s an Embryonic Dungeon. No wonder the attack on it failed. Given the function of the Spatial Tunnel shard, the attackers could have been transported directly to some dead space and left there to suffocate. The difference between a Mortal Mage and a Dungeon Mage is truly vast. It¡¯s a qualitative change ¨C something quantity can''t make up for. After all, once you form your Dungeon, even as an embryonic form, you become the lord of an entire world,¡¯ mused Sand as he explored the blank room, searching for an outlet.


    The reason he was sure that the Dungeon was incomplete was firstly, despite the presence of space and time, there wasn¡¯t any earth, sky, vegetation or life. In fact, if he wasn¡¯t making a mistake in judgement, then even the gravity and the air present was the result of lower Tier shards used in an auxiliary fashion. The fluctuating weight of his body even within the confines of this small room was the best proof. If it had truly been integrated, then the force would be uniformly distributed. Secondly, in his previous lifetime, he had never heard of the news of a Dungeon Mage in Gehenna. The strongest mage in the city was the Chieftain ¨C a Violet Mage.


    ¡®This Embryonic Dungeon is probably the accumulation of generation after generation of city lords improving it and integrating their Tier 5 shards into it posthumously. Most cities probably have something like this¡­¡¯ he speculated.


    This was something new to him. Even though he had been a Dungeon Mage in his previous life, he had been on the run and fighting for his life for the most part. That had forced him to focus his time and energy on growing strong. He hadn¡¯t joined any human organization either, preferring to simply assist them on a freelance basis. Thus, he hadn¡¯t been entrusted with the knowledge of this grade of secret.


    ¡®Given more time, it has the possibility of evolving into a full-fledged Dungeon. Though that is quite unlikely.¡¯


    Just haphazardly throwing skill shards together wouldn''t result in a valid Dungeon. Shard incompatibility was a huge issue. The only reason Sand had been able to promote to a Dungeon Mage so smoothly in his previous life was because of the inheritance of a Dungeon Mage that he had stumbled upon. If not for the detailed record of exactly which shards to use and the attainments of the mage in feeding and cultivating them, it would have been impossible for him to achieve the height that he had.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Even then, it had been a path filled with trials and tribulations that made him exclaim in surprise at the fact that he had successfully traversed it every single time.


    ¡®Now, where is the exit? Surely, they didn¡¯t send me in just to trap me in here,¡¯ frowned Sand as he couldn''t find any sort of breach in the hermetically sealed cube.


    Suddenly, the token he had placed in his pocket vibrated and flew out of his pocket, levitating towards one of the walls. Sand couldn''t help but feel a little silly for forgetting about it in his shock at contacting a Dungeon so early in the timeline.


    When the jet-black token approached the wall, it seemed to fold outwards in a strange, disorienting manner, forming a hexagonal portal that was spanned by an inky membrane. The token flew back to Sand and fell in his outstretched hand.


    ¡®Truly the Spatial Tunnel shard,¡¯  he affirmed before stepping through the membrane.


    Passing through the portal felt like crossing a field of static. Every hair on his body stood upright as the tingling sensation covered him.


    His field of view changed again as he came out on the other side. Shivering involuntarily, he rubbed his arms and pressed down on his vertical hair to tamp them down before taking stock of his surroundings.


    It was a room very similar to the one he had just come from, except for the fact that it was several times larger and cuboidal. Rather than a room, it was more of a lengthy corridor with recessed compartments that lined both walls. The walls, ceilings and the compartments were made out of the same white, featureless material that composed the rest of the Dungeon.


    Genesis stone it was called. The base material every Dungeon was made of at the time of its birth. It could evolve into any material influenced by the shards that composed the Dungeon. For some reason, the moment genesis stone was taken out of a Dungeon, it would spontaneously combust in heatless transparent flames and integrate into nature leading to speculation that it was actually a solidified form of mana. The presence of the genesis stone was another indication of the immaturity of this Dungeon. In a full-fledged Dungeon, all the genesis stone would have already been converted to other materials like soil, air and water.


    Walking up to the shelves, Sand observed that each and every one of them contained a shard with a plaque made out of umber wood describing them.


    When he tried to reach out and touch a shard, his hand bumped against a transparent, achromatic barrier. Unflustered, he tried using the token. The barrier dissolved at the token¡¯s approach but just before it passed through the boundary of the compartment, an information transmitted directly into his mind in the form of a mechanical voice, making him pause.


    ¡®I have to exchange the token for the shard. The moment I make the exchange, I¡¯ll be transmitted out of here,¡¯ confirmed Sand, testing the veracity of the information written on the plaque.


    His gaze fell on the innocuous plaque that had been covered by a mild gloss upon the token¡¯s proximity. ¡®Whispering wood. As I thought, each one is a plank hewn from whispering wood. How luxurious,¡¯ he exclaimed internally.


    Whispering woods were quite rare and ones that grew to the scale required to condense a shard, rarer still. Using so much of the timber to merely annotate the shards demonstrated the rich resources of Gehenna.


    Along with the instructions on how to use the token came information on the particular shard Sand was observing. It was a tiny flesh coloured crystal cube that had hair-thin strands of crystal emerging from each of its corners and digging into the slab of flesh upon which it was placed.


    ¡°A Tier 1 Strength shard that has been obtained from a Desert Spider,¡± read out the voice directly in his mind, ¡°Advantages: Eight strands; each able to amplify the force of a limb. High levels of amplification. Disadvantages: Uneven amplification resulting in exploitable flaws. Parasites upon the muscular tissue ¨C requires protein-rich diet. Relatively expensive compared to other strength shards.


    ¡°Advice: Use in conjunction with a transformation class shard to grow extra limbs to leverage the full potential of the shard. Requires the user to strengthen the skeleton to bear the amplified strength.¡±


    Sand nodded at the description. It was quite succinct and gave a good idea of what the prospects of the shard were. The same Strength shard, depending on its origin could vary widely. For example, Sand was sure that Kreg¡¯s Strength shard originated from a Stone Camel and uniformly increased the quality and output of his muscles. Additionally, depending on the origin, the shards would require different foods. As a predator, the Desert Spider fed on flesh and its shard was adapted accordingly. The Stone Camel on the other hand ate sand so Kreg had to eat the same. For that, he would need an auxiliary gourmet class shard called the Iron Gut shard that would help him digest the sand.


    That would have the advantage of drastically reducing the feeding costs.


    Feeding, Combination and Utilization. These were the three arts inherent to magical cultivation for Mortal Mages. Dungeon mages had to proficient in one additional aspect ¨C Dungeon Management. If the mage was inept in any single field, he could give up any idea of achieving success.


    Sand walked away from the Spider Strength shard. It was a very good shard even with its feeding cost and could tie in very well with an Asura Transformation shard looking more than impressive. A requirement necessary for him to garner the attention he needed for his subsequent plans.


    But it wasn¡¯t what he was looking for. He had a very clear idea of the shard he wanted. In fact, it could be said that the shard was the very reason he was so eager to be here in the first place.


    Strolling leisurely through the aisle, Sand took inventory of every shard he came across. All the ones in this room were Tier 1. He was sure that the higher Tier shards were in other, similar rooms. Each shard was stored in a different manner appropriate to it and the dazzling variety of skills broadened even his outlook. After all, he was a free mage without the backing or education of an organization.


    From time to time he would stop to check the description of a skill, memorizing its characteristics, advantages and weaknesses. This information was a similarly huge harvest, on par with the skill he would get.


    Finally, after touring the entire corridor ¨C counting exactly nine-hundred and four shards in the process ¨C he stopped in front of a particular compartment that contained a jagged ruby-red crystal that was floating upon a stone bowl filled to the brim with blood.


    It was the rare skill that had cemented his reputation as the Bloody Devil in his previous life ¨C the medical skill shard: Phlebotomy. His eyes were profound as he reached out and picked it up, depositing the token in its place.


    The mechanical voice rang out in his mind once again. ¡°Tier 1 Phlebotomy shard that has been obtained from an Oasis Leech. Causes wounds inflicted on an opponent to bleed profusely and makes them difficult to heal. Advantages: Superior to an ordinary Bleed skill due to the added effect of detoxification of the blood-stream. Disadvantages: Decreased bleeding volume compared to an ordinary Bleed shard. Feeds on the user¡¯s blood. Requires nutritious diet that promotes formation of blood. May result in chronic anaemia.


    ¡°Advice: Use in conjunction with Blood Manipulating skills for maximum effect.¡±


    Then, a dark vortex appeared, swallowing him up and transmitting out of the Dungeon.

 11: Blood Bond

    Crossing his arms across his chest, Kreg leaned back against the stone walls of the corridor as he waited for the boy to exit the Demon Gate. Time ran faster inside than it did outside ¨C six times faster to be precise ¨C so he could afford to wait for him to make his choice.


    His knowledge of the secrets of the Demon Gate was a sign of Master Silveros¡¯ favour. The fact that the astute orc had chosen to spend the coin required to have a mage with an Oath shard draw up a contract binding Kreg to secrecy showed that he valued him above his other subordinates. The contract had led to Silveros putting more trust in him and Kreg knew more than most mages when it came to the mysteries of Dungeons.


    While most knew that a violet mage was the peak of mortal magic and beyond that lay the realm of Dungeon mages, they had no idea what becoming a Dungeon mage truly entailed. They didn¡¯t know that skill shards could merge into a Dungeon and that the Dungeon so formed was the basis of a Dungeon mage¡¯s power. They didn¡¯t know that all skills weren¡¯t compatible with each other ¨C choosing each one on the basis of its individual merit, lacking consideration for the whole.


    Fortunately, or unfortunately, most of these ignorant mages lacked the talent required to reach the level of a violet mage. Thus, their choices were actually optimal for their situation.


    The silver mine was one of the economic backbones of the Silveros family. A large part of the reason for Kreg¡¯s appointment there was his contract with his master. As the current head of the Silveros family, Torak obviously wanted to consolidate the family¡¯s power in his own hand ¨C side-lining the competing factions within his family. Sending a trusted subordinate to supervise the working of the mine was an obvious step to take.


    The thing about magic was that to maintain one¡¯s realm, a constant stream of resources was required to counterbalance the drain in one¡¯s mana resulting from skill usage, physical exertion and even the slow, natural conversion of mana to heat.


    The higher one¡¯s realm, the more resources one needed. A red mage could hope to supplement his mana with ample food and strenuous exercise but a yellow mage could only pin his hope on energy rich foods prepared by chefs with specialized skills. After all, there was only so much food one could digest in a day. The volume of ordinary food that would be needed to supplement yellow mana was impractical to say the least.


    If a yellow mage didn¡¯t promptly replenish his mana when he ran out of it, then there was a high probability that his realm would drop back to that of a red mage. Therefore, magical power was inextricably tied to economic prosperity.


    Torak Silveros was a blue mage today because he could leverage his status as the Head of the Silveros family to allocate its resources to maintaining his magical prowess. Who was to say that there wouldn''t be another Silveros sitting in his place tomorrow?


    There were far more mages with high-grade talent capable of reaching the level of a blue mage than there were actual blue mages. Each mage that had crawled his way up to that position or higher couldn''t be underestimated. Their magic was a testament to their intelligence and charisma being far beyond that of their peers.


    Kreg himself possessed a middle-grade talent and depending on how well he served his master, he could expect to step into the ranks of a green mage in his lifetime. That was why he had decided to risk the initial capital required to test his ore-slaves for magical aptitude for the last three years.


    This year, his scheme had finally borne fruit and he had managed to identify two slaves with magical talent. Crooked and Sand. The former, once fitted with a logistic skill, would more than make up for his investment by becoming a valuable magical slave. The latter ¨C now that had been a pleasant surprise.


    Not only was the boy¡¯s natural talent high, his disposition was extremely suited to the charnel house that was the Arena of Sin. Kreg couldn''t help but anticipate the skill he would choose as his first and his subsequent performance in the Arena. Anyone who could kill a Tier 1 magical beast with the body of a mortal was a freak. And the Arena was where these freaks gathered to spill each other¡¯s blood for the enjoyment of their audience.


    With the creaking of stone against stone the demonic face came to life, alerting Kreg to Sand¡¯s return. Pushing off the wall he had been leaning on, he stood straight with his arms crossed across his chest as he stared at the emerging portal.


    The mouth of the demon opened disproportionately wide, ejecting Sand out of the dark vortex that formed within it. Staggering to a stop, the boy watched as the portal disappeared along with the shutting of the demon¡¯s mouth, leaving an inanimate mural behind.


    Turning around, he faced Kreg¡¯s vision of anticipation. Opening his clenched palm, he offered up the shard he had chosen.


    Picking the blood-red crystal up with his fingers, Kreg stared at it with narrowed eyes.


    ¡®Quite the sly little thing,¡¯ he sneered internally. ¡®A shard that combines attack and healing, even though its not as impressive offensively as many of the other choices, it gives ¡®im a way out.¡¯Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Even in victory, Gladiators often ended up injured too seriously to fight again. Rather than spend to heal them or pay a mage with a Dissociate skill to remove their shard while they still lived and transfer them to logistics duty, it became cheaper to kill them and recycle their shards.


    ¡®By choosing a dual-purpose shard, ''e at least doesn¡¯t have to worry about that. I guess it ain¡¯t that surprising seeing ''e chopped ''is own arm off. His self-preservation consciousness is greatly strengthened. Not a bad thing but he''s got ta survive the first few rounds with a lacklustre shard. Well, better to risk it now, I guess, than later when ¡®is opponents are gettin¡¯ stronger and stronger.¡¯


    Pinning Sand with his gaze he asked, ¡°Why did ye go and pick this one?¡±


    ¡°Master Torak was kind enough to heal me up and even let me have a shard so I wanted to pick a shard that¡¯d let me earn some coin of my own to repay him someday. I saw the medic back at the mine and the one who healed me earning a lot so I chose a healing shard that could attack too.¡±


    ¡®False!'' Kreg snorted contemptuously. ''But¡­ come to think of it¡­¡¯ He rubbed his chin with his finger as he stared at Sand appraisingly, ¡®I could use ¡®im to solve my problem.¡¯


    Shaking his head, he decided to tackle the matter later. ¡°Whatever ye say, boy. Whatever ye say. Come with me, I¡¯ll put ye in yer quarters and help ye fuse that skill,¡± he said before striding away, motioning for Sand to follow.


    Having caught on to his pause, Sand affirmed that he had succeeded in planting the suggestion into Kreg¡¯s mind. Now he would go back and consider the matter along the path Sand had guided his thoughts down.


    ¡®For his wife to rent a clinic in such a lucrative location like the Arena, he must have invested much. There should be no dearth of medics who covet her clinic, and now, with her unable to use her skills due to her pregnancy, they must be putting pressure on the couple to evacuate the premises. But once they leave, it will be near impossible to get the clinic back. So, all they can do is forcefully occupy it by paying the rent without any returns. But my appearance solves this problem perfectly. By allowing me to take her place and use my shard under her guidance, they can resume the business. All they need to do is pay me a pittance in comparison to their actual profits.¡¯


    Analysing the current situation, Sand had decided to choose the Phlebotomy shard first. It would be much more useful now. Not only would it allow him to earn more resources to boost his cultivation speed by taking advantage of Kreg¡¯s situation, it would be much safer as well. Rather than later when each fight became extremely close ¨C and every single mistake, life-threating; it would be better to take the shard now when his extremely rich fight-experience could tide him over its weak lethality.


    Sand followed Kreg down a winding network of corridors until they reached a row of cells. Solid stone doors blocked the sight of their interiors with only a narrow slat affording their occupants a view of the outside. As the two of them passed by the cells, Sand could clearly feel hostile gazes settling upon him before flinching fearfully at the sight of Kreg. All of them were eerily silent.


    Reaching the end of the corridor, Kreg took out another hexagonal token from his pocket, this time made of a mottled brown rock, and slotted it into a matching impression. With a grating rumble, the heavy door was winched upwards, revealing the interior.


    Nondescript stone walls, a stone bed with a folded bedsheet and a pillow atop it, a depression with a channel leading away (what Sand assumed was the toilet), and a metallic table that had been bolted down to the ground ¨C all squeezed into a space a mere few square metres large. Windows were conspicuously absent and the only sources of ventilation were the slat in the door and a narrow duct leading away from one upper corner of the room.


    ¡°I was gonna make ye work up a sweat and fill yer mana the good old way but since I¡¯m in a good mood and I don¡¯t have time to waste, ye can have this.¡± Kraig said, tossing a small wooden box at Sand.


    Catching it, he fumbled around with it till he found the seam and pried it open with his fingernails. A sweet scent fluttered from the reddish-orange pill that was revealed within. ¡°That¡¯s a mana-replenishing pill. Just swallow it down without crackin¡¯ it with yer teeth.¡± instructed Kreg.


    Unhesitant, Sand popped the pill, worked up some saliva and swallowed it down. Suddenly, he felt as though instead of a pill, he had swallowed a burning piece of coal. A tremendous heat began to radiate from it as it made its way down his gullet, his entire body blushing with the heat. Beads of sweat trickled out of him before vaporizing in a translucent mist, turning his form fuzzy. Then with a throb, the heat coalesced into a strand of red mana that branched out into several hair-thin streams, permeating his muscles, blood, bones, and organs. Under Sand¡¯s control, the rate of mana formation only matched that of a mage with medium-level talent.


    ¡°Don¡¯t waste the precious pill, ye idiot!¡± berated Kreg, ¡°Use yer mana to find yer pores and then will them closed. Ye need ta learn to gather mana without the crutch of the mud.¡±


    Pretending to follow his instructions, Sand tried and failed intentionally a few times before showing a passable prowess in locking the heat within his body. Under the dual influence of the pill and the sealed pores, his mana levels began to shoot up, dyeing the interior of his body an ethereal red.


    Pulling out a dagger, before he could react, Kreg grabbed Sand¡¯s right wrist and slashed across it causing blood to spew out copiously. Bringing the skill shard up to the gash, Kreg brought it in contact with the blood. Immediately, the jagged, sanguine crystal absorbed the blood greedily, making Sand feel dizzy from blood-loss and sway on his feet. Having drunk its fill, the crystal bloomed with a beautiful blood-light, dissolving into a sparkling, red liquid and sneaking into his veins. The wound healed at an observable speed, vanishing within moments, leaving a jagged scar behind.


    The mana that was still being released by the pill within his body seethed as the skill began to integrate into his bloodstream. One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three; with every beat of Sand¡¯s heart, the shard began to reform within his atrium, each cycle of blood bringing more parts of the dissolved shard and depositing it on the growing crystal.


    Finally, with a bright flash that lit his chest red from the inside, the skill shard merged completely with him. Now, it was his -- unto death.

 12: Progress?

    Sand exhaled steam as he pushed himself up with his thumbs for the hundredth time. With a stronger thrust, he pushed himself upright. Flexing his aching hands to relieve the fatigue, he cupped them behind his head and began his set of sit-ups.


    It was the third straight hour he had been exercising ¨C beginning at dawn. Or, at least, what his biological clock told him was dawn. In his windowless cell, it was impossible to tell. His meticulously followed routine at the mines was helping him tell the time now. His body woke him automatically when it was time for his morning run, currently his exercise regimen.


    Despite the strenuous exercise, there wasn¡¯t a single droplet of sweat to be seen on his shirtless body. The consequence of him sealing each and every one of his pores. His skin roughened and browned by his years in the harsh environment of the desert was flushed with the heat contained within. Periodically, the flush would recede and his body temperature would fall as the trapped heat was condensed into mana, replenishing his reserves depleted by over-exertion.


    To hide his top ranked talent, Sand had decided to convert his mana into physical strength instead of simply discarding it. As he repeatedly pushed his body beyond its limits, the muscles would fray and the bones would fissure under the strain, triggering his mana¡¯s healing property. As this cycle of destruction and regeneration continued, his muscles would grow tougher and his bones denser. The benefits were nearly imperceptible and extremely slow to accumulate ¨C but they were there and that was all that mattered to Sand. As for the excruciating agony involved; compared to wasting mana and therefore his time, it was nothing to speak of.


    The only thing he had to be careful about was his food intake. While becoming a mage had vastly increased his efficiency when it came to tapping into the energy locked within food (a leap from ten percent to over ninety percent with his talent) it hadn''t removed his body¡¯s need for nutrients. His demand for meat was especially urgent given the hell he was putting himself through. Not to mention the blood price his shard levied upon him each day.


    Thankfully, the wardens were quite accommodating towards the dietary demands of the prisoners. After all, starving warriors didn¡¯t make for entertaining fights. Twice a day, mornings and evenings, the door to his prison would be lifted slightly and a plate heaped with boiled beans, a chunk of meat and a jug of camel milk would be pushed in. The empty utensils from the previous meal would be received, and with the rattling of chains over a winch, the door would slam shut again.


    Eat, sleep, exercise ¨C that had been the gist of Sand¡¯s days for the week since Kreg had shoved him into the cell and seemingly forgotten about him. But he didn¡¯t mind. In fact, he quite enjoyed these days of monotony where he could focus single-mindedly on strengthening his body and magic, observing progress with each passing day. He knew it wouldn''t last so he treasured it all the more.


    Concluding his routine with a set of stretches designed to limber every joint and muscle and allow his mana to permeate into the deepest recesses of his body to alleviate his fatigue, he checked the state of his body with his perception of his mana.


    Currently, every corner of his body was dyed a rich crimson ¨C the colour of his mana. In some spots, the mana demonstrated a scarlet tint indicating his proximity to the next stage of magic. Each of the five tiers of magic was divided into three stages, initial, middle and final. The transition was indicated by the alteration of the colour of one¡¯s mana. A Red Mage had crimson mana in the initial stage, scarlet mana in the middle stage and vermillion mana in the final stage before, with another condensation, the red mana transformed into the yellow mana characteristic of the next tier.


    The importance of talent made itself known once again because the percentage of red mana that could be condensed into yellow mana was determined by it. A mage with top grade natural talent could condense ninety percent of it, one with high grade talent could condense eighty percent of it and so on till a mage with low grade talent who could only condense sixty percent of the mana. As for those with barely passable talent ¨C they couldn''t condense it at all, their path of magic blocked by this near unsurmountable obstacle.


    Scanning his body with his mana also revealed the traces malnutrition and overexertion had left on his young body during his time as a slave in Gura¡¯s caravan. His growth was stunted and his stomach had shrunk to compensate for his perpetual state of hunger so that he could be satisfied with very little. While an advantage for a slave-child, this was a deathblow to a mage who relied heavily on his digestion to fuel his magic. These few days, Sand had to fight to keep his food down each time he gorged himself.


    ¡®In my previous life, I used an Iron Gut shard to remedy the situation and even raised it all the way to Tier 4 by the time I found the Blood Gourmand inheritance. It had a much better method but by then, it was too late to change it.¡¯


    To swap a bonded skill, a mage would need to use a Dissociate shard of equivalent level. Not only were the shards rare, they were monopolized by major influences and families and were nearly impossible to find on the market. Not to mention the dangers inherent to the removal of shards. As they bonded to some particular organ (the Phlebotomy shard with the heart for example) the removal damaged the organ. The higher the Tier of the shard, the more integrated they were and the riskier they were to remove.


    Thankfully, the Iron Gut shard was one of the most commonly used shards in existence. Its utility and ubiquity resulted in nearly every mage using one at some point of time. After all, better digestive faculties meant faster magical progress and the broad palate it opened up for the mage was mandatory for those with skill shards that required exotic diets such as Kreg¡¯s sandy diet. It didn¡¯t hurt that it saved a pretty penny in food expenses.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    As such, the original Blood Gourmand had created his Dungeon with this shard as a component. But before his death, he had vastly refined and improved the Dungeon formula, leaving it behind to posterity in the hope that they would be able to realize the fruits of his research. Unfortunately, Sand had to settle for following the original Dungeon formula in his previous life. It was one of his foremost regrets.


    ¡®This time, I can create the optimal version. Really anticipate it.¡¯


    Taking back his attention from the interior of his body, Sand seated himself on the hard, stone bed and waited for the door to open and the warden to deliver the first meal of the day. As though summoned by his rumbling stomach, the heavy door started rising with the clank of chains and the rumble of rock against rock. But instead of stopping a short way up, the door lifted all the way, revealing the form of Kreg tapping his foot impatiently on the other side.


    Ducking into the cell before the door opened fully, the muscular orc strode up to Sand and roughly grabbed his arm. Probing him with his mana, Kreg¡¯s frown stretched slightly as he noticed the progress in the boy¡¯s cultivation.


    ¡°Not bad, boy. Not bad at all. Ye might just be worth all the hoops I had ta jump through to get ye into mah clinic,¡± he commended. ¡°Well, be not gawking, boy. Ye¡¯ve got a job ta do.¡±


    Kreg nearly dragged Sand out of the cell, shooting a dirty glare at the warden ¨C an albino orc with red eyes and white skin ¨C who saw them off with pockets as heavy as his grin was wide.


    ¡°Ye better be worth it,¡± he grumbled for the fifth time in as many minutes as he brought Sand in front of his wife¡¯s clinic and knocked on the door.


    ¡°Come in!¡±


    Pushing the door open, the two of them were treated to the sight of Kreg¡¯s wife lounging on her couch while the bed was occupied by the unconscious form of a human. A tourniquet was tightly wrapped around the man¡¯s right bicep, the skin beneath discoloured a blotchy blue with his veins standing out in an inky black.


    ¡°How much mana does he have?¡± she asked.


    ¡°A full body of crimson going on to scarlet,¡± replied Kreg.


    Nodding, she tossed a sheathed knife at Sand who caught it out of the air. ¡°Me name¡¯s Anya¡­ that¡¯s Mistress Anya to ye,¡± she said. ¡°Now, go and cut a gash in ¡®is arm.¡±


    Walking up to the man on the bed, Sand obeyed, unsheathing the knife and drawing a line along one of the blackened veins with its honed edge. With a spurt, black blood gushed out, dropping into the stone vat placed beneath. Wisps of darkness rose from the liquid in the vat.


    ¡°Bring yer palm near the wound and push some mana into yer shard. It ain¡¯t that hard just think ¡®bout doin¡¯ it real hard.¡±


    Closing his eyes and wearing an intense look of concentration, Sand pretended to fumble with his mana while he smoothly grabbed hold of some of the ethereal substance with his mind and fed it into the blood-red crystal in his heart. Under his control, the brilliance of the active crystal was restrained within his heart, hidden from the eyes of the observing orcs.


    Nearly a fifth of his mana was absorbed by the skill ¨C setting him back by nearly a day¡¯s worth of exercise. This was the first time he had activated the skill since he hadn''t wanted to waste his mana. If he was a true novice, then he would have to use the skill several tens of times just to familiarize himself with it to the point that he was confident of using it in battle. Each attempt requiring a huge chunk of his mana.


    This was the reason mages were so stingy with their skills. When one use required hours of laborious preparation, magic became expensive. Only if they supplemented their mana with special foods or pills would they be able to freely use their magic. Resources. It always boiled down to resources.


    Thankfully, Sand had used the Phlebotomy skill several hundred times, if not a thousand times in his previous lifetime. He couldn''t be more familiar with its usage. To allay suspicion, he had to fail the first time but instead of wasting his mana by botching it deliberately, he cast the skill secretly, using it to inspect the man¡¯s arm.


    The skill could aggravate the bleeding of a wound while at the same time detoxifying the bloodstream. As such, it had the auxiliary effect of being able to detect toxins that were present in the blood. And if one was adept enough in its use, one could get a general idea of the kind of poison it was. With a mere sweep, Sand could tell exactly what poison it was that plagued the man. His deduction a combination of his expertise and the knowledge of skill shards he had gained from his tour to the storehouse.


    He remembered seeing an empty shelf with the plaque above it carrying information about its former contents.


    ¡°Tier 1 Shadow Venom shard obtained from a Nocturnal Scorpion. Advantages: Highly toxic. Extremely persistent, regenerating within the darkness of the body of the victim. Disadvantages: Susceptible to light skills. Heavy drain on mana.¡±


    ¡°Advice: Use at night or in conjunction with other darkness inducing skills to amplify toxicity and persistence.¡±


    Opening his eyes, he showed an anxious expression as he emulated the reaction of someone who had just squandered several hours of effort away in vain. Kreg chuckled only to shrink as his wife shot him a withering glare.


    ¡°Try again!¡± Anya commanded sternly. ¡°And if ye can''t do it this time, it¡¯s the whip for ye. I don¡¯t tolerate wastrels in me ward.¡±


    Clenching his teeth, Sand attempted the activation again and this time, he ¡®barely¡¯ managed to do it. His chest glowed with a soft red light that travelled down his arm to his outstretched palm. A bloody radiance shone upon the clotting gash on the man¡¯s arm and the effect was immediate.


    The wound split wide as though it was being ripped apart from the inside by the pressure of the blood and jet-black blood gushed out, spattering into the vat beneath. The inky liquid trundled in the vat, bubbles forming and bursting, releasing more of the wisps of darkness. Sand¡¯s face grew pale from the heavy drain on his mana as the blood that flowed out grew clearer and the blotchy blue tint receded. Yet, in the absence of Anya¡¯s permission to desist, he had to clench his teeth and insist.


    Finally, the last drop of blood in the poisoned arm drained out, leaving it shrivelled like a dried raisin. Not a moment too soon as Sand¡¯s mana hit the bottom at the exact same time.


    Dizzy from the sudden waves of weakness assaulting him, Sand staggered back, tripped over his own feet and plopped down on his behind, hard. Breathing hard, he couldn''t help but smile wryly in his mind.


    ¡®Magic is hard.¡¯

 13: Undead Marrow

    The Spine of the World ¨C that was the name of the mountain range that stretched from east to west, separating the desert in the north from the fertile plains and lush meadows on the other side. It was said that when seen from an aerial vantage high enough, the cloud-piercing peaks perpetually covered with snow resembled vertebrae jutting out from their sheath of muscle. The mottled reddish-yellow rock that composed the mountains lent credence to the comparison. As did the number of peaks in the range: thirty-three.


    In the summer months, the snowmelt would trickle down as burbling brooks that joined together, growing wider and more voluminous as they rushed down the mountains along the channels cut by water over millennia. Brooks merged into streams and streams into the five major rivers that cut through the golden sands. Three-month rivers they were called and the river Jhelum was one of the five. The main rivers and their tributaries supported the cities that had sprouted up like mushrooms along their banks allowing the orcs to maintain the population they did.


    Beyond that, the rare oases were the only other places life could exist in the arid landscape of the Tyhr.


    Gehenna, the City of Sin, one of the major cities located on the bank of one of the tributaries of the Jhelum nearing the main course of the river, was the entertainment hub of the surrounding regions. Bars, casinos, brothels, and the Arena of Sin ¨C they had it all. Throughout the year, caravans of traders and tourists riding sand surfers or camels would be seen entering and exiting the city like ants drawn to honey.


    It was an economy fuelled by hedonism, and in the middle of the barren desert, it was all the more garish.


    Sand sat cross-legged upon his bed in his cell, meditating. Once he had adjusted his condition to the optimal state, he opened his eyes and looked at the three new additions to his room. First, most conspicuous, was the large stone vat in one corner of the room sealed shut with a heavy stone lid. Then there was the wooden box he had placed on his bedside table. Finally, lying on the bed in front of him cradled in a porcelain crucible filled with chalk dust was a shard.


    All three were remuneration for his work at the clinic.


    Kreg had given him two choices. He could either have all his payments in the form of mana replenishing pills ¨C the same pill he had granted Sand to rapidly top up his mana before fusing his first shard. Or, he could choose his second skill ahead of time for the price of half his earnings for the month. If he chose the shard, he would have to fight within the week.


    Sand had chosen the shard without hesitation.


    If his goal was merely surviving in the pits, then the first choice would have been the logical decision but his goal was freedom. And for his plans to succeed, he needed to reach the peak of the rankings for Yellow mages within two years and hold his spot against challengers for several weeks at the very least to catch the attention of the distinguished guest that would visit at that time.


    The more matches he won the faster he would climb the ranks and the more resources he would receive. A positive cycle that would see him to the top. Added to the fact that following his Dungeon prescription was quite time-consuming, if he didn¡¯t rush, there was a high probability that he would miss the opportunity. And the next one would take several more years to arrive. He was sure that the more he delayed, the more the timelines would diverge and his escape would grow more unsure. So, the second choice was, in fact, his only plausible one.


    He fixed his gaze on the shard. It looked like a piece of mesh rolled up into a thin cylinder, except that the mesh was made up of purple crystalline material. The name of the shard was Undead Marrow. It was an extremely special shard, the very basis of the entire ecosystem of the Myriad Toxins desert area. The skill description came to mind.


    ¡°Tier 1 Undead Marrow shard obtained from a Bone Monster. Advantages: Very effective defence and recovery shard that becomes more comprehensive as it rises through the Tiers. At Tier 1, it greatly strengthens the bones of the user. Disadvantages: Difficult to feed as it requires various toxins as sustenance. Expensive and rare toxins are required for promotion.¡±


    ¡°Advice: Appropriate auxiliary shard is needed to deal with the toxin.¡±


    Even without the description he had read in the storehouse, Sand was extremely familiar with the shard. In his previous life he had spent quite a bit of time in the Myriad Toxins desert area in order to cast off the pursuit of the orcs sent after his trail. In that desolate land where the only things that could survive were the dead, where the land was perpetually shrouded by multicoloured clouds of toxic miasma, where slaughter was a way of life ¨C he had spent ten years studying the ecosystem to improve his own Dungeon.


    It could be said that he was an expert in the ways of the undead.


    Getting up from the bed, he walked over to the table and opened the box. Inside lay four orange-red pills ¨C each the equivalent of one week of his exercise. His advance payment for the month.


    Given that he had to exhaust one pill worth of mana every session at the clinic and venomous injuries worth healer attention popped up three to four times a month, it would just be enough to break even. If he continued his exercise regimen, he could see the same level of progress as he originally would without his clinic duties. Since he had taken the shard this month, his mana levels would stagnate but counting the rewards for victory in his upcoming match and the eight pills he would receive at the beginning of the next month, he could make rapid progress.


    Without hesitation, Sand sealed his pores and popped the first pill. His skin flushed a bright red as the heat dilated his capillaries, nearly scorching him from inside. After a moment, the heat coalesced into mana. The mana was no longer the dark crimson of the initial stage but the bright scarlet of the middle stage of a Red mage. The scarlet mana was twice as dense as the crimson form and the aura it lent his body allowed him to simultaneously fuse two Tier 1 shards at once. When the last vestiges of the pill dissolved and turned into mana, Sand was at one-fourth of his full capacity.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    After consuming all four pills one after the other, his entire body was flooded with the scarlet mana with some areas tinged vermillion. Sand exhaled some steam and stretched to limber his body and let it adjust to the sudden influx of mana.


    Picking up the shard from the bed, he walked over to the vat in the corner of the room, gathering a strip of cloth, a knife and a short stick along the way. There was only one source of light in his cell, a glass lantern enclosed within a wire cage hanging from a hook driven into the wall beside the door. On his way to the vat, Sand paused at the lantern to dial down the wick, reducing the illumination of the room and casting it into deep shadow.


    Reaching the vat, he put the cloth down and carefully placed the shard atop it. Straining with all his might, he pushed the heavy stone lid, uncovering it and revealing the jet-black liquid within. It was the shadow venom he had extracted from the arm of the unconscious Gladiator.


    Looping the cloth around his left bicep, he twisted it tight with the help of the stick until with his mana senses he detected that the blood flow had been totally cut off. Then he plunged his hand into the dark liquid. The venom only came up to his wrist but that didn¡¯t stop it from rapidly seeping into his arm and spreading. Shadow venom was quite volatile when exposed to light but once it entered the body, in the darkness of a body¡¯s interior, its resilience and toxicity were astonishing.


    Within minutes, the liquid in the vat had turned clear as the toxin permeated into Sand¡¯s arm. He withdrew his arm and tried to flex it. It didn¡¯t respond. It was as if his arm didn¡¯t exist below the tourniquet. It looked exactly like the gladiator¡¯s arm, black veins beneath blotchy blue skin. Sand had been quite happy when the first patient he had treated had been infected by shadow venom. The venom was paralytic in nature, not corrosive, which was perfect for his needs.


    Placing the unresponsive arm on the ground, he gripped the knife in a back-handed grip with his right hand and drove the tip into the second section of his thumb. He felt nothing as the metal dug into bone and split it. Leveraging the knife, he widened the gap in the bone, revealing the marrow. Picking up the Undead Marrow shard, he touched it to the wound. As though sensing an appropriate habitat, the shard dissolved into a purplish liquid that seeped into the marrow. The bone miraculously knit together and the wound above it scarred over.


    Sitting back on his haunches, Sand pumped his mana into the shard. The purplish liquid greedily soaked up his mana and began to spread rapidly coating the inner walls of the canals in his bones with a mesh of purple crystal. The venom in the bloodstream was attracted through the pores of the bones and into the mesh then released back as a jet-black material that fused with his bones, strengthening them.


    Sand only stopped when all the venom and around half his mana was depleted before examining the results. The bones in his left arm up to three-quarters of his forearm had turned jet-black with the crystal mesh in their interior. All traces of the venom had disappeared from his bloodstream and the skin had regained its colour along with the return of all sensation.


    Removing the tourniquet, Sand flexed his arm and felt no difference. Taking up the knife, he drove it once again into his thumb. But this time with the sound of metal striking against metal, it bounced off the bone. Nodding in satisfaction, Sand used a bit of the cloth strip to bandage his wound. With his mana, it wouldn''t take long to heal.


    Strictly speaking, the Undead Marrow shard was a consumption class shard. It consumed itself to transform the body of its user. Its effects were permanent and didn¡¯t need to be activated with mana during a fight ¨C a passive skill. Depending on the kind of venom used to feed the shard, the characteristics of the bone that formed would be vastly different. It was one of the most versatile shards in existence.


    In the wild, affected by the strange environment of the Myriad Toxins desert area, the skeletons of the creatures that died there were reanimated. They had only one goal, fighting each other and perfecting their form. Skeleton battled skeleton unceasingly, the victor consuming the fallen. Finally, a Bone Monster would emerge out of the numerous skeletons ¨C the overlord of an area. The Bone Monster would proceed to condense an Undead Marrow shard. Deriving the toxins in the environment, it would improve its body until every single bone was filled by the Undead Marrow. It was then that the shard advanced automatically to the next Tier. A Tier 2 Undead Marrow shard could give birth to muscles by absorbing the toxins. A Tier 3 could produce blood. A Tier 4 gave rise to organs. A Tier 5 could form skin. At that point, it was called a Regeneration shard.


    Depending on the Tier of their shard, the undead were classified as Bone Monster, Wight, Zombie, Ghoul and finally Revenants. Each Tier of undead had an absolute suppression over those lower in the hierarchy and they constantly fought each other, driven by the desire to consume the other and improve themselves. In his years of observation, Sand had come to the conclusion that it was nature¡¯s way of deducing the perfect combination of shards that would result in a Dungeon.


    Depending on the toxins they absorbed in their growth phase, the shards the undead condensed would be different and in the constant fighting, only the most superior combinations would emerge. Over thousands of years, one or two Dungeons might even be born by luck, promoting the undead to the level of a Lich.


    Currently, Sand¡¯s bones in his left hand had been transformed with Shadow Venom. This gave his bones extreme toughness and resilience. In nature, due to the weakness of shadow venom to light, it was quite rare for a Bone Monster to evolve using it as the bones would practically shatter when exposed to light but once they evolved to the next level and the bones were protected by a layer of muscle, they immediately turned into the toughest undead variants. Similarly, Sand could easily block a knife with only his bones now.


    To use his Phlebotomy shard, he needed to cut his opponent and for that he needed to get close to them. He couldn''t do that without risk of injury, so a defensive shard became necessary. The best thing was, due to the synergy between his two shards, when it evolved to Tier 2, instead of forming muscle, the Undead Marrow shard would produce blood. Thus, in effect, both his shards would feed each other.


    This kind of synergy was one of the indications of a properly forming Dungeon.


    Standing up, Sand was just about to return everything to its place when there was the clanging of the warden¡¯s baton on the door. Turning around, he saw the albino orc squinting against the darkness.


    ¡°What ye be doin¡¯ boy all sneaky like?¡±


    Sand retorted coldly, ¡°None of your business.¡±


    ¡°Brat! Want me ta come in and tan yer hide?!¡± the warden exclaimed, enraged.


    ¡°You can try,¡± sneered Sand.


    ¡°Damn it!¡± cursed the orc. Sand paid him no heed as he went about his task of cleaning up the room. The warden wasn¡¯t even a red mage in the true sense. He didn¡¯t have a shard. Unless he suddenly grew fearless of reprisal from Kreg, he couldn''t touch him.


    ¡°Well,¡± said the warden deceitfully, ¡°I was gonna be nice and read ye the details of yer opponent in the pits but since ye can give me lip, ye can read it yerself.¡±


    He chuckled as he tossed a piece of parchment into the cell through the slit in the door. As it fluttered to the ground, Sand heard his footsteps going away. Sand¡¯s gaze was deep as he stared at the light trickling in through the slit in the door. Hopefully, the warden would spread the news of how he had ¡°put an arrogant slave in his place¡±. Preferably the news would reach the ear of the Gladiator he was up against and he would underestimate him.


    Fighting in his young body with half his mana, he needed every advantage he could get.

 14: First Blood

    The Arena of Sin ¨C even in the darkest of nights, it was lit as bright as day. A contradiction that¡­ for the most sordid place in the city to also be the best illuminated.


    Massive grids of Limelight shards, fuelled by the Embryonic Dungeon in the city, shone upon the scenes of blood and death that were routine on the greyish-white sands of the Arena. Such was the popularity of the blood sport that even external participants paid good coin to register to fight against established Gladiators. Rather than a simple form of entertainment; battling, and winning, in the Arena was swiftly becoming an endorsement of one¡¯s martial prowess.


    Sand stood with his eyes closed, enveloped in the darkness of the solid wooden cage he was surrounded by. The sound of the spectators penetrated the thin planks and fell in his ears. Their excited buzzing carrying a primal excitement, the hunger for blood and death. He gripped the handles of his weapons, a circular shield and a dagger, tighter.


    Sand had been escorted out of his cell, taken to the armoury to select his weapons for the fight and then made to walk down a corridor with a stone door similar to the one in his cell at its end. After he had passed through the door and into the cage, the door had slammed shut behind him with the rattle of chains and the grinding of rock against rock, blocking his avenues of retreat.


    The cage wasn¡¯t so much to keep him in as it was to keep the vision of the audience out. He didn¡¯t even need a shard; the fragile wood would splinter if he threw his entire body weight against it.


    ¡°LADIES AND GENTLEMEN." A loud voice cut through the buzz of the audience. "Welcome to the Arena of Sin. Tonight, we are going to witness the most anticipated match of the month: a challenge for the Red Mage championship of the Jhelum conglomerate!¡± The announcer paused, letting the cheers of the audience drown him out. Waiting for them to settle down, he continued with his magically amplified voice, ¡°But before the main course, we have a little appetizer. Two new additions to our stellar cast!


    ¡°In the left-hand cage, we have the Undead Doctor. Don¡¯t be fooled by his age or size. Sponsored by Lord Silveros, this little man is as cunning and dangerous as they come! He didn¡¯t hesitate to chop his own arm off to kill a Sand Wyrm when he wasn¡¯t even a mage. And now with a Phlebotomy shard and an Undead Marrow, he can cure you,¡± he paused for dramatic effect before continuing in a stage whisper, ¡°¡­ or he can kill you.¡±


    Within his cage, Sand sighed. So much for making his opponent underestimate him.


    The announcer continued, ¡°In the right-hand cage, we have the Three-eyed Flame Demon. Sponsored by Lord Fors, this ferocious demon cut his way out of a nest of Desert Rattlers and lived to tell the tale. And now, with the Flame Pupil shard and the Third Eye shard, this demon is ready to burn the world down.¡±


    Even if he had read the shard profile of his opponent off the parchment tossed into his cell by the warden and created a reasonable strategy to deal with it, Sand couldn''t help but frown.


    The Flame Pupil shard was an offensive shard that caused whatever the mage looked at with it active to burst into flames. It was an extremely hard to deal with shard that carried a correspondingly high cost for using it. Every use would cause the eye the mage used it with to suffer flame damage. Unless the mage had a corresponding healing shard to counterbalance its effects, it would blind him. Another drawback was that since the range of vision broadened with separation from the mage, the flames produced would get spread out over a large area the further away from himself the mage aimed his attack, reducing their intensity and effectiveness. Thus, the shard was only considered good for short to medium-range offensives.


    The Third Eye shard on the other hand was a tracking shard. The shard itself looked like a crystal eyeball and when it was fused by a mage, it would integrate into his forehead and turn into a third eye. Its specialty lay in the fact that it gave the mage another source of visual input passively and when mana was poured into it, it had the additional active skill of locking onto any target of the user¡¯s choice in their field of vision. After that, as long as the shard was active, the target would remain in the user¡¯s sight no matter the distance or obstacles in the way. Magical barriers or materials could still shield the sight if the shard Tier wasn¡¯t upgraded.


    Separately, these two shards might seem unimpressive, but when they came together, the target locking of the Third Eye shard and the tricky offensive of the Flame Pupil fit perfectly making focused long-range attacks possible. Another advantage of the combination was that by using the Third Eye to cast the spell, the mage bypassed the need for a healing shard as the resilience of the crystal eye formed by the shard was much more than a human eye. All that was needed to heal any fissures it accumulated was mana.You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°A Third Eye shard that came from a Sand Wyrm, hmmm, is this revenge on the Undead Doctor from beyond the grave?!¡± joked the announcer. ¡°So, ladies and gentlemen, aarrre you rreadyyy!¡±


    The cheers this time were deafening.


    ¡°Then¡­ BEGINN!¡±


    With the rattle of chains, the door to the cage was winched upwards and Sand had to squint his eyes against the sudden influx of light. As soon as the gap between the ground and the door was enough, Sand crawled his way out of the cage and began sprinting towards the other door that was being raised. His opponent was a ranged attacker while he was a close-combatant. His tactic was clear ¨C he needed to close the distance between them. As he ran, his booted feet kicked up clouds of the greyish-white sand that covered the Arena.


    The entire Arena was roughly the same size as the sand-pit where the Silveros family cultivated their wyrms. The audience seats were stepped and sloped so that everyone had a panoramic view of the amphitheatre. The highest few rows were reserved for mages while the seats below them were occupied by the mortals. The most important personages had their own private boxes.


    The Arena was quite large. As such, despite his initiative, Sand wouldn''t be able to reach the other door in time but he still pushed himself to reduce the distance between them as much as possible.


    When the Three-Eyed Flame Demon exited his cage, he was surprised to see Sand already halfway across the Arena. Recovering swiftly, he grinned fiendishly and instead of kiting Sand and attacking him with his shards from afar, he rushed to meet him in the centre of the Arena.


    Sand frowned again. He would have preferred if the lanky man with dishevelled hair had wasted his mana by taking distant shots at him. But the man was too astute. Since there was a rule that the Gladiators had to enter a fight mandatorily within a week of receiving their second shard, and this was the man¡¯s first match, it meant that he definitely had very little time to familiarize himself with the usage of his second shard. While combining shards was a very powerful ability, it required a lot of practice to pull it off with the degree of speed and accuracy required during a fight. And it had quite high mana costs as well ¨C higher than both shards used separately. So, whether the man had depleted his mana reserves to practice the skill or if he had foregone practice in favour of conserving mana, forcing him to attack long-range was advantageous to Sand.


    The reason Sand had charged towards him was to intimidate him into thinking that letting him close was a really bad idea and making him commit to kiting him from a distance. Unfortunately, the man hadn''t fallen for it and counter-charged him.


    Sand¡¯s gaze grew sharp as his battle-calm descended upon him and his mind took note of every single detail of his opponent, ready to react to his every action. The most dangerous section would be when he entered the medium-range. It was at that point that the Flame Pupil shard would demonstrate its true threat. And since the man would be using his Third Eye to cast it (without activating its skill), he didn¡¯t need to worry about the backlash as much. So he could afford to be free with his skill as long as his mana sufficed.


    But Sand had prepared for that eventuality. The moment he entered the range of the shard¡¯s effectiveness, he lowered his stance and dug into the sand with his shield while running, scooping up a pile of sand. Just as the middle of his opponent¡¯s forehead split and revealed a crystal eye that sparkled a fiery red, Sand heaved upwards, throwing up a curtain of sand between the two of them that blocked his opponent¡¯s line of sight.


    Flowers of flame bloomed on the airborne sand, blasting it away. Bursting through the burning sand with his shield raised, Sand ran at full tilt towards the so-called Flame Demon.


    Startled at the failure of his skill, the Flame Demon¡¯s charge stagnated. Clenching his teeth, he attacked again, his Third Eye sparkling on his forehead. This time, Sand had no choice but to block it directly with his shield. He staggered from the impact of the flames but his momentum kept him powering through. The parts of his body not covered by the shield, his legs and his lower torso, caught fire.


    But he was already prepared. Having padded his clothes with torn strips of his blankets, it would take time for the fire to eat its way through. That time would have to be enough.


    Nearing Flame Demon, Sand let go of his grip on the handle of the charred shield and caught it by its edge. Spinning on his heel with his momentum, he threw the shield at his opponent, the still-burning disc of wood cutting through the air like a flaming frisbee aimed unerringly at the man¡¯s throat.


    Hastily drawing the sword he had brought out of the armoury, Flame Demon tried to deflect the projectile, only to have his sword knocked out of his unsteady grip, leaving him unarmed and with his arms akimbo.


    Seizing the flaw in his defence, Sand rapidly closed the gap between them and lashed out like lightning with his dagger, scoring a deep wound on the man¡¯s neck. Sand¡¯s chest glowed red as he activated the Phlebotomy shard and blood practically fountained out of the gash. Without prolonging contact, he immediately jumped backwards and dashed away.


    Not a moment too soon as the dying man desperately lashed out with his shard, turning the area all around him into a sea of fire. His face was twisted in a silent scream as he ineffectually tried to stanch his wound. Collapsing onto the ground, he writhed about, spewing blood and fire in all directions.


    Slowly, his struggles subsided as he ran out of both blood and mana. With a final few twitches, he lay still; his glazed eyes reflecting the image of Sand watching him from a safe distance.


    Even though he had won; even though the crowd had gone wild, showering him with adulation¡­ Sand couldn''t bring himself to take pride in his victory. It felt too pyrrhic when ¨C as a man who held the ideal of emancipating humanity ¨C he had slaughtered members of his own race and would continue to do so just so he could survive.


    Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath, taking in the stench of blood and fire. Exhaling slowly, he let all the uncertainty flow out of him along with the stale air. When he opened his eyes, they were bottomless dark pools devoid of any fluctuation. His goal was the rise of humanity¡­


    For that, he could make any sacrifice... even if that sacrifice wasn''t his to make.

 15: Bloodskull Dungeon

    When Sand returned to the corridor leading to the Arena after rolling around in the sand to smother the flames on his pants, he found Kreg waiting for him with his arms crossed. The muscular orc narrowed his eyes as he stared him up and down appraisingly. ¡°Well, ain¡¯t ye just full of surprises."


    Sand bowed to him humbly. ¡°It¡¯s all thanks to your and Master Silveros¡¯ care.¡±


    ¡°Keep that glib tongue to yerself,¡± snorted Kreg contemptuously. But when he continued, his tone was a bit more amiable than a moment before. ¡°Well boy, it seems yer in luck. A big-shot just happened to pass by these parts and dropped in to catch a show. Master Silveros was keepin¡¯ her entertained and when she heard that yer under ¡®is patronage, she asked ta meet ye.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t uncommon for a distinguished guest to call upon and reward a Gladiator whose performance had pleased them. In actuality, the rewards were less for the Gladiators and more of a sign of goodwill towards their patrons. There was a lot of consideration involved in this gifting process. Depending on the political allegiance of the donor and the type and price of the gift, they could be sending any sort of message. As for the Gladiators ¨C the very fact that they could profit off the political machinations of the Orcs was good news. Hardly anyone gifted a newbie though. They tended to die a bit too quickly to make good use of whatever resource was delivered to them. For Sand to get a call right after his debut match was indeed lucky.


    Kreg gestured for Sand to follow as he led the way down the network of passages. ¡°Come along and when ye get into the room, be on yer best behaviour. I don¡¯t want ta hear a peep outta ye otherwise I¡¯ll be crackin¡¯ yer skull ¨C no matter how much money ye make me.¡±


    Sand didn¡¯t reply, one wasn¡¯t really expected from him. He followed Kreg through corridors that distinctly sloped upwards. If he was guessing right, they were now travelling under the seats of the stadium towards the private boxes. The muffled sounds of the audience excitedly stamping their feet on the ground lent credence to that theory.


    After a few minutes, they reached a small wooden door much like the secret doorway in Torak Silveros¡¯ study. Kreg drew out a large iron key from one of the many pockets that covered his leather jerkin and opened it. Once they passed through, he locked it, letting the ornate tapestry that had erstwhile covered it swing back again.


    Turning to Sand, Kreg was just about to exhort him to behave again when his eyes fell upon the shield in the boy¡¯s grasp and the sword stuck in the sheath attached to his belt. ¡°Damn! I forgot ta tell ye to return those,¡± he cursed as he slapped his forehead. ¡°Well, we could go back but¡­ better not test the boss¡¯ patience¡­ jest drop ¡®em. Ain¡¯t nobody gonna steal em from here and ye can take them when ye return.¡±


    Nodding, Sand placed the weapons in a neat pile against one wall of the corridor, even shedding the charred strips of cloth tied around his legs, trying to make himself more presentable.


    ¡°Keep yer eyes on the ground,¡± exhorted Kreg one last time before pushing the door to the private room open.


    Keeping his eyes to the ground, Sand followed Kreg into the room, his booted feet sinking into the thick fur carpet laid over the floor. He had no idea what beast had kindly donated it''s hide to the noble cause of orcish luxury but he was sure that it had been the pricey kind.


    There were four others already in the room when they entered, and out of the four, three were encapsulated in jet-black robes that revealed precious little about their occupants. The fourth person was Torak Silveros himself dressed in his finest.


    Sand took in as much as he could through his peripheral vision and drew his conclusions. First, going by his attitude towards them, whoever the big-shot was, she was extremely influential; much more so than Torak. So, a Violet Mage... or higher. Second, she didn''t want her identity exposed - hence the cloak. Third, she was a vampire.


    While the first two conclusions were byproducts of keen observation and logical reasoning, the third had drawn deeply from Sand''s previous life''s experiences. Even the voluminous cloaks that covered them couldn''t completely hide the misshapen forms of the two Blood Thralls that stood rigidly behind the third cloaked figure''s chair like statues. Despite the featureless black masks covering their faces, the blood-red eyes, without any separation between the sclera and the iris, shining through from the depths of their hoods were enough to identify them for those in the know.


    They might look peaceful now, but once triggered, they wouldn''t stop till either their opponent of they themselves were torn to shreds. Sand had fought a Thrall once. He never wanted to fight one again.


    "Master, Lady, I brought the boy," announced Kreg with a deep bow to both of them.


    Sand felt a piercing gaze sizing him up making him feel utterly exposed beneath it. A melodious voice rang out within the room. "Look at me," it said. And everyone present obeyed. Kreg, the Thralls, even Silveros - all of them felt a compulsion to do what the voice asked of them even though they weren''t the target of the voice.


    As for Sand, he felt it much, much deeper. His blood sang in his veins and his thoughts refused to remain his own. He didn''t resist and looked into the eyes of the owner of that voice. He didn''t resist because he knew it would be futile to do so. Against a Dungeon Mage, he might as well have been a mortal for all the good his meager magic would do him.


    His eyes met a scarlet pair set in a face shrouded by a veil and shaded by a hood. All he could see were those scarlet pupils beneath long, white lashes and he knew that she was beautiful. And he knew that she knew his secret.


    Not all of them or even most of them, but one of them. One that got her to say the next few words. "How much for the boy?"


    Snapping out of his daze Silveros'' back was soaked with cold sweat at how easily he had been swayed by her magic. Regaining his composure with great difficulty, he replied with a respectful smile, "Where, where milady. How can I charge you for anything? Just think of him as my gift to you."


    Even as his heart sank at the development, Sand couldn''t help but admire the man''s astute business sense. He had replied in the perfect way to glean the greatest profit. If he had set a definite price, he wouldn''t have been able to set it too high - and he would probably even have to set it at rock bottom out of respect for the woman. But if he did this on the other hand -If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The woman huffed lightly. "When has my noble clan ever had to stoop low enough to receive handouts? I will send either Vlad or Igor with the money by tomorrow. I''ll pay at the going rate for a Yellow mage."


    - the ball was in her court and she would have to overpay out of her sense of honour. But sadly, Silveros didn''t know that the woman was more shameless than him. She had clearly detected Sand''s top ranked talent. Though it irked him to think of himself that way, the price of a Yellow mage wasn''t close to his true pricetag.


    "I needed a slave to experiment my shard combinations on - his current setup is quite suitable. I hope the shards come with him?" she asked.


    "Of course, milady."


    Nodding in satisfaction, the woman snapped her fingers and the space in one corner of the room began to distort as the Gate to her Dungeon appeared, filling the room with the rich smell of blood. It wasn¡¯t so much a Gate as it was a waterfall ¨C a sanguine waterfall that gushed down from the mouths of three grotesque skulls made of scarlet stone floating unsupported in the air. The blood that cascaded down splashed noiselessly upon the floor, turning illusory before the spray could touch the occupants of the room. Its appearance lending the atmosphere in the room a macabre aura.


    If Sand wasn¡¯t sure of the identity of the mysterious woman, now, seeing her Dungeon Gate, there was no doubt in his mind. For some reason he couldn''t even begin to guess at, the third Princess of the Enzeal clan had come visiting two years earlier than scheduled. This time, without her husband accompanying her.


    ¡®Then again, the only reason I know that she had come at all is because of how grand the occasion was in my previous life.¡¯


    The Princess and her beau, Vincent Sangre, the Crown prince of the Sangre Royal family were the first envoys the Vampires had ever sent to the Tyhr. It was the first time they had even acknowledged the Orcs¡¯ existence since their Banishment, so of course the Chiefs would propagandize the event as much as possible. That¡¯s why even as a mere mortal scullery boy in a two-bit restaurant, Sand got to hear of it. It was all the patrons could talk of for weeks.


    The day of their visit had even been declared a public holiday and people had thronged the streets to catch even a glimpse of the vaunted Dungeon Mages that had graced Gehenna with their presence. Every street had been festooned with intertwined strips of cloth dyed red and black ¨C the colours of the Sangre and the Enzeal Royal family respectively. The grandeur of the occasion had engraved itself into Sand¡¯s mind and he had recalled an associated fact.


    For their entertainment, the eight top ranked Yellow mages among the Gladiators had been forced into a free-for all deathmatch and the survivor had been presented as a gift to the power couple. The story of how the Princess had opened her Bloodskull Gate to induct the winner into her Dungeon had spread far and wide with envy directed towards the victor among the human slaves. After all, being the slave of a Vampire ¨C that too of a Princess ¨C was a huge step up from being a mere pit slave in the Arena.


    That had been Sand¡¯s ticket to freedom ¨C or at least, the first step towards it. He had planned to grow his strength in a planned manner in the Arena till he had full assurance of victory. Then he would hitch a ride with the two aristocrats to the Vampire Metropolises where a huge chance was waiting for him.


    But now, with the appearance of the Princess ahead of time, all his plans had gone down the drain. ¡®Is the effect of my rebirth on the timeline?¡¯ he mused before scrapping that line of thought. It was too early and his presence too insignificant to cause such a wide deviation in the chain of events. It was more likely that the Princess had visited Gehenna undercover before. Even if she hadn''t been all cloak and dagger about it, there was no way for Sand ¨C a mere mortal ¨C to know about the dealings of Dungeon mages.


    Sand realized yet again how flawed his information really was.


    Disgruntled by Sand¡¯s dazed expression, one of the Thralls, Vlad (or was it Igor?) prodded Sand in the back impatiently, almost sending him crashing headfirst through the Gate. Staggeringly regaining his balance, he sighed once more internally at the helplessness of the situation and walked through the bloody cataract without further prompting.


    He would just have to make the best of it.


    One moment, Sand was in a plushly arranged private booth in the Arena of Sin, the next he was shivering atop a snowy mountain. Unlike the gut-wrenching sensation of being warped from one end of a spatial tunnel to the other that he had experienced while entering the Demon Gate, travelling through the Bloodskull Gate was a simple walk through a portal connecting two worlds. An appropriate analogy as a Dungeon could be considered a small world all unto its own with its own set of rules and idiosyncrasies.


    Sand looked behind him. There, the phantom image of the Gate was in the process of rapidly dissipating. Within moments, no trace of it remained heralding the beginning of his confinement within the Dungeon until its owner was kind enough to release him.


    Calming down swiftly, he took in the lay of the land, his current vantage upon a snow-covered peak giving him a panoramic view of the entire Dungeon. The region was broad ¨C large enough to easily accommodate the entire city of Gehenna and its surroundings. The boundary was, to his eye, perfectly circular and all along it, jagged, bone-white mountains towered into the crimson sky.


    Encircled by this mountain range was the central valley that sloped downwards gently into the shape of a bowl. The soil of the valley too was the same skeletal white. The very centre of the ¡®bowl¡¯ abruptly dropped down into a deep abyss that glowed orange with internal fire.


    Moving his gaze closer home, Sand inspected the snow under his feet. The snow was the colour of blood. As were the rivulets formed of molten snow that merged into swift streams that rushed towards the centre, plunging over the steep edge into the abyss. In fact, going by the cloying smell permeating the entire region, it was blood.


    As soon as the cataracts of blood touched the fire at the bottom of the abyss, it evaporated, rising up into the sky as a pillar of bloody vapour that coalesced into sanguine clouds which were blown away by the thermals towards the mountains. Cloud merged into cloud and they grew heavier and darker as they approached the sky above the peaks, finally bursting, releasing their load of moisture that froze in the icy temperatures of the Dungeon edge into flakes of blood snow.


    ¡®It is a complete cycle,¡¯ observed Sand, fascinated. ¡®There is a temperature gradient between the central portion of the Dungeon and the edge ¨C two polar opposite shards of Fire and Ice bound together by the blood as it cycles through the phases of evaporation, condensation and precipitation. Fire, Ice and Blood. That¡¯s three shards right there. Then the mandatory two of Space and Time. So, five shards. But¡­ but why do I feel that there is something more?¡¯


    Sand frowned deeply as he scrutinized the environment again, searching for the source of that discordant feeling. Then it hit him with all the subtlety of a sack of bricks. ¡®Of course there¡¯s something more! This Dungeon isn¡¯t even fully complete. The entire place is made up of Genesis stone not some white rock! It¡¯s an Embryonic Dungeon. But how?!¡±


    This realization thoroughly shook Sand¡¯s concept of magic. Weren¡¯t five shards enough to form a Dungeon? If so, how was this one still in its embryonic form after thoroughly fusing all five shards. Did that mean it could fuse more. Then what were the limits and how was one supposed to go about it?


    Question after question swam up to the surface of his mind vying for his attention like a school of fish in a pond tussling over scattered crumbs of bread. His lack of warm clothes or weapons, the disruption of his carefully laid plans, his future ideals - throwing everything to the back of his mind, he doubled down to break the mystery laid before him. If reclaiming humanity¡¯s lost dignity was his ideal, his end goal, then the study of magic was his passion.


    Right now, he couldn''t be gladder that providence had disrupted his plans because going by this Dungeon, the way he had been training was wrong ¨C or at least, incomplete.

 16: Lirael

    Lirael Enzeal, the third Princess of the Enzeal Royal family sighed lightly as she closed the door to the suite the orcs had set aside for her. Vlad had gone to deliver the last of her wealth to the Silveros residence to pay for her recent purchase of the slave while Igor stayed outside to guard the door ¨C not that it needed guarding with what she was about to do. Calling upon the power of her Dungeon, she let a bit of it bleed out into the world.


    A transparent bubble expanded centred on her, gently distorting the fabric of reality as her personal world made its presence known.


    ~ Bloodskull Domain ~


    The achromatic ripple pressed up against the walls of the suite, enveloping the entirety of it and turning it into her Domain.


    A Domain wasn¡¯t a spell or an ability. Rather, projecting the presence of one''s inner world was something anyone with a Dungeon or the embryonic form of one could accomplish. Not only did it amplify the caster¡¯s use of skills related to the core shards of the Dungeon, it also suppressed the use of contrary skills by opponents as long as they were within range. While she had it active, she didn¡¯t need to worry about anyone less than a Dungeon mage disturbing her rest.


    Her paranoia was well founded as she felt at least two detection shards lose their effect as they were blocked beyond the boundaries of her Domain. She sighed again, choosing to ignore the affront to her privacy in favour of the alluring call of the bed. Even if she looked up the offenders, she was sure that they would be some fall guys equipped with a shard. The true instigators of the investigation would remain shrouded in several layers of plausible deniability.


    ¡®What would be the point? And I¡¯m exhausted¡­¡¯


    Her midnight black robes pooled around her feet as she shrugged them off and collapsed onto the bed in her underwear, the tarantula-down mattress sinking under her weight, cushioning her fall. Curling up into a foetal position, she drew the spider-silk blankets over her form, temporarily cutting herself off from the rest of the world.


    In the comfortable warmth of the darkness, she could easily imagine she was lying in a bed of clouds and enveloped with silky streams of water. Sighing in contentment, she rubbed her face into the mattress with a small smile, letting the accumulated tension of the weeks on edge drain out of her.


    Others might look up to her and envy her pedigree and bloodline. Others might believe that she had been born with a silver spoon in her mouth ¨C not having to struggle for a single moment in her life. They would be wrong. Every year beyond her tenth birthday, her status had been more of a hindrance than a help to her.


    The world was a vast place and most would only live their lives out trapped in one tiny corner of it. Maybe they wouldn''t even consider anything outside the scope of their immediate perception. To them, that small flake region was their entire world. But, as the scion of one of the foremost families of Vampire nobility and the daughter of two Dungeon Mages, Lirael knew better.


    Visiting all seven Great Seas, tasting the fruit of the World Tree, scaling the Spine of the World, flying up to and touching the very Vault of Heaven, exploring the deepest known layer of the Abyss and discovering the entrance to the one below ¨C these were the things she dreamed of in her childhood.


    Exploration! Adventure! Excitement!


    So, when a choice had been placed in front of her: avail of the resources of the family and lose her freedom or to forge a path of her own; she had chosen the latter without hesitation.


    Burying her face deeper into the mattress, she groaned in frustration. ¡®If only I had known how damn difficult it would be!¡¯


    Her recent promotion to the level of a Quasi-Dungeon Mage had wiped out most of her savings and her purchase of Sand had cleared out the last bit of her wealth. She was as poor as a pauper.


    ¡®It¡¯s not like the bastard needs more gold!¡¯ she complained about Torak sourly in her mind. ¡®He has the support of his entire clan behind him. A darned Blue mage is richer than the Princess of the Enzeal clan. Who would believe me?!¡¯


    At the age of ten, children with the appropriate magical talent and the requisite heritage were offered one of the few Dungeon formulas possessed by the clan. If they accepted, then they would be trained with emphasis till they condensed their Dungeon¡­ Or perished on the way. The magical path was one filled with dangers. Not even a noble clan could guarantee the safety of those who walked down it.


    But thenceforth, they would be obligated towards the clan. Whatever shard they were told to fuse, whatever duty they were told to perform, whoever they were told to marry ¨C they would have to follow the directives. The clan wasn¡¯t subsidizing them in vain. It was indentured servitude. Nothing more, nothing less.


    Still, people went after it like moths to flame ¨C the members of the collateral branches struggling insanely for the limited quotas set out every ten years. After all, however restricted they might be, in the end they were still Dungeon mages. Men and women who stood at the peak of existence.


    Sighing one last time, Lirael snapped out of her bout of self-pity and reluctantly dragged herself out of the comfortable embrace of the silken covers. Collecting a neatly folded towel and some toiletries from the bedside table, she made her way towards the bathroom. Entering it, she couldn''t help but be impressed by the close approximation to the Metropolitan architecture the Orcs had managed to pull off. Porcelain tiles and running water wasn¡¯t something she had expected to find in the middle of the desert. A closer inspection with her Domain revealed that the water originated from a Tier 1 Water Kettle shard connected to the city¡¯s public Dungeon.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Another impressive achievement that ¨C reaching such a level without the foundation of the deep magical heritage possessed by the Vampires or the other Elder Races. The Orcs had done well to develop to this degree in the short three millennia that had elapsed after their Banishment.


    Depositing the towel and the toiletries on a rack, Lirael divested herself of her undergarments. Selecting the option for warm water, she turned on the shower, letting the steaming liquid cascade down upon her and wash her fatigue away.


    The Enzeal family had been declining steadily after the loss of their High Lord three millennia ago. The other Royal Families had been poking and prodding at them like one would an injured animal to see whether it still had the strength to bite back. They had held them off all these years but now, political undercurrents were surging and a sense of crisis had covered the clan.


    In their moment of dire need, the Sangre clan had extended an offer of alliance. A marital alliance with the wayward third Princess of their clan.


    The family had been putting a great deal of pressure on Lirael lately until it had finally culminated in an ultimatum ¨C either she promoted to a full-fledged Dungeon mage or she became a sacrificial pawn and was delivered into the bed of the Sangre scion. A trophy wife for him to brag about.


    This ultimatum was the source of her sleepless nights and the reason she had run away from home.


    Lirael opened her eyes, droplets of water showering off her long lashes.


    Whoever had designed the washroom, had for some odd reason, believed that the proper position for a full-length mirror was directly opposite the shower. Obviously, shower-curtains were conspicuous in their absence. To the Orcs, taking a bath in running water was probably the pinnacle of luxury and any of them would like to have a perfect view of their heroic bearing while indulging in such an act . Similar traces of botched imitation were littered across the suite. It was like the Orcs had decided to paint a picture from second-hand descriptions and their own conceptions had bled in.


    Lirael observed her form in the mirror. A tall woman with perfect proportions and hair the colour of fresh snow stared back at her with ruby eyes. Slicking back the strands of her hair plastered onto her face by the stream of running water, she watched her reflection do the same. She was beautiful. The lack of colour elsewhere only accentuating her soulful eyes that seemed like they would glow in the dark. If one looked deep and long enough into the depths of her pupils, they would feel as though they were staring into another world entirely ¨C one the colour of blood.


    All Dungeon mages had alluring eyes that gave a glimpse into their personal worlds. Rumour had it that their world shaped them just as they shaped their worlds.


    Her hand involuntarily travelled to a spot on the centre of her chest just beneath her breasts ¨C the only flaw on her otherwise unblemished skin. A circle with an inverted triangle inscribed within.


    The mark was light, like someone had painted it on and then vigorously scrubbed it away, only leaving a reddened impression on the skin. One that would soon fade away. But Lirael knew otherwise. The mark wasn¡¯t on the surface but beneath it. A network of capillaries close to the surface that had grown that way showing through her translucent skin.


    ¡®No, a network of capillaries that had been grown that way,¡¯ she mused as she traced the mark with a slender finger tipped with nails lacquered a rich crimson. A tracking spell cast on her by her family ostensibly to locate her in times of crisis but which far more often served as a means to keep tabs on her whereabouts. The only way to get rid of the mark was to promote to a Dungeon mage whence it would be washed away by the tide of heavenly energy that would reform her body during the process.


    This was why the clan hadn''t cared much when she had ''run away''. They could always find her. And if they couldn''t, it would mean that she had promoted successfully and was off the negotiation table. Marrying off a failed mage was one thing - a full-blown Dungeon mage was a different proposition altogether.


    As a mage with enough talent to condense a Dungeon, the family wasn¡¯t willing to see her wasting her potential. On the other hand, individuality was the mother of innovation and most of the new Dungeon formulae the clan had developed over the millennia stemmed from the hands of those like her that had rejected the family¡¯s grant of a Dungeon formula. So, as one of these free-spirited individuals, she had been set up with some initial resources and a comprehensive guide to magic instead. While the more conformist of the scions stood upon the shoulders of their forefathers and aimed to leave an improved formula to their posterity; Lirael was expected to derive an entirely new one based upon the fundamental principles of magic that had been observed and recorded by the clan in their long and storied history.


    And she had succeeded ¨C more or less.


    Another sigh involuntarily escaped her lips as she thought about the bottleneck she had run up against in her Dungeon creation. The first five shards had given her no trouble, fitting in like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle and forming a circulating, interlinked environment within her nascent world. No. It was the sixth shard ¨C the Undead Marrow shard that refused to conform like it was supposed to as per her calculations.


    If it had simply failed to fuse, she wouldn''t be that upset. It would just mean that she would have to calculate again and try with another shard. The reason for her current dilemma was that the shard had fused with the Dungeon but it had done so partially. And for the life of her, she couldn''t guess at why.


    It was like a fishbone carded in her throat. Profoundly painful and irritating. She couldn''t spit it out, nor could she swallow forcibly without the risk of causing great damage to her existing setup. Caution was warranted. After all, the collapse of her Dungeon would mean her death.


    That was why she had arrived here: to explore the origin of the Undead Marrow shard ¨C the Myriad Toxins Desert Area ¨C in the hope of gaining some inspiration on how to escape her dilemma. Seeing a slave who used the same shard had piqued her interest and brought Sand to her notice. Observing him with the use of her Domain had revealed his extraordinary natural talent and she had snatched him up.


    She didn¡¯t know how the boy¡¯s talent had escaped exposition but it had helped her grab a bargain. If not for the Orc¡¯s astuteness, her profits could have been more. Turning the shower off, she flicked her soaked shoulder-length hair, scattering droplets everywhere.


    She couldn''t keep the excited grin off her face or the crazy glint out of her eye. Such a suitable slave was top quality experimental material. Her time was running out. She just hoped that the boy could hold up against the trials she would be putting him through.

 17: Leo

    A lone figure clad in voluminous white robes strolled leisurely through the desert. Her gait seemed ordinary but each step carried her extremely far, her form blurring into a white streak that cut through the miles.


    Tiny wings of light sparkled white on Lirael¡¯s ankles as they were exposed by her billowing robes. The shard embedded within them making its presence known as it carried her towards her destination much faster than even the fastest caravan that plied the dunes. As one of the five core shards of her Dungeon it received the amplification of her Domain. It was the source of her confidence in coming to the Orcish territory without any escort. Even if they set out a Dungeon mage to detain her, she was reasonably confident in her ability to escape. After all, her shard was extremely special.


    Unlike a Teleport shard that could be restrained by any shard that blockaded or coagulated space, her Space Compression shard didn¡¯t affect space itself but her interaction with it. If space could be perceived as a lattice with each edge of the grid a unit long; instead of altering the lattice itself ¨C either tearing a rift in it or connecting one node to another ¨C her shard altered the value of the unit. When she moved an inch, she travelled a mile.


    ~Shrink a mile to an inch~


    As they were unable to match her speed, she had placed Igor and Vlad within her Dungeon so she could hurry along. The patience of her family was running thin and she didn¡¯t have much time left. The hourglass had been flipped and the sand was swiftly running out. Her eyes flashed with a silver gloss and time around her sped up thirty-two times, her figure leaving persistent phantoms as she flickered across the vast stretch of golden sand that glimmered white under the burning sun.


    A minute and several hundred miles later Lirael collapsed onto the warm sandy ground gasping for breath. With a wave of her hand, a cloud of blood formed above her, shading her from the harsh sunlight as she lay on the ground, her chest heaving, her ankles aching and her eyes gritty and inflamed. Using her shards in tandem and so frequently had taken its toll on her.


    Even with the near infinite mana of an Embryonic Dungeon sustaining her skill usage, shards couldn''t be used indefinitely without intervals of rest. The reason for this was that they were fused with parts of the mage¡¯s body and as such, overuse engendered fatigue in them. If she powered through this fatigue and overstained her shards, then she risked fundamentally injuring them. It wouldn''t simply be a matter of healing the shards with mana then.


    This refractory period was technically termed the cooldown and every shard had its own characteristic cooldown. Familiarizing themselves with the cooldowns of their skills and keeping track of them was something every mage worth their salt had to do. Lirael had never abused her time and space shards so thoroughly before ¨C not together. So, this was a learning experience.


    Closing her smarting eyes, she carefully savoured the feeling, recording it in her mind for further reference. Knowing her limits would allow her to tailor her future strategies skirting them.


    Using her mana senses to look within herself, she observed the Space Compression shard that had fused with her ankles and the Agility shard that had fused with her eyes ¨C both of them at Tier 5; both of them part of her Dungeon.


    Fissures overspread the transparent crystal embedded in her ankles on both sides of her feet. Four separated pieces of the same shard that resonated with each other ignoring the intervening space. Under the wash of her violet mana, the fissures were swiftly closing up. Although she had pushed herself to the point of injury, she had managed to stop before the brink.


    Satisfied, she transferred her attention to the tiny shards of silver crystal that resided in her tear ducts. Agility shards were a relatively common shard with several beasts condensing them. By increasing the flow of time around their user, they would, in effect, speed them up. At Tier 1, it sped up the flow of time two times and for each subsequent Tier, the amount it could speed time up increased by a factor of two. Perception, reflexes¡­ it was a comprehensive promotion. The only reason for their lack of popularity was the amount of mana they guzzled with each use. A Tier 1 shard could drain an upper stage Red mage dry within a minute of its use and a Tier 5 shard could drain a upper stage Violet mage in the same duration. As such, Lirael had never had the opportunity to test its cooldown. But now, with the infinite mana of her Dungeon at her disposal, she had meant to try.


    Unfortunately for her, before she could achieve her wish, she had to deactivate the skill. Rather than its cooldown, her shard had reached another kind of limit. It had run out of food.


    Depending on the source of the shard, different Agility shards had widely varying diets. Hers drank her tears. She had obtained it from a Weeping Willow ¨C a macabre tree that captured living beings with its flexible woody vines and fed off their misery; weeping copiously from the facial features engraved on its trunk in the process. The shard was the reason its whipping vines were nearly impossible to avoid.


    Lirael sighed and blinked; her dry lids feeling like sandpaper as they scraped across her eyes. She doubted she would find anything even remotely resembling eyedrops in the middle of the desert.


    Her exhaustion receded as more of the Genesis stone that made up her Dungeon vaporized to replenish her reserves that were consumed to heal her space shard. Right now, her ¡®infinite¡¯ mana was actually based on the consumption of the foundation of her world. Until and unless she could promote her embryonic realm to a true Dungeon, she wouldn''t be able to generate her own Genesis stone and her mana would be like water without a source.


    If time wasn¡¯t of the essence, she would have preferred to travel by more mundane means but her circumstances didn¡¯t allow her that choice.


    Complaining about her lot in life would get her nowhere so with a grunt, she pushed herself to her feet. Testing her weight on them and finding them quite serviceable, she set off again. This time in a much more measured pace that balanced speed and sustainability. The Tyhr was vast and the Myriad Toxins Desert area a long way away.


    In her wake, the cloud of blood ablated under the glare of the sun, leaving no trace of her behind.


    Sand dashed down the mountain followed closely by the clacking of the fleshless jaws of his pursuers.


    He had been exploring the mountain, trying to get a lay of the land and hopefully deduce something from it that would help him unravel the mystery of the Dungeon. Unfortunately, he hadn''t gone very far before his booted foot had crunched something under the snow.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    Looking down, he had found the empty sockets of a snow-covered skull staring back at him. He only had time to note how well the red snow contrasted with the bleached bone before the skeleton had attacked. Apparently having its wrist snapped hadn''t put it in a friendly mood.


    Even lacking a weapon, Sand was more than a match for a basic skeleton so a few punches and two well placed kicks later, the unfortunate undead had been dismantled into its constituent parts. Sand had just settled down to investigate the still-shivering bones of the creature when its friends had shown up for the party.


    Wary of calling the wrath of a Bone Monster down on him if he wantonly slaughtered its subordinates, Sand had wisely decided to retreat but the stubborn creatures had gotten it into their empty heads to chase after him relentlessly, tiring him out and forcing him to dispatch two more of them that had relatively complete limbs.


    Quickly running to the side of the gully, he started to climb his way down.


    The first few steps weren''t bad, there was a bit of a path that had been worn in the rock by melting snow, but after that the descent got more difficult. Fortunately, the rock face was broken up, with a lot of good hand and footholds and his month of exercise in the mines had given him enough strength for the climb.


    The cliff became steeper the lower he went. To make matters worse, the frigid temperatures had compacted the red snow into a layer of blood ice that coated the rocks making every surface slick, drastically increasing the danger of his descent. To stave off the cold and frostbite, Sand had to constantly decompose some of his mana into heat. The warmth radiating off him melting the snow and frost around him. While that was good for ensuring that he didn¡¯t slip on some ice, it gave rise to new difficulties in the form of the streams of slurry that ran down his arms and soaked into his shirt causing it to cling to him with a profoundly uncomfortable cold wetness. The rank stench of blood irritated his nose.


    Looking up he saw a few of the skeletons climbing down the cliff above him. They were many and varied. Human, beast, a mixture of the two, they were moving slowly, none of them had all of their limbs intact, but they seemed to be managing to inch their way down by jabbing the sharp spurs of bone that grew out of them into the cliff for purchase.


    Sand tried to descend more quickly, his right leg finding a narrow ledge that jutted about an inch out from the wall. Putting his weight on that, he felt about for purchase with his left. His left foot found a crack in the wall that he could wedge his toes into, and he kept creeping down the wall. At one point, the rock he was holding onto was dislodged by his weight and fell bouncing down the side of the cliff but he managed to hang on with his other hand. His stomach twisting, he found another handhold.


    He was only a few feet from the bottom when his luck ran out.


    Wedged precariously into a narrow crevice in the rock of the cliff face, Sand¡¯s booted right foot cramped as he strained his left leg as far as it would go. But the next foothold was just too far away. His fingers shivered as they sustained most of the weight of his body. Clenching his teeth, he let go with his left hand, momentarily swinging free before his left foot slapped against the outcropping with a solid ¡®thunk¡¯.


    Placing his entire weight on the limb, he twisted around and leap the rest of the way down bleeding off the impact by settling into a crouch. Without a backward glance, he dashed away.


    Sand had climbed down the cliff hoping that the terrain would keep them out of his hair. He grimaced as he heard the impact of bone on rock behind him as the skeletons leapt the rest of the way down. Apparently, it hadn''t been enough of a deterrence.


    ¡®At least I know for sure that there¡¯s an Undead Marrow in the Dungeon formula now,¡¯ he consoled himself with a sigh. ¡®Albeit one that hasn¡¯t fused fully.¡¯


    As slow as the reanimated skeletons were, Sand should have been able to easily outrun them but in undead infested land population rather than speed was the thing to be feared. The eerie clacking of their jaws was some sort of necromantic battle cry that raised the skeletons slumbering beneath the snow wherever it echoed and more and more of them joined the chase.


    Soon, he was surrounded by shambling bones on all sides. Clenching his jaws, he stopped trying to run away. Reversing his direction, he charged the bone regiment instead. There was no way the Dungeon master was unaware of what was going on in her own world. And having him die so soon after her purchase was wasteful to say the least.


    So, if this wasn¡¯t an accident and she didn¡¯t want him to die ¨C then she wanted him to fight. She would preserve his life in the critical moment. Coming to the conclusion, Sand unshackled himself fully and lay into the skeletons with all his repressed fury carefully tuning his performance to lie squarely between ¡®desperate flailing¡¯ and ¡®talented brawler¡¯. Shoulders, elbows, knees, feet, right fist and even his head turned into weapons as he attacked joints with them while his modified left hand snapped the thinner bones and crushed skulls.


    He attacked furiously without any thought to defence and the wounds piled upon him, dyeing his soaked shirt a deeper shade of red. His mana level dropped swiftly as it was consumed to supplement his physical strength. His lungs were like bellows, his breath was steam and his eyes were widened in the panic of a cornered beast.


    The skeletons had no end.


    Sand¡¯s confidence vacillated. ¡®Was I wrong?¡¯ he wondered. ¡®Was this all an accident?¡¯


    Now that he had committed to his reckless assault, he didn¡¯t have the energy left to try and break through the blockade in a single direction leveraging his superior martial skills. ¡®To hide myself, did I kill myself?¡¯


    His eyes grew sharp. ¡®No!¡¯


    With a full-throated yell, he lunged at the skeleton of a beast with a scorpion-like tail with his left arm drawn back. If his blow landed, he¡¯d no doubt crush the creature¡¯s skull but the tail would pierce his head. They would perish together.


    Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the tip of the tail enlarged in his eyes. At the point of death, he only felt a light disappointment. It was too soon, he had just begun his second life. He would have liked to travel further, see new things, reach a boundary he hadn¡¯t reached before¡­ Fulfil his promise¡­


    The form of a wrinkled old man with a stutter floated up from the depths of his memory. ¡°Promise me¡­ p-promise that you¡¯ll free us all¡­¡±


    ¡®Sorry brother, it looks like I won''t be able to keep that promise this time either.¡¯


    A roar resounded throughout the mountains, echoing off the rocky walls. Wherever the sound visited, the myriad things froze instantly. Suddenly, the raging battle turned into a field of frozen sculptures. The sound faded. There was silence.


    Trapped within a layer of ice, Sand felt the last of his mana drop swiftly as it struggled to keep him warm.


    A light crack disturbed the peace of the frozen scene; then another, and another¡­ With the sound of breaking glass, every sculpture shattered into tiny pieces. Powdered ice fluttered in the air, breaking up the light it caught into rainbows. Bloody snow, light of seven colours and a frozen human in their midst, fixed in a posture of war. The scene suddenly became surreal.


    Sand felt the chill seeping into him, freezing his very thoughts. The last of his scarlet mana sputtered like a dying flame. Then he felt something land on top of his frozen head and the ice shattered into powder and fell off him, releasing him from its imprisonment.


    He dropped onto his hands and knees, gasping for breath, his teeth chattering from the cold and his skin blued by the ice. Noticing something moving at the edge of his vision, he laboriously raised his head.


    There, atop a large boulder stood his saviour. A majestic blue lion, its pristine white mane fluttering in the wind as it looked down on him regally. Even though Sand knew the power of the beast. Even though he knew what it was and what it represented, he couldn''t help the mirth that rose unbidden in his mind.


    He burst out into laughter. Great guffaws that put a stitch in his side. He didn¡¯t know if it was the great changes in his situation in the span of a day, or his young body finally celebrating its first escape from the jaws of death. But for the life of him, he couldn''t stop laughing even when the lion growled at him threateningly.


    All because it was only the size of his palm.

 18: Core Spirit

    Shards, upon fusing into a Dungeon, give birth to phantom constructs known as core spirits. The physical appearance and the capabilities of the spirits are determined by the beasts from which the shard originates. These unusual lifeforms have the power of independent thought and it is rumoured that they reflect different aspects of the Dungeon Master¡¯s personality.


    Sand adored core spirits. If there was something that could break his uncaring fa?ade and pragmatic demeanour, then it was the adorable antics of a new-born spirit. There was something he found utterly comforting about their unswerving, unconditional loyalty.


    Leo, for that was the name of the palmtop lion - Sand had deemed it so - was greatly confused by the incomprehensible human that was fussing over him. Had the imbecile not seen his mighty figure as he wiped out a horde of undead with but a single roar? Had he not experienced his majesty as he looked down upon him regally from his perch upon the highest boulder around? Then why was he so brazen and impudent? Why wasn¡¯t he threatened by the warning growls and gleaming fangs?


    The human was insane, wasn¡¯t he? He should have guessed it right after the boy burst out into that inexplicable fit of laughter.


    Wait! Why was the human scratching him beneath his mane at¡­ just the¡­ a little to the left, no a bit to the right¡­ aah¡­ that¡¯s the spot. Melting under Sand¡¯s ministrations, the lion leant into the caress before awakening with a start. No! Only the Mistress could touch him there. How dare the brat affront his dignity?!


    Leo opened his maw to freeze the audacious lad into an icicle before shattering it into a million pieces but a command transmitted by the Mistress stopped him short and instead of a stream of bone-chilling wind, a contented purr emerged from his traitorous mouth as Sand hit the spot again. Embarrassed beyond measure and forbidden from harming the source, Leo simply closed his scarlet eyes that resembled his Mistress¡¯ and gave up with a huff.


    At least it felt good.


    Sand descended the mountain with the tiny blue lion perched atop his head; its forepaws crossed and its head raised arrogantly. Leo''s scarlet eyes surveyed his domain, his pristine white mane fluttering in the light mountain breeze.


    Guided by Leo¡¯s tail (the spirit smacked the side of his head it wanted him to turn towards) Sand approached the bottom of the mountain unchallenged by any other roving bands of undead. The temperature rose with decreasing altitude and proximity to the centre. Instead of snow, he saw more and more runnels of blood merging into burbling brooks that crashed down steep scarps before integrating into one of the broad rivers that meandered into the bowl-shaped valley.


    As Sand passed by what he had mistaken for a particularly symmetrical conical mound beside one of the brooks on the lower reaches of the mountain, the ¡®mound¡¯ suddenly came to life, the rattans that had been tightly coiled into a spiral unfurling and lashing out at him like lightning. An unprecedented sense of crisis covered Sand and his heart thumped powerfully in his chest. His honed instincts that had made the journey across the river of time with him tensed his muscles, preparing him to dive to the side.


    He needn¡¯t have bothered.


    Leo snorted; twin jets of pale blue smog flowing out of his nose, expanding instantaneously into a smoky wall. Every vine that penetrated or even touched the smoke flash froze, disrupting into motes of powdery ice. Exuding a grating shriek, the Weeping Willow retracted its vines and wrapped them around itself into a tight spiral. When the smoke wall cleared, other than a layer of rime, the mound was indistinguishable from the surrounding bone-white stone.


    Sand narrowed his eyes as he waited for his accelerated heartbeat to return to normal. Recalling the appearance of the tree as it attacked, he recorded it for future reference. The trunk had been short and squat with the rattans lying atop it like an unruly mop of hair. Profound black eyes and mouth stood out in sharp relief from bark the colour and texture of bone. The ¡®face¡¯ had been twisted into a mournful grimace.


    There was no conclusion Sand could draw from just this much information as he hadn''t encountered a creature such as it in his previous life. He did have a guess but he didn¡¯t dare to make assumptions. Not in a Dungeon as special as this one.


    Raising his hand, he scratched behind Leo¡¯s mane as thanks. A habit he had picked up from interacting with Purr (nobody had ever accused Sand of having good naming sense), a feline Core Spirit that had inhabited his Dungeon in his previous life.


    Sand was inclined to believe the rumour about core spirits reflecting aspects of their master¡¯s personality. He would bet good money that Purr got her poker-face from him. Leo leant into the caress before awakening to what he was doing and self-consciously batting the offending finger away with his paw. Sand idly wondered what that said about his captor as he resumed his journey.


    From his elevated vantage near the peak of the mountain he hadn''t been able to clearly resolve the topography of the central basin with his mortal eyesight. Now that he was a bit closer, he could make out the gentle undulation in the terrain and the conical ¡®hills¡¯ of varying sizes that dotted the area with the highest concentration along the banks of the rivers of blood. If those hills were the same as the deceptive mound he had just encountered, then the basin could reluctantly qualify as a forest.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    The density of the forest increased, peaking at the midpoint between snowy mountain and fiery abyss before tapering off as one approached the central pit of fire. Sand took careful note of the arrangement. Every detail of a Dungeon ¨C specially an embryonic one ¨C could reveal a great deal of information about it. This was why a Dungeon mage rarely let others into their inner world. Knowing how their Dungeons worked could expose their weakness and make it easier to counter them in a fight.


    The Enzeal Princess had unknowingly let someone with the experience and eyesight of a Dungeon mage into her inner world. After all, how could she have expected for the random human slave she had chosen to be the rebirth of a two-hundred-year-old devil.


    Sand¡¯s fight in the Arena followed by the chase and battle with the undead had exhausted most of his mana. What little was left had been depleted during his short frozen spell and to heal his numerous wounds. Currently, he was running on fumes.


    It didn¡¯t take long for his young body to give out, leaving him gasping for breath and too exhausted to take a step further. Plopping down on a relatively smooth rock on the bank of the brook he had been following, he kicked off his boots and massaged his chafed feet as he inspected his condition.


    Most of his wounds had closed up while the deepest ones had stopped bleeding. He was hungry, thirsty and lightheaded from blood-loss. Not to mention bone-weary.


    Seeing him halt, Leo thwacked his head several times with his tail to get him to move to no avail. Grumbling, he leapt off Sand¡¯s head and trotted off ¨C disappearing around a rocky corner. Cracking his neck and stretching, Sand got up and walked up to the brook. Washing his hands in the fast-moving stream, he cupped some blood up in his palms and drank it down. His throat bobbed as he swallowed and the coppery taste of blood suffused his mouth. Repeating the motion a few times, he finally managed to slake his thirst.


    As the icy blood travelled its way down his gullet, turning into a stream of heat that warmed him up from the inside, he felt his empty mana pool start to fill up again.


    Dungeons, especially embryonic ones were chock full of loose mana so anything within them became saturated with energy. A fruit grown in a Dungeon would behave similarly to a mana replenishing pill. As such, drinking the blood flowing in the stream had set him on the path to recovery.


    Taking off his tattered, blood-soaked shirt, he shook it out to cast off the dried blood before tying it around his waist, leaving his upper body bare. If he was going to get into more fights, he¡¯d prefer not having to streak afterwards. Setting his course for the centre of the Dungeon, he resumed his march.


    The crimson sky began to darken slowly, covering the land in a pall of shadow. As the darkness deepened, the scarlet clouds, the snow covering the mountains, the rivers and the streams glowed red due to the mana suffusing them, lighting the region with a dim crimson radiance. It was an eerily beautiful sight.


    A glowing streak of white and blue landed atop an outcropping above Sand. Something was dropped onto his head, bouncing off and clattering onto the rocky ground. Bending down, Sand picked up the object, his expression growing strange as he identified it.


    He turned his gaze to the pint-sized big-cat who was staring down at him proudly from his perch on the ledge. Why would the spirit toss him the branch of one of the predatory trees? Did it want to play fetch?


    As if reading the question in his mind, Leo shot him a disdainful look before pointing at his mouth with a paw. Enlightened, Sand observed the branch more carefully. It was a small section of one of the long vines that grew out of the tops of the trees like a shock of hair. The vine was segmented into multiple sections connected to each other by joints that gave them a wide range of motion. Sand had noticed it before but looking closer, the branch closely resembled a bone with the sap in its hollow interior a close approximation of marrow.


    Bringing the branch to his lips, he sucked hard on one end and with a soft sound, the tube of cartilage within popped into his mouth. A mellow, strangely sweet taste permeated his mouth as he chewed upon it and then swallowed.


    He felt his mana seethe as it was replenished at an accelerated rate. Working his way through the marrow of the entire branch, Sand felt that his reserves were three-quarters full and his hunger a thing of the past.


    Seeing him complete his meal, Leo leapt down from his perch to reclaim his spot atop Sand¡¯s head. Lashing his tail impatiently, the spirit indicated for the boy to get moving. Chuckling softly, Sand obliged.


    As he continued his journey towards the centre of the darkened Dungeon following the course of a river, he fiddled with the hollowed branch in his hand. With some effort, he managed to snap it into eight unequal pieces, proceeding to lash them together with a strip of cloth torn from his shirt.


    Blowing into the longest section, he was rewarded with a low fluting sound while the shortest resulted in a keening whistle. Taking some time to familiarize himself with the notes, he began to play the only tune he knew ¨C one composed by Book shortly before he passed away. Something he had taught Sand on his deathbed to remember him by.


    The dolorous tune reverberated across the lightless basin lit only by the scarlet glow of the blood rivers and the distant orange radiance of the fires that burnt within the central abyss.


    For a moment, everything seemed to stop and listen to the music that spoke of a man¡¯s sorrow at impending separation.


    Then a weeping voice joined in, followed by another, deeper one. A tenor joined the bass and a soprano the tenor as the Weeping Willows responded to the motif of the tune. The call to music was taken up by the neighbouring trees, spreading like wildfire till the entire forest joined in the chorus following the lead of Sand¡¯s fluting.


    Unfurling their vines, the skeletal trees wept tears of blood from their hollow sockets as they raised their branches to the heavens in supplication. The glowing red tears evaporated, covering the entire basin in a radiant blood mist that rose up into the sky.


    Sand narrowed his eyes, watching the clouds in the sky speed up several times as they passed over the densest section of the forest as they made their way from the centre of the Dungeon to the edge. He confirmed his guess. The trees were related to the Time shard of the Dungeon. And by the looks of it, nine out of ten, it was an Agility shard.


    While he hadn''t expected such a huge reaction when he had started playing the tune, it had let him pry more details of the Dungeon. Closing his eyes, he immersed himself in the nuances of the music and let himself relax.


    His path was long, his goal was lofty and obstacles dime a dozen.


    But¡­ he would enjoy walking every step of the way.

 19: One Lifetime Ago

    Long after Sand had stopped playing his makeshift panpipes, the Weeping Willows carried on the refrain. At first, they imitated him, singing their mournful rendition of the song in a chorus of sighs and moans. Then they began to analyse the phrases, taking them apart, substituting one note for the other, and making the music their own in a consummate display of curiosity and innovation. Character traits Sand didn¡¯t find out of place in the core spirit of a woman who had created her own Dungeon formula. Or, at least attempted to.


    Immersed as they were in their musical discourse ¨C various parts of the forest singing its own version of the song ¨C the trees didn¡¯t bother Sand as he walked within metres of them as he followed the course of the river towards the centre of the Dungeon. Even Leo had been oddly silent since the ending of his performance, lying peacefully atop his head. Without anything to distract him from his thoughts, Sand immersed his mind in the lake of his memories.


    Lirael Enzeal, the Third Princess of the Enzeal Royal family, was one of the most influential non-human figures in the history of the Human Emancipation Movement. She was a mascot of sorts; her story inspiring hundreds of human slaves to seek for a better life, a life without fetters. Amongst the slaves of Gehenna, where the first page of her story was written, her popularity was overwhelming.


    Hers was a tale of betrayal, a tale of star-crossed love.


    In the three millennia since High Lord Enzeal¡¯s demise and the cracking of his Dungeon, his descendants unceasingly launched expeditions into its ruins through the crevices. The Chimaera Dungeon was a world unto itself. Its expanse was broad and the resources contained within it innumerable. With how silently death had crept upon the High Lord, he didn¡¯t have the time to properly leave his Dungeon to his posterity in the form of an inheritance.


    The political situation of the Enzeal family finally reached its nadir as the rest of the Royal clans banded together to pressure them into coughing up the resources within their purview. The Enzeal family was like a toothless old wolf guarding a large haunch of venison as the young and healthy members of the pack circled them while licking their jowls. To make matters worse, the minor nobles waited and watched from the sidelines like hyenas attracted by the scent of blood. Even the aristocratic clans subordinate to them were ready to make trouble.


    They were forced to cede many territories, to make many concessions. Not the least among which was the right to explore the Chimaera Dungeon.


    In such a critical situation, the Sangre clan extended their hand of assistance. All they wanted was to form a marital alliance and to explore the Dungeon together. After they collaborated to gain ownership of it, they would share the proceeds half and half. Even knowing that the intentions of the Sangre were likely impure, the Enzeal had no alternative but to accede. After all, the conditions they put forward were much more reasonable than the vow of vassalhood demanded by the other clans.


    The Chimaera Dungeon didn¡¯t allow anyone above the level of a mortal mage to enter ¨C threatening self-detonation if a Dungeon mage tried to force his or her way in. That''s why they had to delegate the exploration to their mortal mages. To bolster their forces, they rushed Lirael''s engagement with the Sangre crown prince Vincent and sent them to rally the orcs to their cause.


    As the birthplace of their race, the significance of the Dungeon to the orcs was extraordinary. Sand didn''t know what deal the Vampires had offered the orcs but he knew that whatever it was had successfully baited them. Unknown to the general populace, the entirety of the orcish high-level mobilized comprehensively. For the reward promised by the Vampires, they dared not stint any effort.


    Sand had assumed that the couple''s choice of Gehenna for the visit was a coincidence but going by the events in this life, it was probably due to Lirael''s familiarity with the location.


    After she and her beau left the Tyhr to report their success, the excitement of their visit slowly died down. The discussions pertaining them growing scarcer as the people relegated them to an interesting memory. Until they were pushed back to the forefront of public perception by the explosive news that shook the hearts of the people. The Vampires were at war; a civil war.


    The alliance of the orcs, the Enzeal and the Sangre had captured the jurisdiction of the Chimaera Dungeon. Celebrations were in order and what better excuse could there exist than the marriage of the couple who had led their expeditionary team of mortal mages to victory?


    It was a grand occasion. The entirety of the top brass of the tripartite alliance gathered together under one roof to wish nuptial joy upon the newlyweds. The doors closed upon the most widely celebrated wedding in recent history¡­


    ¡­ and they opened, revealing a mountain of corpses; rivers of blood. Only the Sangre exited the hall ¨C the newly crowned King Vincent carrying the disembodied head of his would-be wife.


    It was called the Red Wedding.


    Lirael¡¯s solicitation of the orcs to bolster her forces and the subsequent losses they sustained in the event led to the weakening of orcish influence in the Tyhr Desert. This paved the way for the pioneers of the freedom struggle, allowing them to establish a firm foothold while the orcs squabbled amongst themselves over which of them would fill the political void left by the deceased.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ''But that wasn''t all. If it was, she wouldn''t have become as popular as she had.''


    As the Sangre clan went about digesting the fruits of victory, they were obstructed by a string of assassinations. Mortals of their lineage were wantonly slaughtered with no trace of the killer left behind. Investigations were repeatedly carried out but failed to bear fruit. Things came to a head when King Vincent was targeted. If not for his guard, a Dungeon mage, sacrificing himself, the newly crowned ruler of the mortal Kingdom of Sangre would have reigned for all of two years. The death of a Dungeon mage finally alarmed the upper echelons of the Sangre family. Believing it to be the work of the other clans, their High Lord personally took action.


    The result of their investigation shocked the world.


    The culprit was the gladiator who had been carried off by Lirael. He had somehow promoted to a Dungeon Mage, that too, one whose strength dominated above the norm. In his final moment, he left a dark stain upon the pages of history by managing to make High Lord Sangre bleed. It might have been a trickle of blood, a shallow wound; but it was the first time a human had managed to break the skin of their masters.


    Further investigation of his remains revealed that his Dungeon had been inherited from Lirael. It didn¡¯t take much imagination to make up a plot of clandestine romance and revenge fuelled by lost love. Henceforth, the name Lirael Enzeal became a stain upon the honour of the Vampires as well as the object of many a human slave¡¯s admiration.


    Sand''s mind returned to the present as he finished analyzing all the information he had about his captor. He''d had the perfect plan, each stage was linked to the other. His knowledge of the future had filled him with confidence and he was sure that he would be able to surpass two hundred years of effort in mere decades. First, he would win the tournament in the Arena and replace the man who would have been selected. Then he would play pretend lovers with the girl. ''How hard could it be?'' And when the preordained tragedy came to pass and the girl donated her Dungeon to him, he wouldn''t take the same idiotic actions as the love-struck Gladiator. How the man could place meaningless revenge above the plight of his own race was beyond the scope of Sand''s understanding.


    Once he had the Dungeon, he had planned to leverage its resources to complete his own formula. The Blood Gourmand inheritance had mentioned something about fusion between Dungeons with similar themes and it was the shortest route to power Sand could come up with.


    And he had a very compelling reason to rush.


    Right after the Red Wedding was the time when the orcish influence in the Tyhr was the weakest. If he managed to fuse two whole Dungeons and attack before the orcs had a chance to reestablish their chain of command and recuperate, he was certain that he would be able to destroy their supremacy and free most of the humans enslaved by them.


    ''Man proposes and Heaven disposes...''


    Unfortunately, the untimely appearance of the Princess had upended his plans. Especially as she planned to use him as a test subject for her experiments. There was a high probability that he would lose his life or his magical ability as a result of some botched attempt and there was little he could do to avoid it. Once again, his destiny was in the hand of another.


    ''But that''s what makes life worth living. A fight against fate? Interesting!''


    Looking up ahead, he realized that he had unconsciously reached a much wider part of the river. The banks which had been within a dozen feet of each other were now separated by nearly a quarter of a mile. Conspicuously, a large river island took up the middle of the water course, resembling a small hill as it towered out of the blood that flowed around its obstruction.


    Driven by thirst, Sand approached the water. Kneeling by the bank, he cupped up some blood in his hands and drank it down. To his surprise, the taste was a lot thinner compared to the liquid higher up the course. Looking down into the river, he found that he could fuzzily make out the bottom, albeit tinted red.


    Curious, he reached into the river and fumbled about, searching for something that might explain the dilution of the blood. His hand bumped up against something that felt like bone, if bone had the rough texture of bark. His eyes widened as realization struck like lightning out of cloudless skies and he jerked his gaze up to the ''island'' in the centre of the river.


    As though stimulated by his discernment, the entire ''mountain'' shivered, its coating of white soil cracking and showering down into the water as it came to life.


    "Woahhh..."


    With a deep call that shook the bottom of Sand''s heart, the gigantic Weeping Willow unfurled its vines and awoke. The formerly noisy forest stilled at its cry, the silence spreading like an invisible ripple centred on it. Under-lit by the red radiance of the blood river and shaded by the darkness of the night, the tree took on an ominous cast as it towered over the boy, its hollow sockets fixing their soulless gaze upon him. Stumbling in his haste to put some distance between them, Sand landed square on his behind unable to tear his gaze away from the massive ent.


    He realized now what Leo had been leading him towards. The second core spirit of Bloodskull. The trees in the forest were but a few offshoots of the actual spirit - outgrowths that had sprouted from the network of its roots that overspread the entire Dungeon, feeding upon the skeletal remains in the soil and absorbing the blood in the river.


    Boy and ent stared at each other for a brief moment before the spirit turned its attention to the lion by his side. Leo had leapt off Sand''s head the moment he had stumbled to avoid being thrown off. Growling at him discontentedly, the Frostmane Lion walked up to the river and then above it, the flowing blood freezing into a path of red ice beneath his feet. Beckoning for Sand to follow with his head, he turned to the ent and roared.


    As though receiving some sort of confirmation, stretching back upright the giant Weeping Willow opened its mouth wide, revealing a cavernous entrance to its interior. Without a backwards glance, Leo bounded into it, disappearing into the darkness. Scrambling up to his feet, Sand rushed to follow before the river broke up the bridge of ice. Shooting a last glance at the tree-spirit that seemed to be ignoring him, he too followed Leo into the darkness.


    As soon as he was through the spirit closed its mouth, wrapping its vines around itself yet again. Soon, the river returned to its previous design.


    After a few moments of utter silence, one of the smaller trees hesitantly exuded a decidedly musical sob. The sound echoed out into the silence, sounding deafeningly loud by contrast. Spooked, the perpetrator shrank back into the concealment of its vines.


    Silence.


    When it became abundantly clear that no reprisal was forthcoming from their stoic progenitor, the forest burst into a joyous cacophony of melodious lamentation. Music filled the night.

 20: Gleaming Fangs

    The sun was setting. Lirael watched the fiery red orb sink below the horizon, dyeing the Tyhr red with its farewell glow. Her shadow stretched long behind her as she stood upon a dune, her hood thrown back and her snowy hair fluttering in the chill breeze that heralded the onset of the freezing desert night. With a flick of her wrist, the space around her rippled and silver ingots appeared baseless, summoned by her out of her Dungeon.


    When she had sent Vlad to the Silveros residence to settle her dues, she had instructed him to purchase two other things. First, several ingots of the purest silver the Orcs could manufacture and second, a map of the desert with the known habitats of the Sand Wyrms marked upon it. The Silveros family, as the premier manufacturer of silver as well as the owners of a Sand Wyrm colony were uniquely qualified to satisfy both demands. After all, they had to have captured their Wyrms from somewhere.


    Arranging the ingots in a circle around her on the ground, Lirael waited. This area, according to the map, had an underground network of metallic veins. The ore, unfortunately, was too scattered and deep underground for mining it to be a profitable proposition. Therefore, although they had discovered it, the Silveros family hadn''t made any attempt to extract the ore.


    Enticed by the aura of the metal, a colony of wyrms had moved in and it was their queen that the Silveros had captured. They had deliberately left behind some of the child wyrms in the hope that over the years, one of them would evolve into the new queen. Capturing it would effectively halve their production times.


    The only reason they had even sold the information to Lirael was that only a short time had passed since their capture of the previous queen. The time was only sufficient for the new one to advance to Tier 2. Trading the information about a Tier 2 beast for a substantial amount of money and the favour of a Vampire Princess was a cost-effective transaction in their eyes. Let alone, they had made her promise that she would only take the queen, leaving the rest of the Wyrms behind to breed.


    Closing her eyes, Lirael activated a detection shard that let her feel the vibrations in the ground. The level of the Seismic Sense shard wasn¡¯t very high and she only got a fuzzy idea of the sand beneath her feet. But that was enough.


    Without warning, she stepped forward, her form blurring as her space shard kicked in. Then immediately, she stepped back, her elbow glowing red as it slammed into the side of the Wyrm that had burst out of the sand beneath her feet, its jaws closing upon the ingots of silver. Red ripples emanated out from the point of impact, blending with the light of the setting sun as the body of the beast bent from the force of the blow. The ripples permeated its body, dissolving its flesh and organs into blood.


    The Tier 2 Wyrm Queen was sent flying, slamming into the ground and drawing a wide furrow in the sand. Blood gushed out of its gaping maw as it twitched feebly a few times before growing still. The desert greedily soaked in its blood, appearing dark under the sunset glow.


    ~Frostmane Armour~


    ~Bloodskull Gate~


    Activating two abilities in quick succession, Lirael¡¯s frosty hair elongated rapidly, winding around her body and limbs, forming into a coat of frozen armour replete with a helmet and pauldron. Three skulls made of blood-red stone appeared above her head, floating unsupported in the air. Opening their jaws, a strong suction originated from them, drawing the spilt blood of the beast towards their mouth in three separate streams.


    The sand beneath Lirael seethed as five Tier 1 Wyrms burst out of it and attacked her to avenge the death of their queen. They bounced harmlessly off Lirael¡¯s armour, catching a layer of frost every time they made contact. After a few moments, their speed slowed to a crawl as they shivered under a layer of rime. With a mournful gnashing of teeth, the largest of them abandoned the offensive and dived into the sand to escape. Demoralized by the evacuation of their strongest the rest of them soon followed suit. Just as the slowest of the child wyrms tried to burrow into the sand Lirael took action, her form blurring as she appeared beside it and gently laid a palm on its skin. Frost spread rapidly from the point of contact, turning the creature into a frozen sculpture in an instant, leaving her standing alone over the corpse of the two wyrms.


    After swallowing the last drop of blood, the Bloodskull Gate closed its mouths, floating silently above her head. Despite her Dungeon being an embryonic one without the capability of natural growth, it had the ability to supplement itself by swallowing the blood of other creatures. The stronger the creature, the more mana suffused in its blood, the better it was for the Dungeon.


    With a thought, Lirael summoned Igor, the Gate floating a distance from her and initiating the bloody waterfall. The Blood Thrall stepped out of the cataract wrapped in the same concealing black robes he had worn at the Arena. Walking over to the shrivelled corpse of the queen he wordlessly began dismantling it, tossing its teeth and bones into the Gate to supplement the Dungeon¡¯s skeletal ecology and gathering its skin for further processing. Collecting the crystal core of the beast, he presented it to Lirael before walking over to the frozen wyrm. Shattering it with a light tap, he extracted two shards, presenting them to Lirael before entering the Gate and disappearing once again into her Dungeon.


    The Gate turned incorporeal and dissipated, leaving Lirael standing alone in the desert holding onto the three shards.


    The queen''s shard resembled a transparent crystalline flower that had been plucked bare of its petals. The Mother shard was the only shard the queen condensed and each of its ¡®petals¡¯ was a Tier 1 Child shard that linked her to her minions. Not only did the connected shards allow the queen to share shards and senses with her subordinates, it locked their level at Tier 1 and any mana they produced beyond that level was transmitted to the queen to help her promote. The stronger the queen grew, the higher the Tier of the Mother shard and the more ¡®petals¡¯ it had. And more ¡®petals¡¯ meant more subordinates. It was a positive cycle.


    The two shards extracted from the Tier 1 wyrm were a Child shard and a Third Eye shard. Putting them away, Lirael focused on the Tier 2 crystal. It only had five indentations where the ''petals'' had been removed, the sixth one displaying signs of growth. The queen had evidently been in the middle stage of Tier 2. Once the Mother shard grew ten petals, it would reach the peak of Tier 2.If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    Bringing the Mother shard to her mouth, Lirael sank her elongated fangs into the crystal, injecting her venom into it. The jet-black toxin spread within the shard, dyeing it thoroughly. The crystal began to melt, reducing steadily as it was drawn into the fine channels in her canines that were built for sucking blood. The dark crystalline liquid merged with the network of crystal already lining the inner walls of her fangs, bolstering the shard within.


    The major characteristics of Vampires was their predilection towards a diet of blood as well as their venom that could have varied effects based on the shard they paired it with. Some chose paralytic toxins, or ones that induced hallucinations in their victims; while others like Lirael preferred the Thrall shard. Based on the consumption of control class shards like the Mother shard, the Thrall shard could turn their victim into a mindless puppet. The Thrall would have greatly enhanced strength and no sensation of pain. Depending on the Tier of the shard consumed, the strength of the Thrall would be capped. Dedicated training could turn the Thralls into more than just mindless soldiers. They could even develop a nascent consciousness that would be absolutely loyal to their master. Vlad and Igor were prime examples of well-trained Thralls. Both of them were at Tier 3 ¨C limited by their innate talent and the Tier of the shard Lirael had used to create them.


    But for Sand, she had something else planned.


    Space distorted as she disappeared into her Dungeon, leaving only a set of footprints on the sand. In a moment, the traces of her were written over by the desert breeze.


    Sand''s pupils dilated to combat the darkness of the interior of the tree-spirit. With the closure of its mouth the moment he had stepped in, there was precious little light to see by; and what little there was came from the two apertures high up the chamber - the two eyes of the tree. The twin beams of dim crimson light converged on a figure seated at the opposite end of the chamber on a throne of twisted wood.


    Lirael watched the boy enter the cavern. Her pale, slender finger ran gently over the spine of the miniature lion lying on her lap, making it purr contentedly, her crimson lacquered nail appearing black under the sanguine light. Her red lips parted as she voiced her question, "Where did you learn that tune?"


    Hastily getting down on his knees, Sand kept his eyes on the ground as he replied succinctly, the subservience of the first half of his previous life bleeding into his tone, "Reporting to the Mistress, this one learnt it from a busking caravan that performed at the oasis this one was born."


    Her curiosity satisfied, Lirael beckoned for him to approach. As he got to his feet, something whistled past his ear, startling him and creating a gust that blew his hair awry. Leo''s angry roar reverberated in the closed space of the cavern as he stood up in Lirael''s lap, his mane fluffed up and hackles raised as his eyes darted about restlessly, trying to follow the path of the near transparent form that flitted about in front of him. A trickle of blue blood ran down from his injured nose.


    With great difficulty, Sand was able to glimpse the form of the culprit as it appeared and disappeared from beneath the beam of red light. A transparent hummingbird; less like one carved out of glass and more of an outline of the bird. A core spirit. The way it flickered from one point in space to another making it clear that it was the spirit birthed by the spatial shard. The hostility it held towards its fellow spirit was quite obvious. Baring his teeth, the lion growled menacingly, the temperature of the cavern dropping sharply causing Sand''s breath to fog up.


    A sharp whistle sliced through the tension like a sharp knife, causing the two conflicting spirits to stiffen. Narrowing her eyes at the avian spirit, Lirael extended her hand to it with her finger crooked. Sheepishly, the bird landed on the digit, grasping onto it with its transparent talons and shifting nervously without meeting her gaze. Tapping its head sharply in admonishment, Lirael transferred it to one shoulder before waving her hand over Leo''s head. A red light covered him and when she removed her palm, his wound had healed. Throwing a disgruntled look at the bird on her shoulder, Leo leapt off Lirael''s lap, and much to her surprise, onto Sand''s head, settling down onto his hair and pointedly ignoring her.


    Sand''s hair stood on end as her disgruntled gaze settled on him, a mirror of the hummingbird''s expression a moment ago. ''Is she... jealous?'' he wondered in amazement. Neither Leo nor his temperamental Mistress were entities he could afford to offend. One a core spirit equivalent to a Tier 5 beast and the other the owner of the Dungeon he was confined in. Cold sweat washed over him as he racked his brain for a method to defuse the situation.


    Thankfully, Lirael wasn''t as impulsive as her infant spirit and she settled back into her seat with a sigh, bestowing a small smile upon him. "It looks like he really likes you. Both him and the Willows, you have quite the charm, boy."


    Sand awkwardly bent his waist without jolting the lion on his head. "This one doesn''t dare."


    Waving the rest of his platitudes away, she beckoned, "Come here, boy, I have something for you." When Sand approached, she continued, "I watched you fight back at the Arena and a while ago upon the mountain. I was impressed." She reached out with a finger and Sand felt his body stiffen as his blood stilled in his veins. "Your talent, both magical and in a fight is quite eminent." Her finger grazed a vertical line down his bare chest, right above his heart. The skin parted as though it had been sheared with the sharpest of knives, yet no blood flowed out."So, I''ll have you be my Champion." Reaching beside her, the Vampire Princess took up a shard shaped like the petal of a crystal flower and Sand''s eyes widened.


    "Oh? You recognize it?" she asked, mildly surprised. Even if Sand wanted to, with his blood shackling his body from the inside, he couldn''t reply.


    Lirael didn''t really want him to. She continued the conversation by herself as she pushed the shard into the cut on Sand''s chest. "What is a Champion, you ask? Well, it''s the strongest and most favoured Thrall in a Vampire''s retinue and you, boy, are lucky to be chosen as mine." The Child shard dissolved into a stream of liquid and seeped into Sand''s heart, crystallizing over his Phlebotomy shard, merging with it. "And do you know what is most fortunate?" Lirael drew the pad of her thumb over the wound on his chest, sealing it shut with a soft red glow. "By dint of your chosen shard, you get to keep your mind."


    Sand''s heart began to constrict violently as the Phlebotomy shard entered the phase of evolution and his scarlet mana became insufficient to support the process by far. He sneered in his mind as he studied the beautiful visage of the woman who had been the idol in every human slave''s heart in his previous life. ''Romance? Love? All the gladiator had ever been was a slave, a Thrall, and any "revenge" was the product of his indoctrination.'' His dark eyes grew emotionless. ''How can love exist between different races? Such an impractical fantasy. Fools one and all.'' He rebuked himself for putting his trust in information based on rumour and speculation. He realized how it could have all been a ploy by the Sangre to discredit Lirael in order to improve their own image. But now, it was too late for regrets.


    Bending down, Lirael parted her lips wide and sank her fangs into the side of his neck.

 21: Transformation

    The Vampire venom seared through Sand¡¯s veins like liquid fire. For a brief moment, his world grew dark, twin flowers of white agony blooming at the points where the fangs pierced skin. The pain enveloped his mind; crushed it, shattering his conscious thoughts into jagged fragments that seemed to pierce his brain. He had believed that his experiences from his previous lifetime, the latter half of which was spent in near constant conflict, had readied him for any suffering he would have to undergo in this one. He had been wrong.


    Now he knew why the Thralls devolved into mindless monsters after the transformation. No man could endure the infernal torment with their sanity intact. Now he knew why the Thralls didn¡¯t flinch at pain. They had been born in a crucible of agony; forged by it into the relentless monsters that treated a lost limb the same as a papercut.


    ¡°Focus, boy! Use your shards.¡± A melodious female voice resounded within his cracking mind, parting the curtain of agony long enough for him to form a single coherent thought: an order to the shard in his heart.


    His chest glowed with a crimson brilliance that spread with each beat of his heart into every single artery, vein and capillary in his body, coercing the jet-black venom spreading through his blood towards his left arm. His bones caught a dark metallic lustre as they fused the venom, a terrible bone-deep itch battering against his frayed sanity as the shard within them expanded.


    Up his arm, through his shoulder and into his ribs it spread; each inch of progress a hellish torment. If not for Lirael¡¯s magic holding him up and immobilizing him, he would have been writhing on the floor screaming. It was only instinct that kept him stimulating his shard, his mana draining like water down a sink. His reserves soon saw the bottom.


    Just then, the Undead Marrow dyed his sternum black, right above his heart. He felt his heartbeat speed up as the shards in it responded to its proximity. With every beat, the glowing red crystal began to absorb the venom out of the blood, growing dark and expanding in the process. The red glow was replaced by a black brilliance as the shard overspread the heart, surrounding it in a lattice of black crystal threads.


    A thread extended from the network and touched the modified bone nearest to it, fusing with the crystal within. More and more threads began to extend from the heart, joining it to Sand¡¯s ribs. Each beat took blood in, absorbed the toxin and pumped the purified blood out. The absorbed venom travelling through the crystal threads into the bones, speeding up their conversion.


    Each beat stripped more violet mana out of the venom, the energy diffusing into Sand¡¯s body and expanding violently as it degraded down the spectrum. Each minor stage of magic doubled the density of the mana. Even a tiny amount of violet mana was equivalent to the full capacity of a red mage. Sand felt his stage promoting by leaps and bounds as his scarlet mana turned vermillion, then with a jolt that ran through his entire body, sublimated into orange. He had promoted to a yellow mage.


    Incited by the change in his mana, the stalled evolution of his shard progressed again. The Child shard fused with the Phlebotomy shard under the influence of the Undead Marrow and the Thrall shards, progressing towards Tier 2. Only the aura of mana at the yellow stage or higher could sustain a Tier 2 shard. Each minor stage of magic allowed the mage to fuse with an additional Tier 1 shard and a Tier 2 shard was equivalent to two Tier 1s.


    Sand¡¯s mana seethed as it was continuously consumed and replenished as the Undead Marrow transformed his bones down to the smallest ones in his ears. When the last bone was converted, the drain on his mana reduced and its level rose again, undergoing another condensation into apricot yellow mana enabling the Undead Marrow to promote to Tier 2. Under the joint influence of the two Tier 2 shards, one converting his blood, the other altering his vessels, his blood and vessels darkened to the colour of midnight.


    It was only then that Lirael released him and straightened up. Losing her support, Sand flopped onto the ground like a marionette with its strings cut, gasping for breath as his mind struggled to seal away the ordeal. Leo, who had jumped off his head once the conversion had started, trotted up to him and prodded him with a miniature paw.


    Leaning back into her wooden seat, Lirael massaged the gums above her fangs with her thumbs as her venom sacs protested the overuse. To complete Sand¡¯s transformation in such a short time, she¡¯d had to push them to their limit. It¡¯d take at least a couple of months for them to recover completely. Using her venom to transform Sand¡¯s body with the help of the Undead Marrow shard was turning out to be a more consumptive process than she had thought. Specially since the two shards possessed by him had such great synergy, forcing her to promote them together, doubling her expenditure. The later stages would place an even higher demand on her venom. ¡®Pushing both his shards to Tier 3 will cost me more than converting Vlad and Igor combined,¡¯ she speculated with a sigh as she gazed down upon the prone form of the boy and the jet-black vessels showing through from beneath his skin over his entire body. ¡®I hope this is worth it.¡¯


    Sand slowly regained consciousness as his mind scrambled to make connections with his senses. The first thing to return was touch. He felt coarse grit digging into his back as he lay on ground much unlike the soft sands of the desert. After touch came hearing but he couldn''t make out much except the sound of his own respite and the thump of his heart in his chest. Sight returned soon after as he opened his sleep-encrusted eyes to gaze up at the sky.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Clouds of many colours swirled across the starless ceiling of night, the colours dull and lifeless like a rainbow tinted grey. Multicoloured miasma circled and swirled around the clearing like a slavering predator lying in wait for prey as it was kept off by a transparent dome of clarity. The dome caused his vision to waver once in a while like a picture seen through distorted air above heated sands.


    ¡®A Domain¡­¡¯


    The thought came unbidden and close on its heels came memory, flowing back into his mind in fits and starts before stalling on the sight of a visage of transcendent beauty bearing down upon him with her mouth parted wide, her fangs gleaming under the dim red illumination of a cavern within a willow. He jerked upright with a start, cold sweat beading his entire body as he breathed hard.


    Then immediately wished he hadn''t as nausea assaulted him making his vision to swim and his empty stomach churn in his gut. Twisting to the side he fell forward on his palms, dry-heaving into the dirt. A string of saliva dangled down from his lips, gleaming orange in the firelight. ¡®Firelight?¡¯ he wondered as he looked up.


    A roaring campfire took up the middle of the clearing he was in, the branches that fed it crackling as tongues of red and yellow flame licked them. Apart from him, the clearing was empty. Glancing up again at the sky, ¡®The Myriad Toxins Desert Area,¡¯ he concluded as he stared the clouds drifting across the sky like broad brushstrokes across a dark canvas.


    Rising to his feet with some difficulty, he shambled towards the fire. His body felt heavy and numb, like one¡¯s head just before a fever, indicating worse to come. Reaching the roaring flames, he flopped down on a flat stone near it. It was then that he noticed a large knapsack placed beside the stone. Pushing through the haze of dullness that covered his mind, he pulled open the drawstrings and checked its contents.


    The sloshing sounds as he had shifted the bag had given him an inkling as to its contents and opening it confirmed his guess. Several waterskins occupied its interior along with assorted camping supplies like pots, pans and ropes. Taking up one of the waterskins, Sand uncorked it and took a whiff and then a swig. The familiar coppery tang of blood filled his mouth and he felt a warmth suffuse his body as the liquid made his way down his parched throat, replenishing a bit of his mana.


    Putting the waterskin back, Sand shook his head vigorously like a dog trying to shake off water. And truly, his brain felt waterlogged; it was as though his every thought had to rise from the depths of a lake before it could float to the surface of his mind. His memories felt like pearls scattered from a broken necklace, his thoughts unable to string them together into a logical conclusion.


    Rattling the cage of his skull seemed to do his brain some good as his thoughts cleared up somewhat and he regained the presence of mind to inspect his current condition more closely.


    Raising his palms, Sand observed them under the flickering orange firelight. His veins stood out as a jet-black network from beneath his skin. His fingernails appeared black instead of their previous pink as the capillaries transported dark blood beneath them. Unsheathing his dagger, Sand observed his eyes reflected in the gleaming metal. Dark vessels surrounded his abyssal irises leaving only a ring of white, like the corona of the sun during an eclipse. Putting the dagger away, Sand sighed. The changes were far from cosmetic.


    His mana senses returned the state of his body ¨C his bones and vessels had been thoroughly modified by the two Tier 2 shards embedded within him. It didn¡¯t take him long to understand why he was feeling so dull and heavy. The Undead Marrow had dyed his bones a metallic black, making them denser, tougher and heavier in the process. Twice as heavy to be exact. And the alteration of his blood had affected his entire body, each organ and muscle struggling to adapt to blood the colour of midnight. His brain was the one affected the most ¨C the delicate organ slowly adapting to its new environment.


    Sand knew now why Lirael had forced him to battle the skeletons up in the mountains. She was testing his will. Not only was a strong will important to withstand the excruciating pain of the transformation and yet keep his sanity, it would help in restoring himself to normalcy as he dealt with the repercussions.


    Thralls were generally utterly mindless after their creation and any consciousness they displayed later was something that was born in their minds after the fact. Other than an unquestioning loyalty to their maker, they could develop in any direction based on how they were trained. They were no different from a newborn baby ¨C a newborn with the body of an adult and a relentless drive to serve their master, sure, but a newborn nonetheless. As such it took time and effort to teach them. Using the Undead Marrow to alter the process of ¡®turning¡¯, Lirael had managed to preserve Sand¡¯s consciousness. It would save her ten years of training. As short on time as she was, hearing that Sand, to survive, had cut off his own arm, had been one of the major reasons she had bought him.


    Finishing his examination, judging by the degree of his adaptation to the blood, Sand estimated that he had been unconscious for upward of two weeks.¡®She probably kept me in her Dungeon where time runs faster,¡¯ he surmised. Extracting a fresh set of clothes from the knapsack, Sand discarded his tattered and torn trousers, that survived only in name, and donned them. Using his knife, he sheared his messy locks close to his skull and tossed the hair into the fire. The acrid smell of burning hair assailed his nose as he walked away from the fire with a flaming branch held up in his hand as a torch.


    Reaching the edge of the Domain, Sand narrowed his eyes as he observed the almost imperceptible wavering in the air. Pushing his makeshift torch outside the boundary, he watched the flame gutter like a candle in front of a drafty window before burning a poisonous green. ¡®Netherfire,¡¯ He muttered in his heart as the green flames reflected off his dark pupils. ¡®So, I¡¯m back here again.¡¯


    Taking a deep breath, he took the final step and his form was swallowed by the miasma beyond the boundary.

 22: Netherfire Serpent

    Rend flesh, break bone; battle is our calling, war our home.


    ~ Motto of the Asura Corps of the Rakshasa Army.


    Sand breathed in deeply as he exited the protection of the Domain, devolving into a coughing fit as the corrosive miasma attacked his throat and lungs like the sting of a thousand wasps. Bringing his hand away from his mouth, Sand found it wet with his dark blood. Undeterred, he inhaled again, this time, activating both his shards. A black brilliance covered him as the toxins were absorbed by the vessels in his lungs and brought to his heart through his bloodstream. The crystal lattice surrounding his heart absorbed the toxin and transferred it to his bones where the Undead Marrow used it as a nutrient to generate more of the black blood that flowed in his veins.


    Stopping the operation of the shards, Sand took stock of his mana. His reserve of apricot yellow mana had reduced slightly to fuel the two shards. With his mind dulled as it was, it took Sand a while to calculate that at the current rate of consumption, he could stay in the miasma for two more hours till his mana levels grew dangerously low and he had to retreat into the safety of the Domain.


    He shot a glance backwards. The clearing, the roaring campfire, his bag of supplies; none of it was visible. In their place was a patch of barren ground with miasma covering it. If not for the waterskin filled with blood lashed to his waist and his knowledge of the exact position of the clearing, he would have believed that it didn¡¯t exist.


    The intention of the Vampire princess was quite clear in leaving him alone with a week¡¯s worth of supplies. After adapting to his new physical state, he was to set out and survive in these cursed lands. By letting him raise his strength in this environment extremely suited to his Undead Marrow shard, she was reducing the burden on her resources, whetting his fight consciousness and training his survival skills, all at once.


    ¡®As a middle stage Yellow Mage, I can fuse one more Tier 1 shard.'' pondered Sand as he moved away from the Domain, the flickering green torchlight only affording him visibility for a few paces around him. Sand was quite curious about the rationale behind the promotion of his shards. Having accepted that his knowledge of magic was incomplete at best, his mind often latched on to any source of magical information he could get. This time, it happened to be his own Thrall transformation.


    Going by his recollection of the process, the fusion of the Child shard with his Phlebotomy shard had resulted in the Tier 2 shard that currently occupied his heart. There was also the influence of the Vampire venom and the Undead Marrow shard which had simultaneously been promoted a Tier. The skills tied to the shard had also changed. While previously, the Undead Marrow could only reinforce, repair and produce bone, now it could do the same for blood.


    As for the Phlebotomy shard ¨C at Tier 1, it could aggravate bleeding while detoxifying the target at the same time. To detoxify himself, Sand would have to lose some of his own blood. After its promotion though, it had gained the ability to absorb toxins and transfer them to the Undead Marrow shard directly without the loss of blood. ¡®Then there was the mana I absorbed from the toxin,''he recalled.


    Catching some movement from the corner of his eye - a flash of green - he tried to dodge but his sluggish reflexes slowed him enough for the streak to slam into him, making him drop the torch. The burning branch scattered green sparks as it bounced on the ground and went out, letting the darkness flow back into the area like water.


    Pain sparked in his forearm as a pair of fangs sank into them. Gritting his teeth, Sand swung his arm to try and fling his attacker away, only to fail when the serpent wreathed in toxic green flames wrapped its body around his arm, anchoring itself into his flesh with its curved fangs. A searing agony assaulted his mind as the skeletal snake poured its venom into him, his flesh bubbling and melting like wax as lines of green fire spidered beneath his skin.


    If this had happened to him but a few weeks ago, he might have succumbed to the paralyzing pain but now, after his soul and body had been tempered in the excruciation of the Thrall transformation, he merely staggered.


    Anger dilated his pupils, shortened his breaths and gave him strength to bring his arm slamming down onto the gravelly ground. Once, twice, thrice; again and again the dull thump of stone against bone rang out into the silent night until with a sickening crunch, the skull of the serpent caved in. The flames covering it flickered and then extinguished leaving only the skeleton behind, glowing with a pale green phosphorescence. With its fangs hooked into the flesh of his arm and its body wound tightly around it, it looked like a macabre arm-guard.


    ¡®A Netherfire Serpent,¡¯ Sand observed between gasped breaths. ¡®Don¡¯t tell me¡­¡¯


    If he was correct, then he had to return to the safety of the Domain as soon as possible. He winced as another spike of pain seared into his mind, disrupting the chain of his thoughts. In its dying moment, the serpent had discharged the last of its venom into his arm. Most of his left arm was now a mess of molten flesh. Sweat beaded his forehead and his body was shivering at the very precipice of going into shock. Biting down on the hilt of his knife, he activated both his shards as he held his injured arm steady with his freed one.


    A black brilliance erupted out of his heart threading through his blood and enveloping his arm. He felt the burning ache in his arm fade as the toxin was drawn out of his flesh ¨C only for his blood to boil in his veins as it bore the venom instead. Muscles clenching, black veins stuck out all over Sand''s body from the effort of keeping himself from screaming. His enhanced jaws splintered the hardwood handle of the knife as the boiling blood seared through his vessels and poured into his heart.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    For a short moment, he blanked out, his soul seemingly floating in a void before his consciousness slammed back into his body and the aches returned. Mercifully, they were muted and dulled. More like a month-old scar than a fresh wound. His entire body relaxed, the hiltless blade dropping out of his slackened jaws and clattering onto the gravelly ground. His body followed suit, flopping face first into the grit.


    Through eyes dimmed by exhaustion, he caught sight of his mangled left arm, the skeletal remains of the serpent still coiled around it like an ornament. With a quiet crack that sounded exceedingly loud in the oppressive silence, the bones fissured and crumbled like mud left too long in a kiln. Before Sand¡¯s sluggish mind could make any sense of the situation, his heart beat powerfully in his chest and vermillion mana gushed out of it in a torrent that swirled and merged with his own mana and replenished it, sending a jolt through his entire body.


    His eyes snapped open as the energy surged through him. He felt freshly rested and bursting with strength. Other than the dull throbbing pain in his arm, the rest of his aches seemed to have miraculously disappeared - the mana having erased them like a wet rag wiped over a slate. Carefully avoiding aggravating the wound on his left arm, Sand pushed himself staggeringly up to his feet, picking up the knife in his uninjured hand along the way.


    A sibilant hiss resounded in the silence, echoed from another direction by a lower, more malicious one. Soon, the sound was taken up by more and more serpents in a chorus of rustles and hisses as they took up positions surrounding Sand. The dense miasma obscured their appearance but he caught glimpses of sinuous skeletons aflame with poisonous green flames. And directly in front of him was a Tier 2 Wight, its flaming bones encased in a half-formed layer of burning muscle. Hollow sockets met his eyes reminiscent of an eclipse and the two of them stared each other down in a silent confrontation.


    He had been right. It was a Netherfire Serpent nest and the noise of the fight had drawn the colony to him.


    Abruptly, Sand threw his head back and laughed, the sound hoarse due to his venom-wracked lungs. He finally knew what the woman wanted him to do, why she had dumped him here like so much extraneous luggage. Here, he was invincible ¨C or close enough for it to matter, anyway. His shards rendered him effectively immune to toxins and in fact, he would only benefit from them. And pitted against the undead that only had toxic attacks, he was in an impregnable position ¨C especially since he could absorb their mana and make it his in the process.


    Any mana he lost to keep his shards active, he could recoup during the fight. Any blood he lost, he could regenerate. Any exhaustion he felt would be washed away by his mana. Here was his paradise for swift advancement. The only caveat was that he would have to overcome the pain of the venom searing through his vessels and melting his flesh.


    He stopped laughing and turned his gaze to the ring of undead snakes. They had backed away from him at his sudden outburst and were hissing at him, forked tongues of green flame flickering in an imitation of their appendages in life.


    He activated both his shards, and this time, he didn¡¯t stint mana. His heart contracted powerfully in his chest and veins bulged all over his body as his blood pressure suddenly shot up. His vision tunnelled and darkened around the edges as the pressure of excess blood affected his brain. Raising the knife to his forehead, Sand slid the honed edge against his skin, his dark blood running down from the cut in a sheet that dyed his face. In a swift set of movements, the knife fluttered about his body, scouring thin lines into his skin. Tossing the bloodied blade away, Sand advanced upon the Wight. With every beat of his heart, blood spewed out of his wounds coating him in the dark liquid.


    The Wight reared up, threatening him back with a sibilant hiss and the Bone Monsters and skeletons under its command took up the chorus. Sand maintained his pace, undeterred.


    Angered by his unrelenting advance, the Wight spat a column of noxious green fire at him, the heat-less flames roaring through the air.


    ~Blood Asura~


    Raising a bloodied palm Sand intercepted the attack. As soon as the green fire contacted the black blood, it was drawn into his palm in a burst of dark brilliance. Lowering his steaming hand, Sand stared unemotionally at the serpent, his pupils dilating as he felt his blood boiling in his veins as the searing toxins made their way to his heart. Something in him finally snapped and a feral grin split his lips, his white teeth forming a fearsome contrast against his bloodied face and matted hair. The fire reached his heart and the last of the haze covering his mind ablated like snow under the summer sun ¨C scorched away by the pain. Usually, Sand didn¡¯t like to fight, preferring strategy instead but once a fight became inevitable¡­


    Sand fought. And slayed creatures already dead.


    A transparent hummingbird, more of an outline of the avian creature than a bird made of transparent crystal, flitted around the figure of a boy standing amidst a small pile of bone. Its ruby red eyes regarded the figure curiously. Despite his upright stance, his head raised to scream of his victory to the world, he was unconscious. His two hands gripped the halves of the skull of the Wight he had ripped apart ¨C a testament to his feat. All the bones around him had crumbled to ashy debris, leached of all their strength.


    A gentle breeze blew through the region and the remnants of the boy¡¯s enemies rose in a cloud of grey dust that merged with the colourful miasma, leaving only his blood-caked figure behind.


    With a series of staccato chirps, the phantom bird zipped down to the boy. Grabbing a talonful of his hair, it whipped its wings twice in rapid succession. Their surroundings blurred and they were back at the campfire where it had all begun. The jolt unbalanced the boy and letting go of his hair, the bird let him collapse stiffly to the ground. With a few chirps towards the fallen figure, it zipped towards a woman seated by the campfire. Her pristine white hair glittered orange in the firelight. Her red eyes contained an entire world.


    Chirping excitedly, the phantom flitted about her head before landing on her shoulder and affectionately combing her hair with its pointed beak. With a sigh, the woman took her gaze off the centre of the blazing fire and stood. Making her way to the prone form, she looked down upon it with a doubtful expression on her face. A wave of her hand and he vanished, transported to her Dungeon for healing.


    Absentmindedly, she stared up at the sky visible through her Domain.


    The firmament was greying, heralding the onset of dawn. The clouds of many colours were shedding their coats of grey in favour of more vibrant daytime counterparts. A stiff breeze painted them across the sky in broad, rough strokes. And still Lirael couldn''t understand.


    ¡®What drives you so?¡¯

 23: Silver Lining

    Sand awoke to the stench of fire and brimstone. His awakening was accompanied by the return of sensation; old aches layered over by the new, each inch of his flesh felt like it had been tenderized in preparation for a cooking. Given his situation and how he was being raised by the Princess ¨C it wasn¡¯t an entirely inaccurate summarization of the situation. The impression was further compounded by the furnace-like temperatures of wherever it was that he had found himself. He truly did feel like a piece of meat in an oven.


    Groaning as he accidentally placed some weight on his injured left arm, Sand struggled up to a seated posture. ¡®Come to think of it, that didn¡¯t hurt as much as I thought it would,¡¯ he mused as he inspected his condition with his mana.


    He had, unsurprisingly, advanced a stage; his mana now a vibrant shade of lemon yellow. With how interminable the assault of the serpents had seemed, he wouldn''t have been surprised if he had advanced right up to Green. ¡®Most of them ran when I offed the Wight,¡¯ he concluded. The strength of a colony was also its weakness. The rigid chain of command meant that the higher Tier beasts could drive their subordinates into a suicidal charge to exhaust and whittle away at a superior opponent. It also meant that once the upper echelons were dealt with by means of a beheading tactic, the entire army would collapse into disarrayed rabble.


    As Sand advanced upon the Wight, driven by instinct and the force of habit, it had sent out wave after wave of its subordinates to try and wear him away like the sea would a rock. But instead of losing his strength, Sand had turned the skeletal serpents into nutrition for his advancement. The Wight had realized it too late for the knowledge to save its life and with its death, the spine of the colony had been shattered. They broke and ran.


    Which was quite fortunate; because unlike his mana, and therefore his physical strength, which was quite abundant, Sand was beyond exhausted mentally. The constant torture of having his blood boil within his veins as the Netherfire toxin seared through them had taken its toll on him. Willpower was all well and good but his mind and body was only that of a child. In this engagement, he had wrung his own potential dry. He was like a pile of kindling and even one more snake bite would have been the spark that set him ablaze.


    His wounds spoke of the intensity of the battle. No inch of his skin was unblemished, no inch unscarred. The most common injury was the puncture wounds where the serpents had sunk their fangs into his flesh. A quick sweep with his mana revealed over a dozen such injuries ¨C the most fearsome of which was the one on his left hand where the bone monster, almost at the cusp of advancement to the level of a Wight, had pumped its load of venom into him in the throes of its death.


    Raising his hand to the side of his neck, he brushed the two indentations ¨C a reminder of where Lirael had marked him. It seemed that it was a season for venomous fangs.


    As for the rest of him ¨C he was mostly unscathed. There was some residual damage to his throat and lungs from their exposure to the miasma and some of his organs were the worse for the wear, having to withstand the effect of burning blood flowing through them, but it was nothing some rest and the washout of his mana couldn''t fix. Not a single fissure was to be found on his bones from the impact of the snakes against his body. Sand wasn¡¯t surprised. His bones were toughened by the transformation and the skeletal serpents physically weak without the aid of the musculature they would grow into in the future.


    Overall, he was in a much better state than he had expected to wake up in. Noting the lack of the miasma surrounding him, his cleansed body and fresh set of clothing, he was back in the Bloodskull Dungeon again and indebted to the Princess¡¯ care. Exhaling slowly to avoid agitating his lungs, he stared into the near distance where a huge pillar of red steam rose up into the sky. He corrected himself. He was in the Bloodskull Dungeon and close to its centre.


    ¡°Come.¡±


    The command rang within his bones and sent his blood singing in his veins. Before conscious thought caught up with his actions, he found himself on his feet and moving jerkily towards the source of the voice. His muscles clenched and shivered as they resisted the attempts of his bones and blood to drag him onwards. All they managed to do was make him stumble, sending him sprawling onto the ground.


    The soil felt warm to his touch, his fingers digging furrows into it as he clenched his fist. Fury coursed through his mind at the indignity of being treated like a marionette on invisible strings. But as the power of the magic forced him jerkily to his feet, the blazing fury gave way to a glacial determination. Silently, he coordinated the tugging on his blood and bone and made his way towards the origin of the summon. His dark eyes were like the abyss.


    His feet carried him into a clearing identical to the one he had found himself in not so long ago, replete with a crackling bonfire. The only difference was that there were three additional forms present there. A large figure cloaked in black, a woman with hair the colour of fresh snow and eyes the colour of blood, and a transparent bird with ruby eyes that was perched on her shoulder. Three sets of scarlet eyes fixated on him as he entered the clearing ¨C the eyes of the Blood Thrall a uniform stretch of glowing red peering out from beneath his cowl.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°Kneel.¡±


    Again the woman spoke and again Sand¡¯s blood and bone obeyed, forcing him to his knees on the ground. He kept his eyes on the ground, afraid to expose the anger he was sure smouldered within. But the woman would have none of it.


    ¡°Look at me.¡±


    The muscles in his neck strained futilely against the command as he straightened against his will, his eyes drawn by the capillaries that threaded them to meet the gaze of his Mistress. Red eyes met an abyssal black.


    ¡°I own you,¡± said Lirael. ¡°I may not own your mind like I own Vlad¡¯s or Igor¡¯s but I own your body. All I need is a word and your blood and bone will cease being yours. I can crush your heart, shatter your bone and reverse the flow of your blood. All I need is a word.¡±


    Sand was silent. She hadn''t allowed him speech.


    ¡°Blink twice if you understand,¡± she said and Sand felt the control over his eyelids return to him. He blinked twice.


    The imperious expression on Lirael¡¯s face melted away like snow under the summer sun. ¡°As long as you remember that I can turn you into a pile of mush with just a thought, we¡¯ll get along just fine,¡± she said with a bright smile.


    Sand felt the control of all his limbs return to him. Bowing hastily, ¡°This one thanks the Mistress for her kindness,¡± he said hoarsely, his voice roughened by his exposure to miasma.


    ¡°Don¡¯t this one and that one me,¡± frowned Lirael. ¡°Can¡¯t you speak normally? I have enough of formal speak in the courtrooms, I don¡¯t want to have to resort to it in my own Dungeon.¡±


    ¡°This¡­ I am compliant,¡± replied Sand haltingly.


    ¡°Ugh. Well, that¡¯ll have to do for now.¡±


    She began pacing before the bonfire as Sand watched her shadow with his eyes fixed on the ground trying to figure out what she might have in store for him.


    ¡°Anyway,¡± she finally said as she stopped her tread in front of him, ¡°All I wanted was someone to test my shard combinations on but you had to blow all my expectations out of the water, didn¡¯t you? First your shards resonated and forced me to invest more than I would like to, then, when I dropped you off to live off the land, instead of staying put obediently within a circle of safety, you went off gallivanting into danger. Not only that, you got into a scuffle with a whole nest of Netherfire serpents."


    She emphasized each subsequent word. "And you won!"


    The flickering firelight threw her dancing shadow on his kneeling form. ¡°Even before that ¨C you guessed that I had a safety net laid out for you when you were fighting the skeletons and you abused that to force my Core Spirit to act to save you... You¡¯re quite the clever kid. You¡¯ve constantly been trying to impress me while staying within the bounds of my protection. It seems like you¡¯re risking your life at every step but you weren¡¯t ever in any real danger, were you?¡±


    Sand was startled. That was exactly what he had been doing but he hadn''t expected her to catch on so soon. She was shrewder than the stories made her out to be¡­ But it actually didn¡¯t matter if she caught on or not. He had achieved his goal of impressing her either way. Only the connotation would differ ¨C dauntlessness or cunning.


    Bowing deeper until his forehead touched the ground, he said, ¡°This one doesn¡¯t dare.¡±


    Looking down upon him, Lirael sneered. ¡°Oh, you dare alright. There is very little anyone who can rush into a colony of Netherfire serpents with their eyes open doesn¡¯t dare to do. Stop grovelling and stand!¡±


    Without protest, Sand scrambled up to his feet.


    Raising his face with a finger under his chin, Lirael looked into his eyes with a grim expression. ¡°I will ask one last time¡­ Do you understand the consequences of betrayal?¡± As if to accentuate her point, Sand felt the control of his body slipping away from him and his heart clenching painfully in his chest. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he nodded.


    Releasing his chin, Lirael straightened up with a bright smile and ruffled his hair. ¡°Good boy.¡±


    A deep sense of humiliation bubbled up within his chest at being treated like a pet but Sand swallowed his pride and bore it.


    ¡°Well, seeing that you''re so smart, I think I need to reward you.¡± Tapping her chin thoughtfully, she said, ¡°Hmmm¡­ what about I teach you magic?¡±


    For a long moment Sand stared at her blankly without comprehension. He really couldn''t believe the words coming out of her mouth.


    ¡°Naa¡­ don¡¯t stare at me like that. I said I¡¯ll teach you magic. What¡¯s so strange about that?¡± She began pacing back and forth again agitatedly. ¡°I¡¯ve been trying so damn hard to get my Undead Marrow shard to fuse with my Dungeon but it simply won''t budge. But here I find a kid who, by blind luck, managed to fuse two shards with such great synergy that they even advance together.¡± She threw up her hands. ¡°It¡¯s not fair.¡± Turning back to Sand and noticing his blank look, she said, ¡°Aand you aren¡¯t getting a single word of what I¡¯m saying, are you?¡±


    She sighed. ¡°Well, not to worry, I¡¯ll drill my knowledge into that skull of yours and we¡¯ll see whether or not your shard selection was all luck. And even if all else fails, I¡¯ll have a Champion who can manage my Dungeon for me from the inside.¡±


    Finally getting back his composure, Sand couldn''t help but feel wild with joy. Never in his wildest dreams had he even considered that such an opportunity would fall into his lap. All his resentment at her manhandling his body and her condescending treatment was blown away like dark clouds before a gust of wind, revealing the sun shining brightly behind. Wasn''t this why he had planned to become her slave -- so he could learn more about magic and increase his power? Wasn''t this exactly why he had chosen to debase himself and flatter her -- displaying his worth like a cockerel in heat just so she would throw more scraps his way? Now, she was presenting his end goal to him on a silver platter right at the beginning of their relationship. All of a sudden, she became dazzlingly beautiful in his eyes.


    Before she could change her mind, Sand dropped to one knee and bowed deeply. ¡°Disciple greets the Mistress.¡±

 24: Aura

    Only Sand and Lirael remained in the campsite. She had sent the Blood Thrall away on some errand or the other and the Core Spirit had grown bored and flown off to parts unknown.


    ¡°The ultimate goal of magic is to exert our will upon the world, alter it as we wish, understand it, and finally, construct a world of our own devising over which our dominion is absolute.¡± Sitting on a flat stone by the fireside, Lirael poked the blaze with a long branch, causing the flames to flare and send sparks up into the air. The orange firelight illuminated her pale face and glinted off her scarlet eyes.


    ¡°Do you know why we refer to our personal world as a Dungeon?¡± Without waiting for Sand, she answered her own question. ¡°Because it is a prison.¡±


    Tossing the branch into the fire, she extended her hand towards the sky, spreading her fingers wide as if to grasp the entirety of the Bloodskull Dungeon in her palm. ¡°A shackle that limits our abilities. We can only diligently strive to expand it, strengthen it. The stronger our Dungeon, the greater our magical power, the more we can affect the outside world. Even the outside world is a Dungeon. A prison so vast that we don¡¯t consider it a prison at all.¡±


    Lowering her hand to her lap, she laced her fingers together. ¡°At the very beginning of time, when this world of ours was still in its swaddling clothes, it had a Core. It was the eye in the sky that saw all things and its will was the Mandate of Heaven. The world revolved as it deemed fit and the fate of all living things was in its grasp.¡±


    Her voice grew solemn. ¡°Until, that is, it shattered.¡±


    Turning to Sand, she suddenly asked, ¡°Did you ever wonder what mana really is?¡±


    ¡®Several times,¡¯ thought Sand but outwardly he replied, ¡°Apologies, but this one only knows that it is the condensed heat produced by the body.¡±


    If mana really was nothing but accumulated body heat, then why didn¡¯t people just bask under the harsh desert sun or lock themselves in a closed room with a blazing fire. Wouldn''t that be a shortcut to magical accomplishment? In fact, he had tried all combinations involving himself and a source of heat in order to test if there wasn¡¯t such a shortcut in his previous life. Obviously, none of his experiments had borne fruit. Except, maybe teaching him that locking himself in a sealed room with a blazing fire wasn¡¯t the best of ideas.


    Lirael shook her head, ¡°If that were the case, mages wouldn''t be that scarce and magic wouldn''t be that difficult a discipline to practice. That¡¯s just an oversimplification the orcs teach you to avoid complex explanations. Right now, you are a blind man in a forest ¨C fumbling about in the darkness.¡± Reaching into one of the many pockets of her robe, she brought out a dark green crystal.


    ¡°It¡¯s time you opened your eyes,¡± she said as she tossed it to him.


    Quick of hand, Sand snatched it out of the air and brought it into the light. The shard resembled solid flames carved out of dark green crystal, flecked with orange where the firelight reflected off its edges.


    ¡°Pour your mana into it," instructed Lirael.


    Pinching the shard between thumb and index finger, Sand complied. The lemon yellow vapours of his mana emerged within it. The crystal seemed to dissolve, merging with the mana and dyeing it a toxic green that reminded Sand of Netherfire.


    As though to confirm his suspicion, the shard suddenly burst into green flames that adhered to his fingers like flaming oil. Oddly, it didn¡¯t corrode his flesh like real Netherfire would have ¨C as if it was an illusion of the flame rather than the flame itself. In moments the phantom flames overspread his arm, and as the last of the shard dissolved, his entire left arm was ablaze with the heatless ghostly fire.


    ¡°Keep going,¡± exhorted Lirael and Sand poured the last of his mana into his blazing arm. The flames washed over him like an inexorable tide, wrapping him in an illusory cloak of green fire.


    As the fire reached his eyes, the world in his vision changed.


    There was something wrong with the campfire. The logs in the fire sprouted phantom limbs of green that slowly blackened as they burned, and spectral red lights drifted around the blaze in an orbit, like flames that had left their candles behind, growing in number at the centre of the heat. He had to focus strangely to see the phantom campfire; it felt more like watching his mana than something physical, as though he saw with his spirit instead of with his eyes.


    Even when he moved his gaze away, the world was awash in colour. The ground beneath him ran with veins of a profound black as far down as he could see, each wriggling slowly like lightning trapped in jelly. He was seeing through the ground itself somehow, which gave him a dizzying impression like he was trapped on the outer membrane of an endless ocean, and he could fall through any second.


    He lost his balance and fell backwards. Reflexively, his hand shot out to steady him but the odd changes in his sight meant that he misjudged the distance and ended up sprawled upon the ground with a sprained wrist.


    As he cut off the supply of mana to his new shard, the spectral flames covering him disappeared and his sight returned to normal. Getting his uninjured arm beneath him, Sand pushed himself up to a seated position. ¡°What was that?¡± he asked.


    ¡°That,¡± replied Lirael, ¡°was the truth of the world.¡± Waving her arm in a gesture that encompassed the entire Dungeon, she continued, ¡°Everything in the world has magic in it ¨C from a mere rock to every creature that ever lived, or ever will. Ordinarily, you can only look into yourself and see your own mana but with the help of that shard you just assimilated, you can observe the mana of the myriad things. Aura is what we call the mana of the world and the ability to see it is Aura Sight.¡±


    She paused to gather her thoughts before forging ahead. ¡°The world before the Shattering was a mundane place. Animals didn¡¯t grow into Beasts. Plants didn¡¯t bare their fangs and swallow men whole. Magic was the sole province of the Core and the mortals dared not blaspheme its authority. Scholars call it the Mundane Era.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    ¡°But when the Core shattered into innumerable fragments, the entire working of the world changed. The larger fragments turned into Natural Dungeons ¨C pocket dimensions that had all sorts of strange and unusual environments ¨C while the smaller fragments became skill shards that were assimilated by animals, producing the first beasts, and by men, giving rise to the first mages. But that wasn¡¯t all. Whatever had shattered the Core was extremely thorough, turning most of it into Dust that spread across the world. The Shattering inaugurated what would come to be known as the Arcane Era.¡±


    Sand listened to Lirael¡¯s recounting of the origin of the world enthralled. All of this was entirely new to him.


    Lirael continued, ¡°As the Dust settled, it seeped into the world, interacting with the myriad things to produce different kinds of Aura. When a fire burns, it interacts with the Dust in the surroundings to produce flame Aura; when a river flows, water Aura is generated and wind Aura is created during storms. As for magic, the process is similar to how you move your arm. First you think of the movement and then your arm executes it. The flame Aura is like the thought of the blaze ¨C when it is altered, the fire changes accordingly. All skill shards actually work on the Aura of their targets rather than the targets themselves.


    ¡°What we call mana is actually our personal Aura. Day after day we absorb Dust through food, water, and even with our every breath. Once our body produces heat, it interacts with the Dust to produce mana. As for external sources of heat ¨C they would only serve to contaminate our mana with heterogeneous Aura. Not only would it not help us advance, it would only hold us back.


    ¡°As for beasts, their bodies allow them to condense the Dust into shards, granting them skills. Upon their deaths, the shard can be obtained from their corpses. Unless they are stored in proper environments, or fused by a mage, the shards slowly dissipate into the world as Dust.¡±


    Observing himself closely, Sand found flecks of dark green crystal embedded all over his skin, sparkling as they caught the firelight. Sensing them with his mana, he found that the crystals had actually lined all the pores in his body. ¡°What shard is this?¡± he asked.


    ¡°It¡¯s called the Netherfire Aura shard,¡± replied Lirael. ¡°I obtained it from that Wight you killed. This shard was the main reason why I dropped you off in that snake nest. Aura shards are rare and need some processing before they can be used. They allow you to transform your mana into a particular type of Aura and this one is particularly suited to the Undead Marrow due to its toxic nature. The amplification it gives to flame skills isn¡¯t bad either, but most importantly, like all Aura shards, it grants Aura Sight.¡±


    She shook her head, ¡°How the Orcs managed to advance their magic to their current level without Aura Sight I will never know, but in the Metropolises, the first shard every mage fuses is an Aura shard. Without a thorough understanding of the workings of the world, how can you alter it to suit your needs? And how would you even go about constructing a world of your own?¡±


    Patting her thighs, she stood up and gazed into the distance. ¡°Anyway, that¡¯s enough of that. It¡¯s time we did something practical. Hmm?¡±


    Following her line of sight, Sand saw the Blood Thrall that had been sent away returning with a barrel larger than himself hugged in his arms. Approaching the campfire, he set it down on the ground with a grunt, raising a ring of dust and causing a bit of its contents to slosh over the sides. The barrel was brimming with blood.


    Stepping back, the Thrall stood as still as a statue as Lirael walked up to the barrel and placed a hand on its rim. Having inspected its contents, she beckoned for Sand to come over.


    When he arrived by her side, she explained, ¡°This here, is a Blood Carp. It¡¯s an odd creature that has taken a unique route to survival. It feeds its predators. It¡¯s quite simple really, if those who would consume it are sated with food then wouldn¡¯t it mean that none will be left to harm it?¡±


    Peering over the edge of the barrel, Sand couldn¡¯t make out anything other than a distorted reflection of his face in the rippling surface of the blood as it settled down. If there was something in the liquid, then he couldn¡¯t see it. But it didn¡¯t take him long to understand what Lirael wanted from him and he activated the Netherfire Aura shard. This time, he concentrated the flames on only his eyes.


    His dark pupils blazed with ghostly green fire and the world revealed its true colours once again as his Aura Sight kicked in. The blood in the barrel, which he had considered devoid of anything, now possessed a phantom red glow and in its depths, swimming around frantically was another, denser lump of scarlet Aura shaped like a fish.


    ¡°Good,¡± commended Lirael. ¡°That¡¯s the Blood Carp. It has two main skill shards. The Blood Source shard and the Dissolving Blood shard. The Blood Source shard lets it produce a large amount of blood in a short time. When it feels a threat, it spits out a large quantity of blood into the water as a form of smokescreen and distraction. Then its body dissolves into blood and mixes in the bloody water to escape under the function of the Dissolving Blood shard. Having lost sight of its prey and with the presence of easily obtainable food in the form of the blood, the predator generally stops the pursuit.¡± Dipping a slender finger into the blood, Lirael turned to Sand with a smile, ¡°Right now, merged with the blood as it is, without your Aura Sight, you wouldn''t even be able to catch a glimpse of it.¡±


    It didn¡¯t take much for Sand to surmise that the Blood Carp was the identity of Lirael¡¯s fourth Core Spirit and either the Dissolving Blood or the Blood Source shard was one of the shards that made up her Dungeon.


    ¡°Watch carefully now,¡± said Lirael seriously as she concentrated on the blood. ¡°This¡¯ll be your schoolwork for the foreseeable future.¡±


    Her fingertip bloomed with a bright glow that permeated the entire barrel of blood. In Sand¡¯s Aura Sight, thousands of hair thin tendrils of scarlet Aura burst out of her finger and travelled down the sides of the barrel, caging in the unsuspecting Carp. Suddenly, as though sensing the danger it was in, the fish-shaped blob of Aura swam frantically up to the surface, but it was too late.


    The Aura net collapsed inwards, ensnaring the Carp. The more it struggled, the more entangled it became, until finally, having exhausted itself, it was kicked out of its intangible state. Dropping out of his Aura Sight, Sand found that, where there had only been blood before, there was now a handsome carp with blood red scales and a white underbelly floating helplessly in the blood. Only the twitching of its whiskers and the chaotic rotation of its eyeballs demonstrated its panic.


    Lirael withdrew her finger from the blood and regaining freedom, the fish immediately merged with the blood and disappeared from sight. ¡°Did you catch that?¡± she asked.


    Sand nodded.


    ¡°Alright then,¡± she said as she put the wet finger in her mouth and sucked it dry. ¡°I¡¯ll leave you to it.¡± Pointing at the Thrall pretending to be a sculpture, she addressed Sand, ¡°Vlad here¡¯ll be teaching you the basics of hand to hand combat. Feel free to practice your Aura manipulation with Mr. Peek-a-boo during your breaks. Your training will be over when you can do what I just did.¡± Her smile turned into a sadistic grin, ¡°Trust me, you¡¯ll want to hurry. Vlad isn¡¯t the gentlest of instructors.¡±


    Then she was gone and the Thrall¡­ Vlad finally turned to face Sand, his eyes glowing an evil shade of red beneath his cowl as he took a basic guard position. Sighing, Sand shrugged off his shirt and tossed it away, settling down into a stance of his own. He had fought a Thrall in his previous life, he never wanted to fight one again.


    But unfortunately, life wasn¡¯t giving him too many other choices.

 25: Living Daylights

    Dropping down on all fours, Sand let Vlad¡¯s palm-strike sail over his head, the breeze from the force of the blow ruffling his hair. Just as he was about to leap up and take advantage of the Blood Thrall¡¯s overextension, an invisible force slammed down on him smashing his chest into the ground and driving the air out of his lungs.


    The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as his instincts screamed of danger. Gritting his teeth, Sand forced his wobbly muscles to push him into a sideways roll, barely avoiding the foot that slammed down where his head had been just moments ago. The stomp fissured the ground, raising a ring of dust, The same invisible force battered him with the force of a charging bull, sending his diminutive form flopping through the air. Slamming down onto the ground, his body drew a shallow furrow in the dirt before coming limply to a stop.


    Coughing blood and seeing double, Sand scrambled to his knees and threw himself hastily out of the way of Vlad¡¯s follow-up charge. Despite the decent separation between their forms; as the hulking Thrall barrelled past him, Sand was clipped by the imperceptible force field, sending him tumbling to the dirt. Ignoring his aching body by sheer force of will, Sand climbed to his feet, swaying drunkenly as his concussion messed with his balance.


    Raising his hand, he wiped his hand across his face. Twin groups of emerald flames blazed to life around his eyes and the world became vibrant in his sight. Brightly coloured phantoms peeked out of everything, turning the world into a version of itself straight out of an impressionist¡¯s canvas. With the aid of this new perspective Sand saw what that invisible force truly was.


    A flesh-coloured Aura surrounded Vlad, encasing him in a smooth, transparent shell that extended the outline of his massive body on all sides. Without Aura Sight active, Sand hadn''t been able to take the extended reach provided by the Aura into account. It appeared that other than training his close combat skills, this exercise was meant to help him master Aura Sight ¨C especially its application in combat. The prospect of getting pummelled by the hulking Thrall was a powerful motivator for swift progress. Taking a deep breath and pushing his mana towards his head to speed up the elimination of his concussion, Sand settled into a low stance, preparing himself for the next stage of the confrontation.


    Straightening up from where he had stopped his failed charge, Vlad turned slowly to face Sand. In the altered view of Aura Sight, his eyes, his only features visible from within the depths of his cowl, glowed a dark red. Cocking his fist back, Vlad struck a pose and punched, sending a phantom fist made of Aura shooting towards Sand. His eyes widening, Sand dived swiftly to the side to avoid the phantom fist. It slammed onto the ground, raising a cloud of dust as cracks spidered outwards from the point of impact.


    Turning the dive into a roll, Sand got to his feet and dashed towards the Thrall in a sinuous curve, dodging the barrage of fists shooting at him. The phantom constructs slammed into the ground, dissipating into Aura and raising clouds of white dust behind him. Illusory green flames wrapped his right arm as he closed the distance. With a hoarse battle-cry, Sand ducked within the Thrall¡¯s guard and concentrating the aura flames on his fingertip, thrust his index finger out, throwing the entire weight of his body behind the attack.


    His reinforced bones kept his finger from snapping under the pressure and it pierced into the protective coating of Aura surrounding Vlad. Sand pumped his mana into his right hand causing the illusory flames there to blaze brighter, corroding the flesh-coloured Aura encapsulating the Thrall. It felt like trying to penetrate jelly. The deeper he went, the denser it was and the harder it was to corrode. Finally, half-way through, the Netherfire aura on his hand guttered and extinguished. He tried to pull back but his hand was stuck. It was as though Vlad¡¯s Aura was clamping down on his arm, refusing to let him withdraw it.


    Sand remembered fighting an orc in his previous life who had majored in Strength. In the course of the battle, he had managed to plunge a sword in his opponent¡¯s stomach, only for his opponent to clamp down on it with his abdominal muscles, successfully disarming him. That¡¯s exactly what his hand trapped in the Aura felt like. He realized now the nature of the Aura possessed by Vlad: ¡®Strength.¡¯


    That was his last thought before a large hand clapped down on the back of his head, sending him into the embrace of oblivion.


    Standing beside the barrel filled with blood, up to his elbows in the liquid, Sand wondered whether his frequent bouts of unconsciousness was making him dull-witted. It had been three whole days since the Princess had assigned him the task ¨C at least, if one were to go by the alternation of dark and light in Bloodskull. Telling time was an iffy subject when it came to Dungeons. There was no telling whether one diurnal cycle in the Dungeon corresponded to a day in the external world.


    Frankly speaking, his progress in Aura manipulation had been disappointing. With his experience in manipulating mana within his body, he had expected Aura manipulation to be an external analogue of the process. All he had to do, he had thought, was to think of Aura as mana that existed outside his body and he would be able to discard his current status as Vlad¡¯s favourite sandbag. Seeing that he was still struggling to form even a single thread of Netherfire Aura after three days, his optimism had obviously been unfounded. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    Absentmindedly, Sand scratched the back of his left hand with his right index finger. A particular spot on it to be precise. The only spot on his body the Vampire princess had no control over. He didn¡¯t know exactly how the defect came to be, but he could make an educated guess. When the vampire venom had coursed through him, transforming him, enthralling him... it had seeped into his bones, merging with the Undead Marrow shard to thoroughly transform his skeleton. It was the nature of the shard to absorb the strongest venom it encountered, overwriting and transforming any weaker venom used to feed it into the stronger one.


    As a higher Tier venom, the Thrall Toxin had overpowered the Shadow Venom he had used to transform the bones of his left forearm, assimilating it thoroughly. Or so he had thought. But when Lirael had taken control of his blood and bones in a demonstration of her authority over him, he had become aware of the flaw. Somehow, a small area ¨C no larger than a coin ¨C had escaped the fate of transformation. And as long as there was a flaw, there was hope.


    The sound of heavy footsteps broke his contemplation and he looked up to see the massive figure of the Thrall approaching with a large cloth package slung over his shoulder. With every step, the pack bounced on his back, causing its contents to struggle, making the package bulge outwards. Blood had soaked through the cloth and a trail of red ¨C particularly conspicuous against the bone-white soil ¨C could be seen extending from Vlad towards the nearest blood river.


    The bag contained fish. A Blood Carp to be exact. A hapless relative of the troublesome fellow Sand had been trying, and failing, to ensnare for these past few days. It was going to be dinner. Withdrawing his hands from the barrel, Sand swung them sharply to flick off the blood, leaving two red crescents spattered on the ground. With a burst of Netherfire Aura, the last of the blood caked off his arms in the form of soot. At the very least, his training hadn''t been in vain ¨C he could now coat any part of his body with Aura as and when he desired it.


    Sand walked up to the campfire just as Vlad put the bag and its struggling contents down. They had been subsisting on a diet of blood, fish and willow marrow for these days ¨C Vlad and him. Being Mages didn¡¯t make them any less reliant on food, just more efficient in digesting what they ate, and Sand had finally been able to take his old profession up again. After the first day where he had regained consciousness after his beatdown by Vlad to find half of a charred and blackened carp cooling on a wooden plate beside him, Sand had taken up the culinary duties.


    Apparently, none of them could cook. While Lirael could make do with blood alone, the Thralls ¨C Vlad and Igor ¨C had been keeping themselves fed with raw fish. As bodyguards, cooking hadn''t been on the agenda when their trainers had drawn up their schedules. Learning to fight and gain a basic proficiency in the common tongue had taken up all their time. After all, post transformation they were like blank slates, having to relearn everything from scratch.


    After tasting Sand¡¯s craftsmanship, Vlad hadn''t said anything. Not that the Thrall had spoken a single word to him even before that ¨C the uncommunicative lump preferring to do all his talking with his fists apart from the occasional grunt or nod. It could have just been his misconception but in their next bout, the bruises he had ended up with, had seemed lighter. Sand could understand. After nothing but raw or horribly charred fish for weeks, the taste of a properly cooked meal could mellow the hardest of men.


    Igor, the other Thrall, had joined them for their next meal and Sand had decided to up the ante. This time, instead of simply spit-roasting the fish above the campfire, he had decided to experiment with whatever edible materials they had on hand, deeming the experiment a success when, other than a black eye, he had emerged unscathed from his training session with Vlad.


    Sand believed that the best way to anyone¡¯s heart, irrespective of gender or race, was through their stomachs. By exposing his proficiency in the culinary arts, he was stringing out bait for the big fish ¨C and this night, it had decided to bite. The Princess would be joining them at the table.


    Sand had asked Vlad to catch a larger fish than usual and the Thrall hadn''t disappointed. The Carp that emerged from the gunnysack was a magnificent specimen ¨C over a meter and a half from head to tail and easily weighing upwards of fifteen kilograms. As it flopped about on the ground desperately, its lustrous red scales glimmered yellow and orange in the firelight creating a beautiful contrast with its milky white underbelly and the patches of black scales that patterned its back and formed a diamond on its forehead. Its eyes rolled about, its long white whiskers twitching and its gills opening and closing in desperation as it flopped about on the ground, struggling to breathe out of water.


    Reaching down, Vlad grabbed onto its tail, hefting its considerable weight with ease. Swinging the struggling carp over his head in a broad arc, he brought its head slamming down onto a boulder nearby with a resounding ¡®crack¡¯. Bringing the stunned fish around, he did it again. The third time, the crunch of a shattering skull accompanied the thwacking of flesh against stone. The carp was still.


    Receiving the fish from the Thrall, Sand looked into its lifeless eye and, as was his custom, thanked its departed spirit for providing its flesh for their consumption. Its death didn¡¯t stem from enmity, neither did it serve a higher purpose. They were predators and it was prey. Despite the copious amount of blood on his hands, Sand had always tried to respect life.


    A memory floated up in his mind ¨C


    ¡°Why do you join your hands before every meal?¡± asked Sand curiously as he studied his friend across the table.


    Taking his time to complete his prayers, Book opened his eyes and replied with a smile, ¡°I thank them, for they were born into this world just as I was, and had as much right to life as I.¡±


    Blinking away the memory, Sand ended his prayer and walked up to the fire with a glint in his eye. He had a fish to fry - or maybe, roast.

 26: Sizzle

    A sharp knife is necessary tool. Be it cutting throats or skinning fish, it comes in handy in all walks of life. The knife Sand was using was particularly sharp. It was a silver blur as it fluttered over the body of the deceased carp, sending a shower of crimson, black and white scales flying off a short distance away to pile up into a mound. It belonged to the Vampire Princess. A replacement for the blade he had lost during his fight with the undead serpents. A beautifully crafted, perfectly balanced dagger built with silver alloyed with mithril. The way the blade glimmered under the firelight ¨C like it contained stars embedded in it ¨C confirmed the presence of the magical metal Sand had only heard of in his previous life.


    Mithril was an extremely good conductor of mana that made for the best edged weapons. It was found in traces in silver mines. Very minute traces. The rarity meant that just a single bar of the metal was equivalent to a month¡¯s produce of Silveros¡¯ mine. The number of mithril weapons in the Desert could be counted upon the fingers of one hand and each one had many legends woven around it and was wielded by the strongest Orcs.


    If there was something Sand disliked about the dagger, it would be its hilt. A ruby encrusted monstrosity that made a proper grip next to impossible and rendered the blade impractical in a fight where death was always one slippery hilt away. If he was interpreting the original purpose of the dagger correctly from the manner of Igor who had handed it off to him, it was meant as a letter opener. A legendary letter opener. Sand couldn¡¯t help but be inwardly flabbergasted at the luxury of it.


    Well, now it was a kitchen knife. A much nobler calling in Sand¡¯s opinion.


    Finishing descaling one side of the fish, Sand flipped it over on the flat stone he was working on and began on the other side. He only removed the scales, keeping the thin, nutrient rich skin of the fish intact. Though a lot of people found fish skin unappetizing, it was necessary for the dish he had in mind. He was careful to limit his display of knife-skills within the realms of his prepared excuse for his culinary expertise though ¨C often nicking the skin and leaving a scale or two behind.


    Soon, all that was left of the formerly gorgeous carp was a pitifully denuded lump of tender white flesh encased in a thin film of translucent skin. Only the intact tail and head spoke of its former glory. Even an emperor was but a mortal when stripped of his royal robes. Two well placed chops of the sharp blade and even they were gone.


    Setting the head and tail aside for future endeavours, Sand slit the belly of the fish and cleaned its organs out carefully. Washing it out with some blood from a tub beside him, he made an incision all around the body and lifted the resultant slab of fish-meat off, exposing the spine and bones of the carp. Placing the slab to the side, he broke off two of the larger spines of the fish, using them as tweezers to debone it ¨C flicking his wrist to send the fish-bones flying onto the pile of scales nearby.


    Nodding with satisfaction at the two slabs of meat, Sand felt like a painter looking at a blank canvas contemplating his next masterpiece. Cracking his knuckles, he went to work. Placing the slabs skin side up, he scored lines into them with the knife, drawing up a rectangular grid of bite-sized pieces. Within each cell of the grid, he scored a cross-shaped mark.


    No dish was truly complete without a secret ingredient. Putting down the knife and unscrewing a jar, Sand liberally smeared the two fish-steaks with a rust red paste that he kneaded into the lines he had scored into the skin. The palette had been prepared, now it was time to paint.


    The old man in a child¡¯s body walked over to the arrangement he had put in place for this day¡¯s cooking. A circle of stones of even size lay near the campfire with firewood stacked shallowly within it. Bringing a burning branch from the campfire, Sand lit the firewood and soon, a cheerful blaze occupied the stone circle.


    Tossing the burning brand back into the campfire, he bent down to pick up a circular slab of stone he had painstakingly selected from the lithical assortment scattered about the Dungeon. It was smooth, it wasn¡¯t too thick and ¨C most importantly ¨C it conducted heat well. Grunting with the effort of carrying the stone with his young body, he staggered over to the small blaze and set the stone down on the circle of stones, causing the flames to lick around the edges of his impromptu cook-top. He waited patiently for the stone to heat up, blowing on the flames with a pipe made from one of the sections of the weeping willow rattans. When the air began warping above the heated stone, licking his finger, he touched it briefly to test the degree of heat. Withdrawing it with a hiss when the stone turned out to be hotter than he had expected.


    Sucking his mildly burnt finger, he walked over to where he had left the marinading fish. The paste had seeped into the grooves he had scored into the fish skin, imbuing it with flavour. Slicing one of the fish-steaks in half along one of the scored lines, he carried both halves over to the cook-top, laying them both side-by-side, skin down on the heated stone.


    The sizzling sound of melting fat and the aroma of his secret spice paste permeated the surroundings. Sand couldn''t help but swallow his saliva at the appetizing fragrance and even Vlad, the Thrall with the hobby of acting like a statue, couldn''t keep the glint of anticipation out of his blood-red eyes, causing them to glow brighter from within the depths of his cowl.


    Playing it by ear, after a few minutes of letting the steaks cook in their own fat, Sand used a crude spatula he had crafted out of a branch to flip them over to let the tender, fleshy side cook in the sizzling fat that now overspread the stone. The spice-paste had seeped into the skin of the fish, dyeing it a beautiful rust-red shade. Shifting them over the surface of the stone and flipping the steaks over once in a while to evenly distribute the heat, Sand waited till they were well done to remove them off the heat and onto a large serving tray.


    Following through, he sliced the other portion of the fish in halves ¨C cooking one till it was medium rare and the other one rare. Arranging them on the tray, he sliced them along the scored grid into bite sized pieces before covering it with a lid.


    As far as portable residences went, Dungeons had every tent in the world beat in terms of space and convenience. After all, it was a personal world. Carrying capacity or weight wasn¡¯t really a consideration. Consequently, Lirael had tricked out her Dungeon with all the conveniences she could ever need. Cutlery, tableware, furniture¡­ a portable wardrobe¡­ a washroom. She had it all.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    ¡°I¡¯m done,¡± announced Sand, washing his hands and picking up the tray.


    Nodding his acknowledgement, Vlad raised two fingers to his mouth with both hands and whistled, a sharp, piercing sound that spiralled up into the sky. Sand had to resist the urge to rub his aching ears, faintly jealous of the Thrall. Despite his advantage in years, he never had managed to crack the trick to those ear-piercing whistles.


    As the last reverberations of the whistle faded away, a faint humming sound was caught by his recovering ears. The sound grew louder till with a sudden burst of speed, a transparent hummingbird arrived, flitting restlessly around the two of them, studying the tray in Sand¡¯s hands with undisguised curiosity in its ruby eyes.


    Suddenly, the Core Spirit paused, hovering in mid-air as it received some instruction from its Mistress. With a staccato cry, it bloomed with a white glow that covered all three forms. The scenery blurred around them, receding swiftly as they were dragged through space at blistering speeds before coming to an abrupt halt. The oddest thing was that there was no feeling of acceleration or deceleration ¨C just a short journey with no beginning or end.


    Sweat instantly soaked Sand¡¯s shirt through as sweltering air that smelt of blood, ash and brimstone assaulted him. Despite the warmth, the air was moist ¨C the oppressive heat refusing to let his sweat evaporate and cool him down. Instinctively, the Netherfire Aura shard activated, wrapping him in a protective layer of phantom flames. The thunderous sound of crashing water assaulted his ears as a broad river of blood dropped off a precipice into the fiery abyss a short distance away ¨C steaming and boiling even before it plunged down into the depths. A broad column of bloody mist rose up into the firmament like a pillar that supported the sky.


    They had arrived at the centre of the Dungeon.


    With a happy chirp, the avian spirit zipped away towards a direction and following its path with his eyes, Sand found three figures located around a neatly laid table by the riverbank. One sitting on a chair, one standing at attention behind her and another seated regally on the table itself. Lirael, Igor and Leo.


    Sweating profusely, Vlad hurried to follow the hummingbird towards the table with Sand close on his heels. As they neared the table, Sand felt like he had crossed an invisible barrier ¨C a thin, intangible curtain of water. Lirael¡¯s Domain. The temperature dropped from ¡®midsummer madness¡¯ to ¡®last week of autumn¡¯ in an instant and he seemed to have left the volcanic stench behind.


    Breathing deeply of the fresh air, Sand placed the tray on the table and bowed deeply. ¡°Mistress."


    ¡°Rise,¡± she acknowledged.


    Straightening up, Sand saw her appraising him. ¡°I never expected to have good things to eat this far from home,¡± she said with a smile. ¡°I strongly doubt that the Orcs teach life skills to their slaves ¨C especially not their gladiators. I¡¯ll have you tell me how you learnt the art of cooking. I''m sure it''ll be an interesting story. But before that¡­ we¡¯ll see how good you really are. Hmm?¡±


    Turning back to Igor who was standing behind her, she frowned slightly. ¡°You can take that cloak off now. We aren¡¯t in the company of strangers anymore. Get out of that stuffy thing and take a seat.¡± Turning to the other Thrall, ¡°You too Vlad.¡±


    As the two of them scrambled to obey, she turned to Sand with a wry smile. ¡°See that? These two are a bit too rigid with their interpretation of my instructions. I ordered them to obscure their forms while in Orcish territory as their identities are quite awkward but they remained bundled up even in the Dungeon. Thankfully, that won¡¯t be a problem in your case.¡±


    She didn¡¯t have to convince Sand. He knew he was lucky to have escaped his Enthrallment with as little mental damage as he had. Even Vlad and Igor were exceptional members of their class for having retained as much rationality as they had. Most Blood Thralls were frenzied war-beasts only leashed and muzzled by the words of their masters.


    But he was curious as to what she meant by ¡®awkward¡¯. He didn¡¯t have to wait long. As soon as the cloaks came off, he understood.


    Vlad was an Orc. A hulking mass of muscle that reminded him of Kreg ¨C if Kreg was ten times more buff and didn¡¯t suffer from hair-loss.


    Vlad threw back his cowl, shaking out his untidy dreadlocks. Bare-chested beneath his cloak, there wasn¡¯t an ounce of fat on him. Corded bunches of muscle strained under his dark skin, rolling with each movement. Even his gut was a slab of solid muscle. Prominent veins stuck out over his bulging biceps and forearms, visible even through the sparse fuzz of black bristles that covered his body. The dark veins and the glowing scarlet eyes were the only features distinguishing him from an ordinary orc ¨C well, an ordinary orc with a Tier 3 Strength shard, that is.


    Sand knew now that the big guy had been taking it easy on him, holding back massively otherwise with this kind of physique, there was no way he could tank even a single punch ¨C Aura or no Aura. Rather, by dispersing his might into a broader area through his Aura of Strength, Vlad had been cushioning his blows during their spars.


    As for why exposure of his identity would be awkward? Bringing an Enthralled orc into the heart of Orcish territory¡­ Sand couldn''t decide whether Lirael was brave or foolhardy.


    Turning his gaze to the other Blood Thrall, Sand¡¯s eyes widened as he saw something he hadn¡¯t seen in his previous life. A Naga. Four arms, scaly skin and a serpentine head with frills in the place of ears... To be more precise, Igor was a Land Naga. His emerald scales glinted under the light and in contrast with his sea-dwelling cousins who had human faces and serpentine tails instead of legs, he had a fully humanoid body except for his head. His forked red tongue shot out of his mouth from time to time, flickering as if tasting the air. Like Vlad, his viperous, vertical-pupiled eyes too were a vivid shade of red.


    Igor held two arms folded across his chest while the other two of his arms hung down idly at his side. When he had worn the cloak, he had only put those two arms through the sleeves giving Sand the misconception that his figure was misshapen. The Naga was less comfortable with upper-body nudity than Vlad and wore a white tabard beneath the cloak that covered his back and chest without hindering the range of motion of his multiple arms. And like Vlad, he wore loose white pantaloons for his lower body. Neither of the Thralls seemed to put much stock in footwear.


    After getting over his initial surprise, Sand instead felt that Lirael having a Naga and an Orc for Thralls was logical. She was an Enzeal after all. Their late High Lord was the primogenitor of both those races.


    Igor moved over to the table and uncovered the tray of steaks. Picking up one of the bite-sized pieces of fish meat with one of his claws, he tossed it into his mouth ¨C swallowing it whole. The corner of Sand¡¯s eye twitched at the irreverent style of consumption feeling all his efforts go unappreciated down the snake-man¡¯s gullet.


    Immersed in dissatisfaction though he was, he didn¡¯t fail to notice four sets of eyes fixated on Igor, waiting for his verdict ¨C even Leo and the hummingbird Spirit who had been disputing with each other on the table stopped their roughhousing to watch. The atmosphere suddenly became constrained.


    It wasn¡¯t difficult to guess the reason. With his Naga lineage granting him a high sensitivity to toxins, Igor must have been trained to serve as Lirael¡¯s food taster. After a moment, the snake-man opened his eyes and nodded his approval and the mood relaxed.


    ¡°Well,¡± said Lirael as she speared a piece with her fork and brought it to her plate, ¡°let¡¯s have a taste shall we?¡±

 27: Spice

    Bringing the piece of fish to her mouth, Lirael bit down on it. She didn¡¯t expect much from the dish. As long as the fish wasn¡¯t raw or charred, she would be content. After all, her aunt owned a prestigious restaurant chain in the Capital and dedicated chefs served her family. Her palate was a pampered thing. It would take much more than the culinary prowess of a human slave-boy to impress her. Or so she thought.


    Lirael¡¯s eyes widened as the fish-steak melted in her mouth in an explosion of flavour and texture. Cutting past the crisp, spicy skin, her teeth reached the soft, savoury flesh within. The flesh of the Blood Carp tasted like pricked thumbs and papercuts, the coppery tang merging with the heat of the spice, massaging her taste buds and numbing her tongue. She chewed. She swallowed. She bit down again. And again, till her teeth clicked shut on empty air. A slight blush coloured her cheeks as she became aware of her impropriety.


    ¡°Ahem.¡± Clearing her throat to regain her composure, she laid the fork down on her plate and turned to Sand with her eyes glittering with curiosity. ¡°It¡¯s delicious! Extraordinarily so. Especially the spice. I¡¯ve never tasted anything like it before. Where did you get it? And how did you learn to cook?¡±


    Before Sand could answer the enthusiastic barrage of questions, she patted her forehead. ¡°Oh, look at me being rude.¡± She gestured to the empty seat across the table from her. ¡°Go ahead, have a seat. Igor, Vlad, you too.¡±


    Sand was slightly startled by her willingness to share a table with her Thralls. He had noticed the three extra chairs, but he had expected for her to finish her meal first before allowing them to partake of the food. Slaves always ate after their masters. That was the way of the world.


    Casting a glance at the two Thralls and seeing them take their seats, he too seated himself gingerly, keeping his eyes on the table. Lirael speared another piece of fish with her fork and placed it on his plate, grinning when he looked up in surprise.


    ¡°You three are my retinue not my slaves. Either Vlad or Igor would unflinchingly offer their lives up in my service. It is but fitting that I treat them with the requisite respect that deserves. As the newest member of my retinue, that courtesy extends to you too. Much better than a pit slave in the Arena, hmm?¡±


    Bowing deeply to hide his expression, ¡°Thank you,¡± he said softly.


    ¡®Grateful? For what? Nearly having my consciousness erased? I doubt either Vlad or Igor were particularly grateful when you bit them.¡¯ he sneered inwardly. But when he raised his head, there was no trace of discontent on his face, only the awkwardness of a boy unused to kindness.


    ¡°Go ahead,¡± encouraged Lirael, ¡°you¡¯re the one who slogged away to put this together. You deserve a taste while it¡¯s still warm.¡±


    Forgoing the cutlery, Sand picked up the piece with his bare fingers and took a bite. ¡®Not bad,¡¯ he appraised mentally as he made short work of it. ¡®Could do with some salt.¡¯ He''d done his best with the limited resources he had on hand. He was satisfied with the results.


    Only when he was done did Lirael broach the subject of his cooking again.


    ¡°So,¡± she began as she put another well-done piece onto her plate and a rare one in front of Leo, ¡°where did you learn how to cook?¡±


    Gathering his thoughts, Sand replied to Lirael¡¯s question. ¡°Actually, I wasn¡¯t meant to be a Gladiator. I was scheduled to be sold off to a restaurant as a kitchen help. But I displeased my supervisor in the caravan, and he sold me to Master Kreg instead. It was an accident..." Wetting his lips, he continued, "I learnt how to cook at the oasis settlement where I was born. It was my job to help prepare food for all the slaves there. When I turned ten, I was brought by the caravan to the city to be sold.¡±


    As Sand spoke, Leo tore a chunk out of the fish-steak and gulped it down. Suddenly, his expression grew strange. His nose twitched a few times before he sneezed, twin streams of cold air jetting out freezing the plate. He shook his head to try and dismiss the irritating feeling, only to sneeze again. This time with enough force to make him draw back a few steps, sending his hind legs off the edge of the table. His fore-claws drew scratches on the wood before with a startled yelp, the tiny blue lion dropped off the table. Sand couldn''t help but smile at the indignant snarls of the spirit interrupted by sneezes coming from beneath the table. It seemed that Leo didn¡¯t deal well with spicy foods.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    With a sigh, Lirael reached beneath the table and picked the distressed lion up. With a wave of her glowing red hand over Leo¡¯s nose, she healed his ailment and he settled down in her lap shooting mistrustful glares at the fish and at Sand.


    Having comforted the lion, Lirael turned to him. ¡°You mentioned the oasis before when you told me that you learnt how to play the panpipes from a busking musician who passed it by¡­ How was it like living there?¡± she asked curiously.


    ¡°Well, it wasn¡¯t bad. All the children were raised together in one big group. We didn¡¯t know who our parents were, but all the new mothers nursed us until we could be weaned. The women worked together to take care of us till we old enough to work. Then we were fostered off to one of the Orc households in the oasis at random. That household would teach us a craft like tailoring, cooking, or housework until we turned ten. After that the caravan would take us to the various cities to try and sell us off.¡±


    "They would sell all the children above ten? That doesn''t seem sustainable."


    Sand shook his head. "They seemed to have some rules in place for selecting those who would join the caravans. I don''t know exactly what they might have been but I noticed that no male slave in our oasis was over twenty and female slaves would only be sold after they had borne two children."


    Lirael took a bite of her food, chewed, swallowed and nodded pensively, ¡°That¡¯s an interesting way of going about it. They teach you a craft and that raises your selling price. In return, the household probably gets a cut of the profits. And by following those ''rules'' of theirs, they have a constant source of income.¡±


    For a moment, they both watched in silence as the transparent hummingbird pecked at the frozen steak to crack the ice before swallowing down a morsel. When nothing untoward happened to it, turning to Leo, the avian spirit chirped merrily, taunting him. Snorting disgruntledly, the lion turned away, ignoring the boisterous bird. Vlad and Igor were stuffing their faces, emptying the tray at an alarming rate.


    Although Sand should have been used to it by now, he was once again struck by the casualness with which an entire race was treated like livestock. ''Constant source of income indeed...'' he self-ridiculed. ''That''s all we are to them.''


    Pushing those thoughts out of his mind, Sand refilled his plate and went about filling his stomach. The Blood Carp, a magnificent specimen, had a lot of mana infused in its flesh and every bite pushed him further down the path of magic. For now, all he could do was grow stronger on Lirael''s coin. Even if he wanted to change the world, he didn''t have the ability to do so.


    Lirael too focused on her dinner and other than the clatter of cutlery and the sounds of mastication, only the bickering of the two Core Spirits interrupted the silence at the table.


    "Oh right!" she exclaimed suddenly. "You didn''t tell me about the spice."


    Leaning back in his chair, Sand replied, "I found a use for the toxic bones that you have been feeding into the Dungeon these days. When I tried to absorb the poison out of them using my Undead Marrow shard, they turned into bone dust. Some dust got into my mouth and I found that it had a really strong flavour... Since they had already undergone the processing of my shard, I wasn''t worried about poison so I tinkered around with it. In the end, stirring the bone dust into water, straining it through a piece of cloth and then boiling the remaining solution to dryness gave me powders that had the same taste as the bone dust residues. Different bones with different toxins in them - I found - resulted in different kinds of spice powder. Mixing the powders into Weeping Willow marrow gave me the paste I used to marinade the fish."


    Lirael''s eyes widened and she stared at him open-mouthed for a moment before devolving into a fit of manic laughter. She shot to her feet, knocking over her chair and displacing the lion on her lap, much to its chagrin. Ignoring Leo''s roared protests, the Vampire Princess rushed around the table. Throwing decorum out of the window, she grabbed Sand by the waist and spun him around in the air, laughing happily all the while. Setting him down, she kissed him - a big smack on the cheek.


    "You... you beautiful thing. Do you know how much money you just earned me? You don''t, do you? Ahahaha." Spreading her arms wide, she twirled on her feet, her resonant laughter spreading out into the Dungeon. The entire world seemed to brighten as if responding to her happiness. Coming to a halt, clasping her hands in front of her chest, she turned to Sand with her bright crimson eyes and a wide grin plastered on her face. "A new source of spice. An entirely new industry! If I turn the method in to the clan, I''ll be swimming in contribution points. If I patent it, I''ll be drowning in gold and every eatery and restaurant will be eating out of my hands. If I hand it to my aunt, her restaurant chain can become the largest one in the entire Capital. Maybe she''ll even be able to open branches in the other four Vampire nations... maybe even beyond..."


    Her eyes lost focus as she fell into endless daydreams of wealth and success, muttering under her breath all the while.


    Sand finally managed to regain his composure and pick his jaw off the floor. It seemed that he had once again inadvertently set events he had no control over into motion. Events that - it seemed - would have a considerably large impact on the world.


    ''Well... damn.''

 28: Mariner

    Lightning flashed above choppy seas, lighting the crests of massive waves that reached up to the skies like the arms of an angry giant. Thunder rumbled soon afterwards, drowning out the howling winds that whipped the waters into a frenzy. Nature had torn off her mask of amiability, revealing herself in all her violent glory. Yet, amidst this clash of forces where no life should have survived, a ship cut through the turbid waters.


    It was a nondescript thing, a construct of unadorned metal that gleamed violet under the intermittent flashes of lightning. The salty waters and harsh winds had been unkind to it. Dark patches of rust sprawled all over its sides along with fluorescent moss that glowed dimly in the pauses of darkness between subsequent strikes of lightning. Tattered sails whipped in the violent winds, wrapping around the similarly rusty mast.


    Despite its appearance, the ship was clearly far from ordinary as it navigated the stormy ocean as easily as a skiff would a still pond ¨C climbing near vertical waves with consummate ease. Any lightning that approached it would inexplicably swerve midair and strike its mast, sending a trail of sparks down it and spreading over the metallic planks that made up the deck.


    Elemental beings of violet electricity manned the deck, soaking up the sparks with evident enjoyment. Approximately humanoid in form, their inordinately long, spindly arms trailed along the ground in a shower of sparks as they lumbered along, adjusting a wire here or tightening a lashing there. But whenever their featureless faces turned to the prow of the ship, respect bordering on reverence could be read off their body language.


    Standing at the prow with his hands on the wheel stood a large man. No matter how the deck rolled and jinked, no matter how far from the horizontal it leaned, he stood erect as though his legs were sewn onto the deck. Long grey hair and beard lashed around in the wind, framing his resolute face. His drenched, sleeveless tunic stuck to his burly figure and revealed his thick, hairy arms ¨C muscles straining under his skin as he fought against the wheel to keep the ship on its desired path. An ornate tattoo of a serpent coiled around his arms, the tip of its tail starting on the back of his left arm and its head resting on the back of his right. But the most remarkable feature about him was his eyes. Eyes the dark grey of thunderclouds with purple sparks of lightning flashing in their depths, a mirror of the current environment. A portal to his Dungeon.


    The ship crested a particularly large wave, hanging weightlessly in the air for one precarious moment before tipping and plunging down into the dark abyss between waves. The man let go of the wheel, letting it spin wildly for a moment before grabbing it and stilling it. The momentary respite angled the prow into the onrushing wall of water. With an impact that rippled through the ship causing the metal to groan ominously, the Wavestrider crashed into the water, plunging beneath the surface for a brief moment of utter silence before emerging into the cacophony of the storm yet again, sending water cascading off the sides of the vessel.


    Blowing a strand of wet hair out of his eyes, Ezekiel Enzeal¡¯s eyes seemed to penetrate the intervening miles of ocean and desert as he induced the location of his goal through the tracking mark placed on her. He had been tasked with bringing his niece home whether she wanted to come or not.


    The Sangre prince had grown impatient to meet his bride.


    Lirael licked the corner of her lip, feeling the pleasurable sting of the lingering spice on the tip of her tongue. Taking a deep breath, she inhaled the colourful miasma surrounding her as she stood outside her Dungeon - the swiftly dimming light of dusk casting a grey pall over the land. Beside her, protected by her Domain was Vlad.


    Her Undead Marrow shard activated, rendering the toxin harmless. Now that she knew what to look for, she detected the faint fragrance of spice concealed by the sting of the poison. To her, the air smelt like money.


    The corners of her lips curved upwards. Buying that slave had been an investment that just kept on giving. The boy was talented in both combat and magic and possessed an animal cunning that drove him to seek her favour through any means possible. All she had paid was a couple of shards and some Tier 2 resources. In return, he had handed over an entire industry. It was no wonder that she was so pleased with him.


    As someone who had grown up trailing the coattails of her restaurateur aunt, there was no way she wouldn''t understand the value of a monopoly business, especially in an industry involving luxury goods like spice. It didn¡¯t matter what the actual cost of the product was as long as it was marketed to the correct people in the correct manner. Her market wasn¡¯t the magical portion of the populace. If a mage had even an iota of spare cash, they would invest it right back into their magic. That was their basis. No mage in their right mind would choose luxury over a chance to advance their realm.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    No. Her customers would be mortals. Mortal aristocrats to be precise. Lacking the ability to practice magic, to a mortal aristocrat, money was oftentimes just a number. Reputation was what they clung to ¨C in some cases with a zeal bordering on obsession. She didn¡¯t doubt that if she managed to advertise the new spice as a limited product, she could literally decide a price at will. And people would pay it, happily. It didn¡¯t matter if the volume of production was low if she was making several hundred times the cost price in profits.


    Mages often got caught up in their status and overlooked the mortal section of the populace, considering them beneath their notice. That was why they would often dismiss anything not related to magic out of hand. And in the process, they would miss many business opportunities that would have otherwise provided a constant stream of revenue for them, catapulting them up the realms of magic. Lirael had no such compunctions. Her aunt¡¯s restaurants served mortal and mage alike and the astute woman had made sure to instil a proper mindset for business in her niece.


    Apart from a stable customer base, another reason why Lirael was confident in the success of the prospective spice trade was her Dungeon and her current location. One of the constituent shards of the Bloodskull Dungeon was an Undead Marrow shard and she was currently in the Myriad Toxins Desert Area, the birthplace of said shard. Once she managed to deal with her problem and properly integrate the shard into her Dungeon, she would have an inexhaustible source of raw material to work with and shards to equip her workforce. And what better workforce could there be than a regiment of untiring undead.


    As for the Phlebotomy shard? Literal rivers of blood flowed through her Dungeon. One would be hard pressed to find an environment more suited to culturing the Oasis Leeches that produced those shards. All she had to do was dig a few ponds and reroute some of the blood into them. And if she was reading her map correctly, her destination for today would give her a steady supply of control shards required to link the Phlebotomy shards to the Undead Marrow shards.


    In the end, it all came back to her troubles with her Dungeon. Unless she solved them, she wouldn''t be able to take a single step forward, either in her business or her magic. Fortunately, she had a good idea of what was causing the problem and a tentative solution. That was the reason she had arrived here in the first place ¨C to test whether her conjectures were right or not.


    Lirael suspected that the reason why her Embryonic Dungeon was blowing hot and cold with the Undead Marrow shard was a lack of compatibility with the other shards that made up her Dungeon. It was a logical conclusion to make since, as per the records kept by her family, over nine-tenths of Dungeons failed to form due to this very reason. The statistics were on her side.


    Shards that constituted a Dungeon needed to tie in to at least one, preferably more, of the other shards that were part of it. The connecting factor could be one of three things. The abilities conferred by the shards could be linked in some manner. This would result in a Combination Dungeon. The habitats or the food habits of the shards or the beasts they were extracted from could be connected. This would result in an Ecosystem Dungeon. Finally, there could be some overarching theme connecting the shards despite their disparate abilities and feeding habits. This would result in a Thematic Dungeon. The best, most tightly knit Dungeons had some measure of all three types of connections.


    The Bloodskull Dungeon, with its ice-blood-fire precipitation cycle, had the embryonic form of a Thematic Dungeon. The problem was that the Undead Marrow shard didn''t really add much to the theme. Lirael had only added it as a glue to hold her Dungeon together. The elemental repel between her fire and ice shards had caused a lot of instability in the early stages of her Dungeon''s formation and she had been forced to add it as a stabilizer. The Undead Marrow shard, by dint of its flexible nature, conformed easily with other shards and was a popular choice for mages who wanted to increase the stability of their Dungeon without affecting their theme or function.


    The solution she had conceived of was quite crude, but at the same time, it was effective in its simplicity. She would artificially modify the environment of her Dungeon until it matched her desires and then let the Dungeon adapt to it until it became the new baseline. It was similar in theory to the underwater training that her adventurer clansmen underwent to prepare for exploring Dungeons with zero gravity. By exposing their bodies to weightlessness over long periods of time, they adapted to it and could move unhindered in such environments.


    All she had to do was load a variety of undead in her Dungeon and see how it responded. If the response was favourable, she would bring in more of them. If it wasn¡¯t, she would pass them over. Over the last few days, that¡¯s exactly what she had been doing and the results were encouraging. Especially undead with strong affinities to fire, ice or blood adapted to the environment of Bloodskull extremely well. This was in line with the principle that the better connected a shard was to the others that made up a Dungeon, the more stable would its integration be. So, the introduction of a fire attuned undead, like a Netherfire Serpent say, would result in the connection between the Undead Marrow shard and her fire shard being strengthened. Lirael believed that once the population of undead reached an optimum size and distribution, her Undead Marrow shard would finally fuse with her Dungeon.


    Turning to Vlad, she said, ¡°We¡¯ll be visiting a place called the Bone Garden today. As per the map, it has the highest aggregation of undead in the surrounding regions. It¡¯s going to be a tough fight. Ready?¡±


    The Thrall thumped his left breast with his right fist. ¡°Yes!¡±

 29: Fishing

    Unlike what Sand¡¯s first impressions had led him to believe, the Thralls weren¡¯t mute or even uncommunicative. The reason they hadn¡¯t been talking to him beyond body language and inarticulate grunts was the very same reason they had spent weeks roaming around wrapped in stuffy cloaks. They were too rigid in their interpretation of their mistress¡¯s orders.


    ¡°You are too impatient, little champion. You run before you can walksss,¡± hissed Igor as he peeked over Sand¡¯s shoulder.


    As Thralls followed their masters everywhere and were even allowed to enter their Dungeons, they knew a lot of their master¡¯s secrets. It was standard protocol to have standing orders for Thralls to not speak with strangers to prevent them from divulging said secrets. Despite Sand¡¯s induction as Lirael¡¯s Champion, without her explicit instruction otherwise, Vlad and Igor had continued their silent treatment.


    Sand frowned and removed his arms from the barrel of blood, having once again failed to achieve any measure of success in his Aura manipulation exercises. Turning to the Naga he complained, ¡°How exactly am I supposed to walk when all that was shown to me was how to run?¡±


    After Sand¡¯s invention of a new method of spice production, Lirael had attached even more importance to him, deciding to open the floodgates of information wide for him. After all, the more he knew, the more likely he was to bring about results that would be profitable for her. It was when she had asked after his training progress that the Thralls¡¯ behaviour had come to light. Exasperated, Lirael had ordered Igor to answer whatever questions Sand might have to the best of his knowledge before exiting the Dungeon with Vlad to harvest more skeletons and undead creatures to populate the Dungeon with. Sand had wanted to ask a lot of questions but before he could even open his mouth, Igor had dragged him to the barrel of blood and ordered him to demonstrate his progress, or lack thereof, refusing to answer anything before Sand had his Aura manipulation down pat.


    Igor had both pairs of his arms folded across his chest. Unfolding one pair, he placed them on his hips. Rather than answering Sand¡¯s question, ¡°How long can you holdsss your Aura?¡± he asked, a sibilant undertone colouring his words as his tongue flickered out to taste the air.


    ¡°Around half an hour before my mana drains,¡± replied Sand as he cleaned his hands with a burst of his Aura. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Your control over the Aura isss insufficient. You let it drain into the world. That isn¡¯t sssupposed to happen¡­ Watch me.¡±


    Hurriedly activating his Aura Sight, Sand blinked as the Dungeon daylight glinted off Igor, the light broken apart into a thousand shimmering rainbows by the film of water Aura surrounding him. Long minutes passed as he watched the Aura flowing around the Naga¡¯s body in gentle currents, smoothly and without any detention. Frowning in contemplation, he activated his own Aura and ghostly green flames raced up his body, clothing him in a coat of fire.


    Having something to compare with immediately brought his insufficiencies to light. Unlike Igor¡¯s even film of Aura that wrapped steadily around him, his own Aura flickered and dragged like a candleflame in a breeze. He could see some of his Aura rising off him like wisps of smoke and dissipating into the atmosphere, forcing him to replenish it by channelling his mana into the Netherfire Aura shard. This way, his reserves would see the bottom in less than half an hour. Igor, on the other hand would be able to maintain his Aura coat indefinitely.


    Sand tried a technique which was often a great help for mastering the usage of shards: visualization. Closing his eyes, he imagined a transparent barrier surrounding him and any Aura that radiated off him would be confined within it. When he opened his eyes, he was disappointed to find his situation unchanged ¨C his Aura still leaked into the world just as swiftly as it had before. He tried to simply will his Aura to stop dissipating, ordering it to stay put, but although the speed at which the Aura leaked reduced, the level of concentration needed to maintain the state was crippling. Let alone fight, he wouldn''t be able to talk and rein in his Aura at the same time with this method. Maybe with a lot of practice he would be able to turn it into an instinct but somehow, he knew that this wasn¡¯t the answer he was searching for. After all, though reduced, the Aura leakage still existed where in the case of Igor, it didn¡¯t.


    Igor waited patiently with his Aura active while Sand made his attempts and when Sand turned his attention back to him, he found the Thrall¡¯s Aura as steady as it had been in the beginning. After careful scrutiny, the only difference Sand could find between their Auras ¨C apart from their attribute ¨C was that Igor¡¯s Aura swirled around him in a fixed pattern. It wasn¡¯t static like his own. Deciding to test his conclusion, with an effort of will, Sand set his Aura in motion trying to copy Igor¡¯s pattern of Aura flow.


    The pattern was quite simple, a figure of eight with the Aura flowing around his neck and waist with the two circular paths intersecting above his heart. It didn¡¯t take Sand long to imitate it. As soon as the path was complete, he staggered as his mana surged out of him like water out of a broken dam. He felt like a thousand needles were pricking him all over his body as the Netherfire Aura shard drew upon his mana hungrily, converting it to Aura that spewed out of him, turning him into a small green sun. Contrary to his intentions, the Aura didn¡¯t stick around, dissipating instead into the atmosphere at a greatly accelerated rate. Sand tried to rein his mana in and cut the supply to the shard, but his mana seemed to have a mind of its own, gushing out of him until there was nothing left.


    Sand collapsed onto the ground feeling like a marionette with its strings cut. Every bit of strength in his body had been wrung out of him. Even breathing seemed difficult with his lungs struggling to muster up the energy needed to draw in air. Despite the sumptuous meal he had consumed not so long ago, he felt inordinately hungry, his stomach growling, announcing his body¡¯s need for sustenance.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    ¡°What,¡± he gasped out as he lay on the ground limply, ¡°was that?!¡±


    Igor¡¯s serpentine head appeared in his line of sight. ¡°A foolish attempt to treat fire Aura like water Aura,¡± he replied. ¡°The flow is what keeps Aura locked in and preventsss it from escaping, but the pattern differsss with the attribute of the Aura. If you use the wrong pattern¡­¡± he gestured at Sand¡¯s prone form with one of his hands, ¡°¡­ then this might happen.¡±


    Sand groaned in irritation as he turned laboriously to the side and tried to push himself up with his muscles feeling like jelly. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you warn me that this would happen?¡±


    Igor shrugged. ¡°You¡¯ll learn faster thisss way.¡± Reaching out with his hand, he grabbed Sand¡¯s arm and pulled him up to his feet, holding him upright until he was sure that the boy wouldn''t drop down before letting go. Sand swayed on his feet as his legs threatened to buckle under his weight but after some time, he adapted to the lack of mana and stabilized.


    Reaching into a pouch that hung from his waist, Igor brought out a small jade box. Opening it, he took out a spherical pill before returning the box to the pouch. ¡°Here,¡± he offered, ¡°eat thisss. It¡¯s a Tier 3 mana restorative.¡±


    Taking the emerald pill from the Naga, Sand built up some saliva before popping it into his mouth without hesitation and swallowing it down. The familiar warmth of mana suffused his body as the pill dissolved on its way down. Although it was called a Tier 3 mana restorative, the energy contained within it wasn¡¯t enough to push someone into the Green stage. As of now, his mana was still a vivid shade of lemon yellow, but a few wisps of lime green could be observed floating about. If he managed to regulate his mana usage and increase the intake ¨C maybe catch and cook that pesky carp in the barrel ¨C he¡¯d probably rise to the level of a Green mage without a hitch.


    Seeing that he had recovered enough to train again, Igor said, ¡°Alright, activate your Aura and I¡¯ll guide you.¡±


    Sand complied without protest, reactivating his shard and enveloping himself in the phantom flames.


    ¡°Draw a circle around your navel with it as the centre. Make sure that it is as perfect as you can get it to be. Good. Now draw a similar circle centred on the small of your back¡­ make one of the circles flow clockwise and the other anti-clockwise. Thisss is the basic flow for fire Aura, but your Netherfire isn¡¯t just fire, it¡¯s a mix of fire and poison. So, you need to make the flows for both typesss simultaneously. For poison, you need to make the Aura circle your neck, both your wrists as well as the roots of your thighs. These are the generic flows for the two attributesss. Once you create the flows, they will change naturally to suit your Aura.¡±


    Following the instructions carefully, Sand finally managed to get his Aura flowing along the desired patterns and the changes were immediate. For the lack of a better term, his Aura seemed to solidify. Instead of the illusory feeling it gave off just moments ago, now, Sand felt like he was encased jelly. Observing with his Aura sight showed him that the leak had been reduced to a mere trickle. The Aura lock wasn¡¯t perfect, but it would soon be as the flows began to adapt to the peculiarities of his personal Aura and distorted ever so slightly. The fire flows became slightly elliptical instead of perfect circles and the flows for poison around Sand¡¯s wrists elongated till they looped over his elbows while the same happened to his feet with the flow around his thighs looping around his knees.


    As the final changes set in, the last trickle of Aura that had been leaking out of him stopped. His Aura was now completely sealed.


    ¡°Now try the exercise the Mistresss set for you.¡±


    Nodding in response to the Naga, Sand walked over to the barrel and stuck his Aura clad hands in. Closing his eyes, he focused. Visualization hadn¡¯t worked for him but imposing his will on his Aura had. So, he started with that, conveying his intent to the ghostly fires surrounding him. He immediately felt the difference. If his earlier attempts at Aura manipulation had been like trying to sculpt water, now, he finally had clay to work with. Sealing his Aura had somehow ¡®solidified¡¯ it, made it denser ¨C more receptive to his intentions. Slowly, tremulously, a tendril of Aura extended from his submerged hand and into the blood.


    Sand opened his eyes, and immediately wished he hadn¡¯t as he saw what he had created. Lirael¡¯s Aura threads had been hair-thin filaments, hundreds of them extending from her hands and weaving together into an inescapable net. His single ¡®thread¡¯ was three fingers thick, stubby and uneven. It quested about in the blood-filled barrel like a hungry wyrm.


    Sand realized that his analogy comparing Aura to clay might have been more accurate than he had previously thought. The ''thread'' looked exactly like the rolls of clay an apprentice potter would make on his first attempt. And just like the clay, it was fragile. As soon as Sand¡¯s attention wavered, it snapped, breaking off a large chunk of Aura that burst within the barrel like a green firework in his Aura Sight. Undeterred by the failure, Sand forged ahead. Compared to his efforts for the past few days, the progress in this attempt was astonishing. He repeatedly attempted the exercise, improving markedly with each failure as he drew parallels with mana manipulation and brought his magnanimous experience to bear.


    ¡°Don¡¯t let your Aura coat grow too thin,¡± Igor instructed him in the middle of one attempt. ¡°Otherwise, your sealing patterns will be disrupted, and you will lose control of your Aura again.¡±


    Nodding gratefully, Sand supplemented his Aura with his mana and continued, keeping an eye on the Aura thickness henceforth. The lumpy threads became more even, grew thinner, stretched longer and increased in number with every try. It didn¡¯t take long until he had ten finger-thick constructs of Netherfire Aura floating about in the barrel.


    Imitating Lirael, he sent the ropes snaking down the sides of the barrel until they touched the bottom. In his Aura Sight, the elusive Blood Carp merrily frisked about in the blood in its intangible form, unaware of its impending doom. Its Aura shone a bright scarlet against the dull red of its surroundings. With an effort of his will, the ten ropes snapped towards the centre, thoroughly entangling the fish and knocking it out of its intangibility.


    Panic-stricken, the Carp put up a last-ditch struggle, thrashing about in the barrel and setting off waves on the surface of the blood. A vein beat on Sand¡¯s temple as he focused the entirety of his mind on maintaining his grip. Slowly, surely, he managed to drag the fish out of the blood and with a grunt, sent it over the edge of the barrel and onto the ground.


    Sand staggered, gasping for air as the pressure on his mind lifted. Supporting himself with his hands on his knees, he slowly brought his breathing under his control as he watched the fish thrashing about on the ground.


    Straightening up, he diverged his Aura, letting it dissipate into the environment as he had no way to absorb it back. Walking over to the fish, he looked down at it, the light from the Dungeon sky above casting deep shadows on his face.


    His lips parted in a smile that showed too many teeth as he whispered, ¡°Gotcha.¡±

 30: Map

    Spit-roasting the Blood Carp over the campfire, Sand reassessed his actions over the past few days. Accepting Lirael¡¯s offer of discipleship wasn¡¯t wrong. Really, what other choice did he have in that situation? And it was much better than the worst-case scenarios he had imagined. Cooking for the Thralls in order to get on their good side wasn¡¯t wrong either. It would instead be strange if he didn¡¯t try to improve his relationship with them. Even his decision to reveal the spice formula he had accidentally stumbled upon in a bid to impress the Vampire Princess was justified by his ignorance of its true value.


    He had knowledge of the future, sure, but that didn¡¯t make him omniscient. For instance, even though Lirael had made it abundantly clear that the spice formula was valuable, Sand still had no idea how exactly that worked out.


    In his previous life, he had been a slave for the first hundred years of his life. He had worked his way up the hierarchy of the restaurant he had been sold to by dint of simply outliving the other slaves there. Just when he was getting comfortable, he had been sold off to another restaurant that was in need of some experienced staff. He¡¯d been bounced around from eatery to eatery after that, before finally being purchased as a caretaker for an old orc couple by their son ¨C a yellow mage who had no time to look after his parents. So he could work more efficiently, the mage had initiated him to magic. It was then that his magical talent had been exposed.


    After that, all thoughts of treating him like a utility slave had been thrown out of the window and he had been auctioned off. The final bidder, a high-ranking orc mage had him trained as a member of his personal militia. When the orc had failed to return after the Red Wedding, Sand, who had been left behind, had seized the chance to flee along with several other slaves, looting the mansion along the way.


    It was when he was being chased down in the aftermath, his companions being picked off one by one, that he had chanced upon the abandoned Dungeon of the Blood Gourmand. He had lived beyond that day while the others hadn¡¯t and he had gained an inheritance that allowed him to take revenge for them.


    He was a warrior first, chef later, and merchant never. Most of his time had been spent fighting and running from orcish pursuit and even when he had worked in the culinary sector, all he had known about spice was that, in the desert, water cost more. He could be forgiven for underestimating the sale price and demand for a commodity that his life experience had taught him was worthless.


    Sand sighed. Taking the well-cooked carp off the fire, he used his knife to shear the charred skin and scale before taking a bite off the fish. Well, he¡¯d have to keep his eye out for tripwires like these. It was near impossible to avoid the occasional stumble, but he¡¯d just have to ensure that he didn¡¯t go sprawling on the ground.


    Lirael stood with her eyes closed in an unnamed region of the Myriad Toxins Desert Area, trying to orient herself. She was loath to admit it, but she was a little lost. As to why she was only a little lost and not thoroughly astray ¨C she had a map. A very expensive map that had wiped out a large chunk of her savings before she had embarked on her trip here. An ancestor of hers had explored the Tyhr Desert around a century ago and mapped it out extensively. The Myriad Toxins Desert Area had been one of the places he had visited and upon his return to the family, he had contributed the map to the Archives. Knowing her destination beforehand, Lirael had checked it out and made a copy, using it to chart out her travel plans.


    Unfortunately, the Desert had a very dynamic topography ¨C sand dunes could become depressions within hours and depressions, dunes. Oases had been known to dry up within months, or spring up unannounced. The smaller branches of the rivers that trickled down from the Spine of the World changed their courses from decade to decade and the five main rivers had been known to shift every century.


    The map was a hundred years old, inaccurate and expensive. It was also the best the family had. After all, Vampires had all but ceased their activity in the Tyhr Desert and the Thousand Seas after exiling the Orcs and the Nagas there. So, Lirael had clenched her teeth and bought a copy. She had been lucky that her first stop, Gehenna, had been where it was marked on the map. She had purchased more up-to-date maps of the locality from Silveros and supplemented her own, managing to reach the Myriad Toxins Desert Area without incident. The Orcs had no knowledge of what lay within this death-trap of a location; for any brave ¨C or foolhardy ¨C enough to enter had never been heard from again. So, once again, she was on her own, reliant on her obsolete map for direction. That was how she had ended up in her current situation.


    As her mana poured into her Tier 1 Memory Shard, images flashed past in her mind like patterns in a kaleidoscope before resolving into a broad room with a domed ceiling. Sunlight streamed in through the windows placed high above the ground, catching the tint of the stained-glass panes and turning the entire room into a riot of colours. Other than heavy blinds for the windows the room was bare of any furnishings, not a single table, chair or bookshelf in sight.


    The line of sight in the image shifted around, taking in all aspects of the empty room before turning to face a man. A tall, thickset man with skin weathered by long years at sea. His long, dark grey hair was tied in a bun and he had his beard in a braid; an iron ring at the end holding it together. Intermittent flashes of purple lightning lit the depths of his storm-grey eyes.


    He wore a black long-coat with silver chains clasping its front together in place of buttons and the Enzeal insignia, an inverted triangle embedded in a circle, was embroidered in silver thread on his left breast.


    Lirael¡¯s voice rang out in the memory, ¡°Uncle, is this the vaunted Atlas Vault? I expected more ¨C¡± a slender hand appeared in the frame, indicating towards the empty space, ¡°¨C you know, maps. Or, isn¡¯t that what we are here for?¡±Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ¡°Patience, girl. You didn¡¯t expect the maps to be physical, did you now? There are better ways to preserve knowledge than vellum and ink.¡± The man¡¯s tone, contrary to his rough semblance, was quite genteel. A voice more suited to imperial courtrooms rather than the high seas. That is, if one ignored the muted rumble of distant thunder that accompanied each of his words, lending them an unparalleled aura of aggression.


    Reaching into the outer pocket of his coat, he drew out a rectangular silver token and tossed it towards the centre of the room. At the peak of its arc the token stopped, rotating slowly as it floated in midair, glinting as it caught the coloured sunlight. Then, without warning, it stilled. The blinds all around the room dropped, plunging the room into darkness.


    The token bloomed with a mystical brilliance and images appeared on the walls, floor and ceiling of the room ¨C projections of land and sky. A star chart sparkled down from the vaulted ceiling and images of plains, mountains, rivers and seas decorated the floor beneath the two Vampires¡¯ feet. Large swathes of the map though, were a blank white. Oddly, none of the token¡¯s light shone on the two Vampires, only the dim glow of the projected map underlit their figures.


    Striding to the centre of the room, the man indicated for Lirael to approach. Pointing down at the ground, he said, ¡°This is where we are now ¨C the Capital of the Enzeal Kingdom.¡± He waved his hand towards the wall that carried the symbol for ¡®south¡¯, specifically towards several blank patches on the map in that direction. ¡°Those are the cities of the other Vampire nations. We don¡¯t have proper maps for them as they are protected by Embryonic Dungeons and all surveillance shards not approved by the City Lords expire there.¡±


    Pointing to the lands further south and towards the west which had even more extensive blank patches, he said, ¡°That¡¯s the Golem Empire over to the south while the Rakshasa Hordes occupy the western grasslands.¡±


    Turning north, he indicated towards a huge mountain range that ran from east to west, dividing the continent in two unequal halves. ¡°The Spine of the World. Beyond that lies the Tyhr Desert, and at the northernmost edge of the desert lies the Myriad Toxins Desert Area ¨C your destination.¡±


    ¡°There are two ways you can reach there,¡± he continued. ¡°You can either embark from the numerous ports that line the eastern border of our country, voyage through the Thousand Seas, and finally, cross the Perpetual Thunder Desert Area. Or, you can cross the Spine of the World and make your way through the Orcish territories. If you would let me accompany you, I would recommend the former but since you won¡¯t, the latter is the safer, albeit more time-consuming option.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, Uncle. I wouldn''t have known where to look for a solution to my problem if you hadn¡¯t pointed it out to me.¡± Lirael heard herself say.


    Ezekiel Enzeal shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t get your hopes up, girl. There¡¯s no guarantee that you¡¯ll find what you seek there.¡±


    Lirael smiled in a self-effacing manner. ¡°Unlike in the Sangre prince¡¯s bedroom, at least there is a chance that I will.¡±


    ¡°That there is,¡± Ezekiel agreed with a sigh. ¡°Well, take that token you purchased out then.¡±


    ¡°This?¡± asked Lirael as she held out a circular crystal coin.


    Taking it from her, Ezekiel flicked the coin at the floating silver token which immediately absorbed it before glowing even brighter, magnifying the map of the Tyhr Desert till it occupied the entirety of the room. ¡°Go on then, memorize it. It will revert back in ten minutes.¡±


    In the memory, Lirael began to methodically walk across the room, starting from one corner, while staring down at the projected map on the ground. Reaching the opposite wall, she took a few steps to the side before walking back to the other side of the room, repeating the process until the entire area of the floor had been recorded in her Memory shard. When she reached the position of the Myriad Toxins Desert Area, she paused the memory playback and studied the map in her mind.


    This was the limitation of the Tier 1 Memory Shard. It could record a memory, replete with sight, sound and touch but every time it was accessed, one would need to play the memory from the beginning. She could stop the playback whenever she pleased but there was no way to skip to the part she wanted to. Another problem was that while it was in use, she wouldn¡¯t be able to move her real body as she would be fully immersed in the past. So, for the duration of the memory, she would be helpless. Her Agility shard somewhat mitigated the second weakness as it could speed up her personal perception of time by a maximum of thirty-two times. So, while she took an hour-long jaunt down memory lane, less than two minutes would have elapsed in the real world. Even then, the shard wasn¡¯t one that could be used in battle.


    Promoting the shard to Tier 2 would let her choose which part of the memory she wanted to start experiencing from. It would also extend the storage capacity from one day¡¯s worth of memories to over a week¡¯s worth. At the same time, it would allow her to record memories in disjoint chunks instead of limiting her to one contiguous memory as in the case of the Tier 1 shard. In short, the Tier 2 shard was infinitely superior to the Tier 1 shard. Then, why was it that she was still making do with the inferior version?


    The reason lay in the inherent limit mages had regarding the number of shards they could fuse at the same time. Every time a mage promoted a small stage, they would gain the ability to fuse one more Tier 1 shard ¨C in other words, gain a skill slot. An initial stage Red Mage had only a single skill slot. A middle stage Red Mage had two skill slots. A peak stage Red Mage had three skill slots and so on. Thus, a peak stage Violet Mage could fuse fifteen Tier 1 shards.


    The Tier number of a shard was indicative, not only of its effectiveness, but also of the number of skill slots it occupied. So, before creating their Embryonic Dungeon, a mage could at most have three Tier 5 shards. Afterwards though, the shards that were used to form the Dungeon wouldn¡¯t occupy the skill slots so the mage could fuse more shards. This, apart from near-infinite mana, was why a mortal mage would never be on par with a Dungeon Mage.


    Lirael had thirteen slots occupied with two left blank so that the next shard she had planned to fuse into her Dungeon, the Seismic Sense shard (currently at Tier 3), had enough space to grow. Upgrading the memory shard would require serious reshuffling of her current shard configuration. It would have to wait until she solved her predicament and fused the Seismic Sense shard into her Dungeon, freeing up space.


    Opening her eyes, she turned to Vlad who had been standing guard by her side. ¡°It seems that the detour to search for Netherfire Serpents threw us off our trail,¡± she said with a sigh. ¡°We are nearly a hundred miles west of our goal.¡±


    Vlad just stared back, uncommunicative. Lirael¡¯s lips twitched. ¡°At this time, you should sympathize with me," she pouted. "My ankles are going to kill me with how I¡¯m abusing my shards.¡±


    Struggling for words, the confused Thrall opened and closed his mouth several times before squeezing out two words with a voice reminiscent of colliding rocks, ¡°There there?¡±


    Chuckling at his awkwardness, the albino Vampire wrapped the Thrall up in her Domain and their figures blurred as they vanished from the spot, leaving a trail of afterimages in their wake.

 31: Motion

    Thunder reverberated in the background as the Wavestrider was tossed from one towering wave to another as it navigated the Bay of Storms. Atop its deck, Ezekiel Enzeal stared straight ahead stoically, neither wind nor rain able to change his expression in the slightest. From time to time purple electricity would flash in his eyes, a mirror of the lightning leaping from cloud to cloud high above. Finally, something broke the monotony of the choppy grey waters.


    Obelisks of the darkest stone rose up from the sea, visible in the distance through the gaps of the waves, reflecting the intermittent flashes of lightning. From afar, it resembled the jaw of a shark ¨C row after row of jagged rock arranged in the shape of a half-ring. Waves shattered into white froth against them with a sound that competed against the thunder.


    A wave raised the ship, carrying it on its crest and threatening to dash it against the rocks. Letting go of the wheel, Ezekiel clapped his hands together before separating them. Tendrils of violet electricity connected his palms forming a sparking cat¡¯s cradle between them. Ignoring the wildly spinning wheel and the turning ship, the mariner pushed his palms outward and the network of lightning expanded into a circular portal of electricity situated in front of the ship. As the prow passed through the portal, nothing emerged from the other side. The rusty ship, the flapping sails, the elemental sailors of lightning ¨C all of them vanished into his Dungeon as they passed through the Gate.


    Only he remained upon the crest of the wave, hurtling towards the rocks. His hair whipped in the wind and rain lashed against his face, making him narrow his eyes. Drawing heavy iron shackles out of his Dungeon, he clasped them on his wrists, the broken chains trailing behind him.


    Now that he was closer, the ¡®rocky obelisks¡¯ revealed themselves as pillars of a dark metal. White spray surged up as the waves smashed against them and vortices churned between the maze of pillars. Death would be his only outcome if he fell into the violent waters ¨C either crushed on impact against the pillars or drowned by the vortices in between.


    The glow in his eyes grew brighter, violet brilliance spilling out of them as arcs of electricity that skittered across his cheeks. Whipping his arm forward, he sent one of the chains whistling through the air towards the approaching obelisk. Violet sparks coiled up its length as the chain struck the pillar and stuck to it, held in place by magnetism. He yanked himself forward, swinging around the obelisk even as the wave he had been riding crashed into it.


    At the peak of his swing, he cut the flow of electricity to the chain and it detached from the metal, sending him flying through the air. Whipping his other arm around, he sent his other chain shooting forward to attach to the next pillar. He swung from pillar to metallic pillar, the intermittent flashes of lightning illuminating the dark vortices swirling beneath like the gaping maws of a thousand beasts.


    Swinging free from the final pillar, he crashed onto the beach, transiting into a roll to bleed off momentum. Rising to his feet and brushing off the black sand that clung to his wet clothes, he looked towards whence he came: A jagged maze of metallic pillars towering into the sky, acting as a breaker for the waves that were whipped up by the unending storm that raged in the region.


    Ezekiel turned away, shifting his gaze north. Black sands stretched as far as the eye could see and unbroken dark clouds occupied the sky. Purple lightning leapt from one thundercloud to another and at times jagged streamers of purple electricity would connect land and sky. The arid winds from the Tyhr met the moist marine breeze in this region resulting in the perpetual thunderstorm that gave it its name: Perpetual Thunder Desert Area.


    Crossing it, would bring him to his goal.


    Lirael stumbled as she dropped out of her high-speed movement.


    ¡°Ouch, ouch, ouch¡­¡±


    Hopping lamely on her right foot, she sat herself down on a flat-topped boulder near at hand. Raising her left foot on her right thigh, she took off her shoe and gingerly massaged her sore ankle. Inspecting it with her mana, she found that her Shrinking Space shard had cracked right down its middle; almost splitting into two.


    Although she had been expecting repercussions from pushing her shard so hard, she hadn¡¯t expected it to be so serious. If the shard hadn¡¯t been fused with her Dungeon, and therefore protected from permanent damage, it would have been destroyed. She winced as a spike of pain shot up her leg from her inflamed ankle. Gingerly, she pushed some of her violet mana into the damaged shard to help it heal.


    Turning to her side, she found Vlad looming over her, looking at her ankle with concern. Taking the Thrall along with her by wrapping him in her Domain had placed more strain on her shard than anticipated, skewing her calculations and making her misjudge her limits. Fortunately, they had reached their destination before the shard had given out.This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Lirael turned her gaze north. A huge swathe of the land in front of her had subsided into the ground, leaving a crater with sheer precipices on all sides. Currently, Lirael was at the edge of the precipice, looking down into the depression. The miasma was much denser in the crater than it was anywhere else; thick enough to obscure the sight of what lay within. But that didn¡¯t really matter to Lirael. She had the right shard for the job.


    Closing her eyes, she split a bit of her mana from healing her space shard to activate her Seismic Sense shard as well as her Memory shard. Ripples of light broke the darkness behind her eyelids. Vlad shifting his weight from one foot to another beside her, a breeze dislodging a rock and sending it careening down the cliffside, the stirrings of a skeleton within the crater near the edge, the movement of stronger undead deeper in ¨C all sent ripples of light radiating outwards. Ripples that interlocked with each other, forming a grid of light in the darkness of her mind, giving her the lay of the land in a conical arc that extended nearly five kilometres in front of her.


    Generally, a Tier 1 Seismic Sense shard could detect vibrations through the earth in a ten-metre radius around its user. At Tier 2, the radius would increase to a hundred metres and at Tier 3, a kilometre. But by dint of her rigorous practice, Lirael had been able to extend the range of her shard by modifying the shape of the region of perception into a cone with her at the vertex. Using the Seismic Sense shard in tandem with her Memory shard allowed her to imprint a map of the region being sensed to her mind.


    Using more than one skill at the same time to produce an effect was a high-level utilization of shards that required the mage to be extremely familiar with all the shards involved and have the ability to multitask skillfully. It was referred to as a combination move; or simply, a combo. Some shards were made for each other like the Third Eye shard and the Flame Pupil shard that Sand''s opponent had used in the Arena or even Sand''s combination of the Phlebotomy and Undead Marrow shards. But, theoretically, as all shards originated from the same source, any and all shards could be combined if one put their mind to it. Lirael¡¯s combo was one of the more complicated ones. It had taken her several months to perfect it.


    In her mental map, tapering columns of rock populated the depression like trees in a forest; the razor-sharp vertical spikes of eroded sandstone weaving an isolated and inhospitable landscape. Yet, her shard told her that the crater was teeming with life¡­ or rather undead. Infrequent ripples of dim light demarcated areas of high activity while densely packed, brighter ripples indicated spots where undead fought undead, vying for evolution by consuming each other.


    Cutting the mana to her shards, Lirael opened her eyes. The swelling on her ankle had subsided and he pain had reduced to a dull throb. Her mana senses told her that the deep fissure was now little more than a hairline crack. She¡¯d spent quite a bit of mana to accelerate the healing, but the final bit of damage needed time. Still, she was capable using it sparingly. She would need it in the battles to come. She sighed. Her time was running out like sand from a shattered hourglass. At any moment, the Sangre could exert pressure on her family and incite them to issue a recall order for her. She needed to upgrade her Embryonic Dungeon before someone from her family came calling.


    Thankfully, now, instead of having to directly aim for promotion to a Dungeon mage, she could aim lower and just finish integrating the Undead Marrow shard. Then she would have a fully independent, portable production facility for spice. With that lucrative a business to call her own, her value would increase and even if her family didn¡¯t change the candidate for the engagement outright, they would negotiate with the Sangre for a cut of the profits¡­ or more concessions. Whatever the case, it would earn her some reprieve within which to complete her Dungeon.


    Putting on her shoe and lightly stamping her left foot to test it, Lirael stood and beckoned for Vlad. Approaching her, the Thrall took a knee in front of her, his nearly two and a half metre frame, causing his shoulder to be on par with hers even bent down as he was. Stepping on his thigh, Lirael seated herself on his shoulder and steadied herself with a grip on his hair.


    Vlad straightened, carrying her up, and flared his Aura, the semi-solid energy wrapping around her hips and fixing her in place. Breathing deeply, he activated his Strength shard. Veins stuck out all over his body as his muscles coiled under his skin, straining against the sudden influx of power. He breathed out of his mouth, steam spilling out of the corners of his mouth as his scarlet eyes glowed brighter. Taking a step back, the muscles in his legs bulged and he stamped hard on the ground.


    Fissures spidered outwards from the point of impact and he shot forward, his figure blurring from the speed of his dash. Thunderous cracks rang out as craters formed wherever he stepped, accelerating himself further as he approached the edge of the cliff. With one last stamp at the very edge that sent shattered pieces of rock careening down the cliff, he shot out into the air.


    The wind whistled in his ear and blew Lirael¡¯s skirt as he fell towards the miasma covered forest of stone spikes below. Spreading his arms out to orient himself in the air, he activated his defence shard.


    ~ Daybreak Shield ~


    Thin threads of light the colour of the rising sun burst out of his right hand, weaving into a huge tower shield that weighed nothing. Wisps of white fire ran all over the surface of the shield of orange light. Positioning the gleaming shield in front of him facing the swiftly approaching ground, Vlad flared his Aura of Strength to its maximum range.


    For a short moment, their sight was occluded by the miasma before clearing again as they passed through the dense smog. With an impact that jarred Vlad¡¯s arm, the Daybreak Shield crashed into a huge spike of stone. Rock met solid light and rock crumbled. When the dust diverged, Vlad could be seen atop the cracked pillar with Lirael on his shoulder. Cushioned by Vlad¡¯s Aura from most of the impact, they had come out unscathed if missing a chunk of mana. Crouching and tensing his legs, Vlad leapt again, shooting up high into the air as he moved towards the centre of the forest ¨C towards the goal of their hunt.


    Behind them, the densely fissured pillar disintegrated into rubble.

 32: Grotesque

    Vlad and Lirael approached the centre of the stone forest in long leaps, leaving shattered rock and disturbed undead in their wake. Lirael didn¡¯t care much about the commotion she was making as her goal was to hunt the Tier 5 Revenant at the centre of the forest. The sound of the fight would alert everything in the region anyway. As she passed, she flared the aura of her Tier 5 Undead Marrow shard unscrupulously. To the lower tier undead here, she would seem like another Revenant that had come to challenge the resident one for its territory.


    The undead were extremely hierarchical and although they would battle others of the same tier without compunction, rarely would they attack those at a higher or lower tier. They wouldn''t interfere in the fight ¨C capitulating to whichever one of them was left standing.


    Dense miasma covered the entirety of the forest of jagged stone like a blanket, blocking the sight of the sky and smothering the entire region in a suffocating darkness. Even sound seemed to be muffled by the wisps of coloured mists that wound around the pillars. Vlad¡¯s shield of morning light was extremely eye-catching in this world of shadow and death.


    Just as Vlad touched down on another one of the unfortunate spikes of stone, his shield shattering the tip to make space for them to stand, the entire world seemed to rock. The ground fissured and caved as it fell away into a gaping maw that dwarfed even the hundred feet tall pillars of rock. Then with a shriek that was a cross between the dying scream of a man and the sound of fingernails against glass, a colossal monstrosity smashed its way out of the earth right beneath them.


    Lirael¡¯s eyes glowed silver and time slowed to a crawl, almost framing the world in the moment. In this stillness, only two figures moved at the normal speed. Vlad stamped down on the cracked spike he was standing on which had snapped in half with the emergence of the monster. The rock shattered under the force of the blow, shooting like shrapnel towards the monster¡¯s mouth as they moved out of the range of its jaws with the help of the recoil. Time returned to its regular rhythm as Lirael blinked her eyes, cutting off the supply to her Agility shard.


    They caught a glimpse of the creature in the bright orange light of Vlad¡¯s shield as it brushed past them, filling the air with the rank stench of death and decay. Its jet-black carapace glinted like metal under the light, covered by a layer of viscous slime. Countless pairs of legs, each the size of the rocky spires and with serrated edges just as sharp, trailed down the sides of the centipede. They paddled disgustingly in the air even as its upper half remained airborne; the momentum of its lunge carrying it past them.


    Multiple pairs of pale human arms covered with slime stuck out of its carapace like fur, grasping around as if seeking escape. As though sensing them, as one, all the palms turned to face them. Noxious blood poured out of slits that appeared in the hearts of the palms. Some of the slits revealed mouths full of jagged teeth while the rest exposed bloodshot yellow eyes with serpentine pupils. The eyes rolled wildly in their sockets before locking onto the forms of the Vampire and her Thrall. As the patch of orange light travelled down the interminable length of the centipede¡¯s body, more and more palms awoke, turning eyes and fangs to follow their fall.


    Vlad¡¯s feet slammed into the ground, raising a ring of dust as his Aura cushioned the impact. He leapt backwards several times, rapidly taking distance from the eldritch monstrosity ¨C the Revenant they had come to hunt.


    Midway, Lirael leapt off his shoulder, her hair glowing bluish-white as it lengthened and wrapped itself around her body, forming a crystalline armour of frosted ice.


    ~ Frostmane Armour ~


    She slid back several feet as her toe touched the ground, bleeding off momentum. Vlad continued taking his distance until he was nearly twice as far from the monster as she was.


    The Revenant screeched its fell battle cry yet again as it tried to curb its momentum by smashing its body against the rocky spires in a bid to turn around to face them. Its impossibly large body seemed to stretch on for miles as it emerged from the ground, turning the forest to rubble. Taking a deep breath and feeling the familiar tang of the toxins in the air, Lirael clenched her fists. Her fingernails dug into her palms, making them bleed.


    ~ Tier 3 Blood Source shard ~


    ~ Tier 3 Blood Manipulation shard ~


    Blood gushed out of her wounds as she activated two shards in quick succession, freezing as it encountered her icy armour. A bow of frozen blood took shape in her left hand and a corresponding arrow in her right ¨C sparkling like rubies in the dim white glow of her armour.


    The wisps of icy mist twining around her turned red as she flared her sanguine Aura, coating her eyes and the bow with it. Her vision shifted; the darkness parting as it suddenly felt like someone had upended a bucket of glowing paints on the world. In her Aura Sight, the form of the creature was highlighted in a mix of noxious yellows, earthy browns and a deathly black.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Her eyes glowed silver as she activated her Agility shard and time bent to her will. The world stilled. A string formed out of Aura as she nocked the arrow on the bow and drew it. Taking aim, she fired.


    A brilliant streak of red blazed through the darkness, slamming into the creature¡¯s side and penetrating its steel-hard carapace with little more trouble than a needle would cloth. Without pause, Lirael nocked, drew, aimed and fired again and again and again. Her blood gushed out of her wounded palms, was twisted by the Blood Manipulation shard into the shape of an arrow and frozen solid by her frigid armour. The Blood Source shard replenished her lost blood. Her mana flowed out of her like water down a sink as she used several shards at once.


    Suddenly, she winced, shutting her eyes tight. Her personal time slowed back down to match the world as her Agility shard stopped affecting it. Her eyes felt like she had rubbed sand into them. Opening her bloodshot eyes a sliver, she inspected the results of her attack.


    She had spaced the arrows evenly along the length of the centipede¡¯s body, the very last one aimed at its head which was in the process of turning back towards her. Each one had hit its target. In her Aura Sight, twenty-three rapidly spreading patches of red could be seen tainting the centipede¡¯s yellow and black Aura.


    The monster screeched in pain and rage as gaping wounds blasted out on its body, the flesh melting like wax wherever the arrows had pierced it. Lirael had activated her Tier 5 Dissolving Blood shard each time she had shot an arrow. Not only did it allow the arrow to penetrate the defense of the Revenant like it was air, when the arrow lodged inside its flesh and melted in the warmth of its body, it dissolved all the tissues around it into blood, expanding the wound.


    ~ Bloodskull Gate ~


    Three floating skulls of red stone appeared above Lirael¡¯s head and they opened their mouths and a strong suction presented in the depths of their jaws. The blood of the centipede flowed out of its wounds, turning into floating streams that were drawn into her Dungeon through the skulls.


    Within the Dungeon, Sand suddenly looked up from his fishy repast to see a broad portal opening over the centre of the Dungeon. A bloody cataract emerged from the portal, pouring down on the pit of fire below. The thick column of red steam grew even denser as the new blood evaporated, assimilating into the Dungeon.


    Lirael felt a surge of mana feeding back from her Dungeon and replenishing her body¡¯s depleted reserves. With a resounding crack and shower of stones, the last of the centipede¡¯s body emerged from the earth, revealing its tail with two long spines sticking out of its end. The earth vibrated as it finally completed its turn and slithered towards her, its multitude of legs creating a rustling sound as they propelled it forward. Its razor-sharp mandibles glinted in the darkness as it activated some sort of shard. Now all its hands were focused on her, wrath clear in the glaring of its million eyes and the gnashing of its billion teeth.


    Lirael calmly took a step backwards. Her body blurred as the single step carried her hundreds of metres back. Raising her bow, she created another arrow and fired.


    This was the most correct procedure for dealing with such a massive Revenant. Its Undead Marrow shard had surely upgraded to a Tier 5 Regeneration shard so injuring it was an effort in futility unless one had a way to inflict wounds that wouldn¡¯t heal or resist healing. Lirael¡¯s attack was one such case where her blood remaining in the wound would unceasingly corrode its flesh, forcing it to waste its mana healing the wounds. The blood from the gashes could also be absorbed by her Dungeon to replenish her mana, putting her in an impregnable position.


    Now, with her Shrinking Space shard, she was faster than the ponderous behemoth and much more maneuverable. All she had to do was kite it until it ran out of mana to regenerate its injuries. After all, it didn¡¯t have unlimited mana like she did, and its only other Tier 5 shard seemed to be a close combat shard that enhanced the sharpness of its mandibles. Thankfully, it wasn¡¯t a defensive shard otherwise things would have become much tougher for her.


    As the injuries began piling up and it failed to narrow the gap between them, the centipede grew hot-tempered, repeatedly screeching a challenge at her to stand and fight as it smashed a huge clearing in the stone forest with its body. Lirael ignored it, strolling backwards leisurely, each step carrying her hundreds of metres, and shooting her arrows.


    Suddenly, a dull throb of pain ran up her left ankle, sending her tumbling onto the ground when her shard failed to activate. Her mana senses told her that the damaged shard had cracked yet again. It was a great opportunity to narrow the distance, but the creature halted its advance, growing deathly still instead. The hairs on the back of Lirael¡¯s neck stood on end as a strong sense of crisis oppressed her heart.


    Turning her head, she screamed, ¡°Vlad!¡±


    As though he had read her mind, the Thrall was already dashing towards her. With a stamp that cracked the ground, he leapt the last of the distance between them. Bringing his shield around midair, he roared as he slammed the construct of solid light into the ground. Circular ripples of orange light emanated from the point of impact, dyeing the ground with its warm brilliance. White flames roared to life where the ripples tailed off, surrounding the two of them in a protective circle.


    ~ Noon Circle ~


    Not a moment too soon as millions of centipedes swarmed out of the ground beneath them with their mandibles stretched wide. They ranged in size from the size of a palm to over ten metres long. Each of them had the same metallic black carapace as the monster as well as the coat of glistening slime. The larger of the centipedes even had several pairs of the restless hands.


    As they touched the radiance or were licked by the white flames, they screamed in agony as they were scorched inside out; blackening before crumbling into ash. Yet there was no end to them. The ground outside the circle became a writhing sea of darkness as the creatures swarmed towards them from all sides disregarding their lives.


    In the distance, the huge body of the monster slowly crumbled inwards, revealing that all that was left of it was a shell of dry earth.

 33: Pyroclastic Flow

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    Judging by the vast region it had subjugated, Lirael had known that the Revenant here was extremely strong. Still, it was only a Tier 5 beast and the inherent limitation of mana capacity and the disparity in the number of shards that came with that status meant that it wasn¡¯t her match. Even then, she had been cautious, probing it with exploratory attacks from a distance to determine the shards it had apart from the obligatory Undead Marrow.


    A close combat shard that increased the sharpness of its mandibles was the conclusion she had arrived at. It was a very practical shard, especially coupled with its colossal body and the strength that came with it. Now, pushed to its limits by her, it had revealed its third Tier 5 shard ¨C a variant of the Dissociation shard. If it wasn¡¯t for her Seismic Sense warning her of an extremely intense underground movement, she might have fallen into a predicament as the centipede split its body into millions of smaller individuals and travelled through the earth towards her, leaving an empty shell of dry earth behind.


    When Lirael had crafted the blueprint of her Dungeon, she had paid dual attention to development potential as well as battle-strength. She had wanted a Dungeon that would be easy to manage while simultaneously boosting her fighting capabilities. As such, her shard combination was very well rounded. Investigation, attack, defense, and mobility ¨C especially mobility ¨C she was outstanding in all fields. But as her Dungeon was yet incomplete, it had a flaw. A flaw that had made itself manifest in the intense battle with the colossal centipede: She needed time to switch between attack and defense.


    The sudden failure of her Shrinking Space shard had caught her off guard and she wasn¡¯t able to employ her usual tactic of using her excellent mobility to buy the time required for the switch. Fortunately, in Vlad¡¯s defensive shard, she had a backup.


    The orange light from Vlad¡¯s Noon Circle permeated the ground beneath their feet, lighting their forms from below; the white flames encircling them casting highlights on the dark sea of writhing insects that besieged them from all sides. The Thrall remained crouched with his Daybreak Shield touching the ground, maintaining the technique against the relentless onslaught of the suicidal insects. Whenever one of the fell creatures touched the flames or tried to tunnel up through the light, they would burn to ash ¨C their jarring screams playing a symphony of horror to the accompaniment of the skittering of their countless feet.


    The spell was an island of brightness in the dark.


    Mana flowed out of Vlad like a river, pouring into his shards; and if not for Lirael¡¯s Domain greatly suppressing the strength of the insects, he would have been overwhelmed within moments. Yet, the ring of fire shrank inwards and the protective light grew dimmer as the insects used their lives to consume his strength. His eyes glowed scarlet as he roared and raised his shield high above his head before bringing it slamming back down onto the ground. The rocky ground fissured and caved as another ripple of orange light radiated outwards from the point of impact, reinforcing the Noon Circle.


    As Vlad and the swarm refused to compromise with each other, Lirael focused on swapping her shard combination as fast as possible. Her current set, the Frostmane Armour and the Bow of Frozen Blood was good for fighting a small number of opponents. With her high mobility, she could dodge any single-target attacks and the defense of her armour ensured that area of effect attacks would be too diffuse in might to affect her. Meanwhile, her bow gave her a powerful attack against flesh and blood opponents. But when pitted against a large swarm of weak enemies, this tactic became extremely inefficient as there was no way to adjust the might of each arrow or increase her firing speed.


    Lirael¡¯s outline blurred as wisps of mist rose from her crystalline armour and wreathed her. The haze grew thicker and thicker as the ice began to melt and then steam. It caught the light of Vlad¡¯s spell, gaining a fiery orange glow. The temperature around her rose in steady steps from the chill of the heart of winter to the blazing heat of a midsummer¡¯s noon. The heat warped the surrounding air, making her clothes and hair flutter upwards. A blast of hot air centred on her ripped the mist apart, revealing her form.


    Her garnet eyes that had been reminiscent of blood, now smouldered with the intertwined reds, yellows and oranges of molten rock. Taking a step forward, she took a deep breath and opened her mouth, giving a glimpse of her throat that burnt with incandescent white flames. Her mana condensed around the shard in her throat and the flames within her gullet flared hotter. She roared.


    ~ Pyroclastic Flow ~


    A cone of burning ash spewed out of her mouth and inundated the swarm of insects writhing outside the circle of white flames. The grey ash-cloud glowed orange with internal heat as it spread like lightning through the ranks of the insects, flash-boiling the blood in their veins and setting them into statues of solid ash. They didn¡¯t even have time for a dying scream.


    Lirael turned and swept all around her with her attack, scouring the land clean of the filth. Completing the full circle, she stopped her skill and fell to her knees clutching her throat ¨C hacking and coughing painfully as smoke spewed out of the corners of her charred mouth. A red glow covered her mouth and throat as her Undead Marrow shard kicked in, regenerating the charred flesh.


    Spitting out a gobbet of black ash, she pointed in a direction and rasped out through half-formed vocal cords. ¡°Don¡¯t¡­ let¡­ run.¡±


    Without a word, Vlad raised his shield and charged into the lingering clouds of searing ash. Protected from the heat by his Aura of Strength, he barrelled through the ashen statues, shattering them like so much kindling. As he burst out from a bank of ash clouds, drawing grey trails behind him, he saw the insects that had survived by tunnelling underground emerging and fusing into a much larger entity.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    The reforming creature was already a hundred metres from tip to tail ¨C a massive monstrosity by any terms, but it was only a fraction of the size it had been, showing how badly it had been damaged by the battle. Still, as a result of splitting and reforming, all the stubborn wounds inflicted upon it by Lirael had healed. It could easily be understood why it had been able to wrest away such a large domain for itself. The Dissociation shard was a healing shard in disguised form and that, coupled with its Undead Marrow shard, gave it an abnormal tenacity. Adding on its extremely dangerous close combat shard that could cut through nearly anything, its opponents would be hard pressed to kill it or defend against millions of gnawing mandibles.


    Noticing Vlad¡¯s approach, the multitude of hands that had been lying flat on its body dispiritedly set upright like hackles, baring their fangs and glaring at him with their eyes. The monster turned to him and screeched its bloodcurdling cry, its mandibles gleaming with the light of its shard.


    Stamping down hard on the ground, Vlad shot forward with his shield in front of him. As he slammed into the monster, its mandibles sliced through the shield almost like it didn¡¯t exist, moving on to try and cut his body in half. But the slight detention produced by the shield was enough for the Thrall to duck beneath the snapping jaws and slam his open palm into the underside of the creature¡¯s chin. Ripples of force spread through the centipede¡¯s head as it was knocked upwards while the ground beneath Vlad¡¯s feet cratered and cracked from the recoil.


    With a low roar, the muscles on Vlad''s thighs expanded as he jumped, shooting up to slam his fist into the chin of the monster, cracking its carapace and sending it toppling backwards. Just as he landed on the ground, panting for breath, a movement in the corner of his vision caught his attention. He only had enough time to re-summon his Daybreak Shield and keep it off in front of him as the centipede¡¯s tail slammed into him, cracking up his shield and sending him flying back into the clouds of burning ash.


    Screeching in defiance, the centipede didn¡¯t chase after the injured Thrall, turning to escape instead. Knowing that it had lost the battle, its best course of action was to give up its domain and heal from its wounds. When it regained its strength, it could always challenge another Revenant for their territory.


    ¡°Going somewhere?¡±


    A clear female voice rang out above its head causing it to stiffen. It didn¡¯t know when she had got there but the hateful woman that had injured it so grievously was now standing atop its head clad in her icy armour and holding her glowing red bow. She had an arrow nocked and drawn, pointing downwards at its head ¨C its only vital point.


    Before it could react, Lirael released the arrow.


    With a ripple of red light, the shaft sank deep into its brain and melted, turning it into sludge. The centipede collapsed lifelessly to the ground, raising a ring of dust.


    Straightening up, she let her bow melt back into blood and enter her Dungeon. She let out a sigh of relief, her breath misting in the frigid cold around her armour. It was finally over¡­


    Suddenly, all the hands on the corpse detached from it and lunged towards her, trying to dogpile onto her.


    Lirael sneered. ¡°Finally gave yourself away, huh?¡±


    She had become suspicious about the amount of mana the centipede had when it had demonstrated a performance incongruous with its Tier. With the wounds she had inflicted upon it and the mana she was siphoning off it along with its blood, she hadn¡¯t expected it to have enough mana to activate its third Tier 5 shard ¨C especially not when the shard was one as mana-hungry as the Dissociation shard. Yet, it had activated the shard without much difficulty, even having enough mana left over to defeat Vlad and flee afterwards.


    Another source of suspicion was the discrepancy between the undead variant she had expected to find here and the kind she had actually encountered. According to the annotations on her map, a hundred years ago, this region had been occupied by a Revenant with a control class shard that fought by enslaving and manipulating other undead. Instead of that, she had found a centipede from hell.


    At first, she had merely assumed that the centipede had defeated the previous ruler of this territory and usurped it. But now that the hands attached to its body had attacked independently in a bid to catch her off guard even after its death, her suspicions were confirmed.


    The gentle bluish-white radiance of her armour intensified. Anything shone by its light was frozen solid and with the sound of breaking glass, the frozen palms dropped onto the swiftly freezing corpse of the Revenant and shattered into tiny pieces.


    Even as a bluish-white layer of rime spread outwards from the corpse, reducing the scorching temperatures created by the ash clouds, she turned her gaze to the distance. Using her Seismic Sense shard, she could feel minute tremors as something converged towards that direction through the ground.


    It appeared that the centipede¡¯s coup had ended in failure and it had been enslaved. For the ruler to have the ability to control a Revenant at the peak of Tier 5, it had to have formed its Embryonic Dungeon. The promotion from Revenant to pseudo-Lich had boosted its intelligence and bestowed upon it a low cunning.


    It had used the centipede to probe Lirael''s strength. Realizing that she was a thorny opponent, it deceitfully made it seem like the centipede was running away. This would send the impression that the centipede was the only Revenant in the forest of stone -- not a slave guarding its lord. Hopefully, she would be swindled and chase after the puppet, ignoring the true manipulator behind the scenes.


    Unfortunately, the Lich''s mind was still immature and it had let its predatory instincts take over; attacking Lirael when she seemingly relaxed after killing the centipede.


    Threatened by Lirael''s destruction of its strongest guard and having inadvertently exposed itself, the pseudo-Lich was gathering its strength in preparation for their inevitable confrontation. Now was the best opportunity to strike it down before it could bring all its might to bear.


    Turning away with a sigh, Lirael took a step in another direction. Her form blurred and she appeared beside Vlad, her Domain pushing the clouds of burning ash away from his unconscious form.


    He was in a very poor state. One of the spines at the end of the centipede''s tail had raked across his stomach after shattering his shield and penetrating his Aura, leaving a huge gash behind. His blood soaked the gravel beneath him and his intestines lay half in and half out of his body. Scorch marks from exposure to the ash cloud marred his hide and his breathing was erratic and shallow ¨C a sign of injured lungs.


    Vlad was her earliest Thrall, having followed her for over a decade. Despite him having the least intelligence among her Thralls, he was the closest to her heart. If she left him unattended to chase after the pseudo-Lich, then he would die.


    He was her vassal and she his liege. He was also family. Abandoning him wasn¡¯t something Lirael could bring herself to do.

 34: Magma Basilisk

    Kneeling hastily beside Vlad, Lirael placed a hand on his forehead and channelled her mana into him to replenish his reserves and stabilize him. Ordinarily, this would be impossible as the body would reject the foreign mana, but Thralls and their masters were exceptions to the rule. This was because the process of Enthrallment involved implanting a control shard in the body of the subject. This would synchronize the mana of both the parties involved, allowing them to share mana as well as use shards that would normally affect only themselves on each other.


    In fact, this connection made the Thralls feel like they shared the same roots, or were just an extension of their master¡¯s body. The influence of this feeling on their blank, immature minds left them unswervingly loyal to their owners.


    A soft red glow suffused the Thrall¡¯s body as her Blood Manipulation shard and Blood Source shards kicked in, stanching his bleeding and replenishing what he had lost. The Bloodskull Gate opened beside them as the three floating skulls opened their mouths and a cataract of illusory blood gushed out. Sand and Igor stepped out of the portal, summoned by their mistress¡¯ call.


    Taking stock of the situation swiftly, Igor wasted no words and immediately got to work. His four arms moved swiftly and precisely as they pushed Vlad¡¯s intestines back into him and pinched the edges of the wound together. The red glow around Vlad grew brighter as Lirael used her link to him to share the effects of her Undead Marrow shard with him. Flesh knit together, vessels mended, broken bones shifted as they snapped into position and healed. Yet, despite his body¡¯s return to a perfect condition, his breathing was still laboured, his dark skin still dyed a dull grey by the pallor of death.


    ¡°Boy, your shard. Use it!¡±


    Lirael¡¯s exhortation set Sand into motion. Kneeling beside the unconscious Thrall, he used his knife to score a shallow wound above his weakly beating heart and placed his hand on it. As his palm contacted the blood, a strong suction emerged from it, affecting the poison in Vlad¡¯s veins. Sand¡¯s eyes blazed with ghostly green flames. In his Aura Sight, the poison was a wispy grey mist that contaminated the scarlet Aura of Vlad''s blood. He wasn¡¯t surprised by its presence. When fighting an undead, any wound received would be a poisonous one.


    Using his Phlebotomy shard, Sand drew the toxins into his own body, his Undead Marrow shard deriving the nutrients greedily to grow. Unfortunately, as he hadn¡¯t broken through to the Green stage, his body was incapable of housing a Tier 3 shard and as such the promotion of the shard was forcefully aborted. The backlash caused a trickle of black blood to run down his nose and from the corners of his eyes.


    Suddenly, he felt a delicate palm pressing up against his back. His heart thumped hard within his chest as wisps of violet mana emerged out of the shard within. Sand¡¯s eyes widened. ¡®The link lets her share her mana with me,¡¯ he surmised with rising dread. ¡®If she can give me mana, she can take it back.¡¯


    The violet mana expanded within him, rapidly degrading down the spectrum as it grew less dense and merged with his own. His mana caught a leaf-green tint, indicating his smooth promotion. Reactivating his Phlebotomy shard, Sand renewed his efforts to draw the corpse poison out of Vlad. As a peak Tier 5 beast, the centipede¡¯s venom was extremely potent and easily pushed his Undead Marrow shard into Tier 3. A dark brilliance spilled out of Sand¡¯s bones and blood, dyeing his muscles and flesh a metallic black. Uncharacteristically, there was no pain this time, only a comfortable itchy numbness that suffused each inch of his flesh as it was transformed by the shard.


    When the last of the poison disappeared into his shard, a third of his muscles had been transformed. Under Sand¡¯s control, his biceps, forearms, thighs, calves, abdominals, and the muscles of his back had been given priority during the transformation, maximizing its effectiveness. He felt stronger and more flexible. It wasn¡¯t to the level of a Tier 1 Strength shard, but despite his young body, he was now on par with an average human adult male in terms of strength.


    Taking his palm away from Vlad¡¯s chest, Sand stood and took a step back. The pall of death had lifted off the Thrall and his complexion was swiftly returning to normal. The only visible marks of his close brush with death were a silvery scar across his stomach ¨C an addition to the numerous others scattered across his body ¨C and the loss of the large portion of his muscle mass which had been consumed to heal him.


    He had yet to regain consciousness but his breath was even and his heartbeat strong. It was only a matter of time till he woke. Though, he would be in no state to fight when he did. It would take a few weeks of recuperation and constant use of his Strength shard to regain what had been lost.


    With a sigh of relief, Lirael waved her hand and her Gate swept over his prone form, transferring him into her Dungeon. Turning to Sand, she said, ¡°Good job on the healing. You¡¯ll have your reward sooner than you think.¡±


    Sand didn¡¯t try to be artificial and decline. ¡°Thank you, mistress,¡± he said with a bow.


    Nodding, she turned to Igor and instructed, ¡°There¡¯s an undead corpse that way. Take him to it and have him absorb its venom. There¡¯s enough mana permeated within it to let him promote again. Protect him.¡±


    ¡°Yesss,¡± acknowledged Igor with a hiss. ¡°And you, mistresss?¡±


    Lirael turned her gaze to the distance where her senses told her a great evil was brewing. Her eyes narrowed, ¡°Me? I have a score to settle.¡±


    The dying screams of the undead shattered the silence of the stone forest. The skeletons of the Bone Monsters lost their gloss, the muscles of the Wights sloughed off their bodies, the blood of the Zombies dried in their veins, the Ghouls felt their organs withering within themselves ¨C the entirety of their essence flowing out of them and into the pale white hands attached to their bodies. As the undead crumbled to dust, the now softly glowing arms dropped onto the ground, integrated into it and converged towards the heart of the forest.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Silence flowed outwards from the centre like an expanding puddle as the closest undead were the first to die.


    Guided by her Seismic Sense, Lirael approached the pseudo-Lich with steady steps as she followed the path of the pale hands under the ground. In her Aura sight, the Aura of the disembodied hands linked up into white streams that gathered towards her foe, accumulating into a glowing white dome in the distance.


    There was a difference in how beasts and the sentient races formed their Dungeons. The sentient races, upon reaching the peak of the Violet stage, used their shards to seed a Dungeon and then slowly developed it. Tier 5 beasts on the other hand occupied a territory and established absolute dominance over it. Then they suffused it with their mana, all the while fending off the challenges of other Tier 5 beasts. If they managed to successfully defend their position for a few hundred years, then Tier 5 space and time shards would gradually condense within their bodies, combining with the shards already there to form a Dungeon.


    As the dark spires of stone surrounding her grew sparse and opened into a clearing, Lirael winced as the dense white Aura within washed out her vision. Shutting her Aura sight and observing through only her eyes, she finally understood why her ancestor had given the area the poetic label of Bone Garden.


    Moonlight curtained down through an opening in the thick layer of miasma overhead, lending a silver cast to the entire region. Chains of pale white arms with the palm of one hand grabbing onto the end of the next twined around the scattered spires of dark rock like vines. Pairs of intertwined arms grew out of the ground, their palms resembling flowers as they interlocked in various degrees. The distribution of the ¡®flowers¡¯ grew denser as one moved inwards, forming a gleaming carpet of silver under the moonlight. The very centre of the clearing was occupied by five gigantic palms that grew straight out of the ground, cupped and joined together to form a ¡®bud¡¯.


    Lirael could feel rhythmic pulses of power emanating from the interior of the bud in tandem with a faint heartbeat that reached her ears. She could feel the fine hairs at the back of her neck rising as a huge sense of crisis oppressed her heart until she felt short of breath. Something incredibly alien was being bred within that bud. Something incredibly powerful. Something she wasn¡¯t sure she could win against. It was the condensation of all the death that permeated the entire stone forest. The fruit of extreme evil.


    An achromatic shockwave rippled out of Lirael as her Domain proliferated throughout the area, halting at the edge of the clearing where it crashed against the pseudo-Lich¡¯s Domain. The sense of oppression vanished immediately and only a bit of the crippling fear remained. Having collected all the shards and materials required to form her Dungeon on her own, Lirael¡¯s battle experience was much richer than her peers who had their resources handed to them. Yet, she hadn¡¯t clashed with an evenly matched opponent after the creation of her Embryonic Dungeon. Unlike her previous battle with the Revenant, this would truly be a fight with her life on the line. She would be lying if she claimed that she wasn¡¯t nervous.


    Taking a deep breath, she steeled her resolve. The reason she had come here was to hunt this particular undead and harvest its Tier 5 control shard. She needed it to get her spice industry up and running. She hadn''t expected its promotion from a Revenant to a Lich in the hundred years since her ancestor had observed it and recorded its information on his map. If she gave up at this juncture and tried searching for another, more suitable target, there was a very real risk that she would run out of time before her family ordered her return. But, if she managed to successfully defeat it¡­ Suffice it to say that she wouldn''t want for resources until she became a Dungeon Mage.


    As though agitated by her determination, the massive palms that constituted the ¡®bud¡¯ trembled and slowly began to open outwards. Silver moonlight speared through the gaps within the fingers and pierced the darkness within. It illuminated the form of a ten-metre-tall infant curled up in the foetal position, sleeping peacefully with its back turned to her. Its skin was a papery white ¨C the same colour as the disembodied arms in the garden.


    Under her vigilant gaze, the gigantic infant stirred in its slumber and rolled around to face her. Maybe ¡®face¡¯ was the wrong term, for the front of its hairless head was indistinguishable from the back: No eyes, no nose, no lips¡­ just a blank stretch of pale, featureless skin.


    Suddenly, large gashes opened horizontally on the upper and lower parts of its face. The upper gash widened to reveal a single eye with a noxious yellow iris and serpentine pupil set in dark sclera. The lower gash split into a wide grin that showed row after row of serrated teeth reminiscent of a shark. Scarlet blood trickled down the corners of its mouth and eye, forming a sharp contrast against its pale, nearly colourless skin. As though following its cue, eyes and mouths opened on all the palms in the clearing; all of them turning to face Lirael in eerie unison.


    The evil infant chuckled and the other mouths took up the refrain, forming an uncanny chorus of infantile laughter that sent waves of nausea crashing down on Lirael. Clapping her hands over her ears, she staggered as she struggled to keep her dinner down. Capitalizing on the opportunity, the infant sent a wave of the pale arms swarming towards her, its laughter growing louder and louder until it seemed like it would shake the very world.


    Gritting her teeth, Lirael powered through the pain and the nausea long enough to summon her Gate and open a large portal to her Dungeon. An incandescent stream of caustic ash jetted out of the portal, followed closely by a gaping maw attached to a sinuous body crafted from the darkest obsidian. Cracks riddled the body of the stone serpent that emerged from Bloodskull Dungeon with orange magma flowing through them like veins. Molten rock dripped out of the corners of its mouth as it inundated the oncoming tide of pale appendages with clouds of burning ash.


    It was Lirael¡¯s final Core Spirit; and also, the very first to take shape. It was the only one mature enough to participate in a fight on her behalf.


    Magma Basilisks spent most of their lives sleeping in the hearts of volcanoes, absorbing the magma to grow. But whenever they woke, disaster would follow as the volcano would erupt violently, spewing fire and ash into the sky. Modeled after the Magma Basilisk she had obtained her Pyroclastic Flow shard from, her Core Spirit was a portable natural disaster.


    The infant wailed in dismay as a large chunk of its resources was burnt to ash, the sound much more potent than its erstwhile chuckles. Yet, the fiery serpent¡¯s assault was relentless, the spirit unaffected by the sound-based attack due its lack of ears. There was no strategy, no tricks. Just a simple, mutually destructive competition between Dungeon and Dungeon. The nauseating smell of charred flesh mixed with the stench of brimstone and Lirael finally lost the battle against her stomach, throwing up the entirety of its contents and dry-heaving afterwards.


    Within Bloodskull, the central pit erupted, the ground cracked, and the snowy peaks avalanched as the edges of the Dungeon contracted along with the loss of the mana composing it as Lirael remained locked in a contest of strength with the pseudo-Lich.


    With a final blood-curdling wail that sent her to her knees clutching her head, the infant lost the battle and its form was swallowed up by the burning ash.

 35: Dungeon Mage

    Ash fluttered down like snow around Lirael, glinting silver under the moonlight that streamed down through a gap in the colourful clouds of miasma above. She strolled through the desolation wrought by her fight with the Lich, leaving shallow footprints in the layer of warm ash that covered the ground. Her scarlet eyes flitted from side to side, searching for the remains of her enemy. Her spoils of war.


    Generally speaking, hunting beasts for their shards was a thankless task. Shards turned volatile after the death of their host, and in most cases, the intense fight required to defeat the beast would result in the destruction of its shards, leaving the hunter with nothing but its corpse. But once the beast fused its shards into an Embryonic Dungeon, they would be protected by the Dungeon. So, even though fighting such a beast was exponentially tougher and more resource intensive than battling a Tier 5, there was a guarantee that shards could be retrieved from its remains. This was another reason, aside from the limited time on her hands, why Lirael had chosen to stand and fight instead of searching for easier prey elsewhere.


    Lirael stopped before a mound of ash where the massive palms ensconcing the evil infant had been. Her hair elongated, wrapping around her body and freezing into her set of Frostmane Armour. Narrowing her eyes, she sliced her right palm with the fingernails of her left hand, weaving the blood that flowed out into a lance of frozen blood as long as she was tall. Readying it, she approached the mound cautiously.


    She was a mere pace away from the mound when the infant burst out of it with an infernal screech, scattering ash everywhere.


    The entire left half of its body, including its arm, its leg, and the left half of its ribcage was missing, revealing a jet-black heart beating within its chest. Dark blood spurted with every heartbeat from the vessels that hadn¡¯t been cauterized by the burning ash. Most of the pale skin over the rest of its body had been scorched off, exposing the dark muscles underneath. Of its left cheek, only strings of gristle remained, connecting its jaws and giving it a lopsided grin. The silver moonlight shining behind it cast its front into deep shadow.


    A single, bloodshot yellow eye gleamed within the shadows of its face ¨C the serpentine pupil narrowing to a vertical slit as it lunged towards Lirael. Opening its mouth, displaying row after row of serrated fangs, it screamed.


    The shrill sound sent a spike of pain lancing through Lirael¡¯s mind, making her reel backwards. Clenching her teeth, she powered through the pain; stamping down on the ground with her rear foot, twisting her waist, she thrust upwards with her lance. The tip glowed with a bloody radiance as it whistled through the air, entering the infant¡¯s gaping mouth and piercing its skull without any hindrance. It emerged from the back of the infant¡¯s head in a shower of blood that froze midair, sprinkling down on the grey ash around them like so many glittering rubies. Its scream cut off abruptly, dowsing the region in silence.


    The light disappeared from the creature¡¯s eye as Lirael released the lance and took a step back, letting its massive form collapse lifelessly onto the ground in front of her, raising a ring of dust that expanded outwards.


    Lirael wasn¡¯t too surprised that the Lich had survived her ultimate attack. The Undead Marrow shard gave all undead a terrifying resilience, and in this case, that was compounded by its possession of a Dissociation shard. She realized now that it wasn¡¯t the centipede that had a Dissociation shard; it was the Lich. Its ability to fragment itself was what had allowed the creature to control all the undead in the stone forest by implanting its ¡®hands¡¯ onto each of them.


    Just like Lirael could use shards that would normally affect only herself upon her Thralls, the Lich too could do the same with its slaves. It had used the Dissociation shard upon the centipede to help heal its injuries and overwhelm her by transforming into a swarm of smaller insects. The centipede itself had only revealed two Tier 5 shards during their fight. The mana provided by the Lich and its ability to share shard effects was why the gigantic insect had been such a difficult opponent.


    Starting from its pierced head, the infant¡¯s corpse began to dissolve into blood and seep into the ground until all that remained was a scarlet silhouette on grey ash. There, in the middle of the silhouette, a large crystal egg the size of Lirael¡¯s head glimmered under the moonlight. A delicate lattice of purple crystal surrounded the egg like a fishing net. It was the deceased Lich¡¯s Control shard wrapped by its Undead Marrow shard.


    As the Lich had died without a chance to assimilate all its fragments, its Dissociation shard had been destroyed despite the protection of its Embryonic Dungeon. As for any other shard it might have carried ¨C without the protection of a Dungeon, they hadn''t stood a chance. Diverging her armour and bending down, Lirael picked up the shards.


    Having gathered her spoils of war, she looked inwards into her Dungeon.


    Bloodskull was in a very poor state. Snow had avalanched down the mountains at the edge, the rivers of blood had overflowed their banks, giant fissures crisscrossed the earth like scars, most of the Whispering Willows had been damaged with broken trunks and snapped branches abounding, and worst of all, without the Magma Basilisk to stabilize it, the central pit had erupted, spewing molten rock and heated ash into the sky. The entire area of the Dungeon had shrunk due to the excessive withdrawal of mana and hidden behind the wispy red clouds were jagged black cracks in the sky.


    The Dungeon was on the verge of collapse and all her Core Spirits had been damaged to a certain extent. The Magma Basilisk was the worst off as it had borne the brunt of the conflict. Now it was curled up in the fiery depths of the central pit, recuperating. It would take several years for it to recover, which in the outside world¡¯s time translated to a couple of months of inactivity. In this time, she would have to avoid direct conflict with Dungeon Mages.


    The Frostmane Lion, Leo, was currently utterly exhausted from using his powers to mitigate the damage to the Dungeon by the avalanches. The Void Hummingbird was nursing a broken wing in its nest hidden within the clouds ¨C a result of her overuse of her Shrinking Space shard. A deep crack ran up the trunk of the Weeping Willow patriarch and the number of its roots and branches that had broken off during the upheaval were too many to count. The only spirit that was relatively untouched was her Blood Carp that had been protected within the blood of the rivers.


    Fighting the Lich had been a gamble. A calculated risk.


    A beast formed and expanded its Embryonic Dungeon by injecting its mana into the environment, converting it into its own personal space. The process was very slow and wasteful as most of the mana dissipated into the world. If the rate of mana injection was lower than the rate of dissipation, then no matter how hard it tried, the beast would never be able to advance.


    This was the reason why beasts became bound to their territory after they began the process of advancement. If they left for even a short period of time, their progress would be lost as the world reclaimed their territory. Environments rich in natural Aura favoured the formation of Dungeons as the rate of mana dissipation was lower in these regions.


    In sharp contrast, when the members of the sentient races formed their Dungeons, they absorbed the natural Aura surrounding them, using it to construct their personal worlds from scratch. Though this method had a much higher chance of failure than that of the beasts due to shard incompatibility, it took a much shorter period of time for the Dungeon to form and develop.


    According to her ancestor¡¯s map, a century ago, the Lich was still a Tier 5 Revenant. Thus, Lirael had surmised, the amount of mana in its Embryonic Dungeon would be less than in hers. Another point in her favour was its shard combination. Other than the obligatory Undead Marrow shard, it had a Dissociation shard and a Control shard. Its lack of a Tier 5 defensive shard meant that against her Tier 5 Pyroclastic Flow shard, it would have to spend much more mana to defend than she would have to attack.


    She looked down at the glittering shards in her hand. She had bet right.


    Now that she had what she had come for, she could repair and rebuild her Dungeon to be stronger than ever before. With them in hand, she could solve all the problems she had been facing with her Undead Marrow shard. The corners of her lips couldn''t help but curve upwards.


    Once again, it seemed that she had her newest Thrall to thank for this opportunity. If his Phlebotomy shard hadn¡¯t restrained the centipede¡¯s corpse toxin so well, it would have taken her a lot more time and effort to stabilize Vlad¡¯s condition. Time that the evil infant would have used to assimilate more of its fragments and consolidate more of its power. Then the battle could have swung either way as, along with its fragments, the Lich was assimilating the mana of the victims they had been embedded in.


    Her form blurred and she disappeared from the spot, reappearing beside Igor as the Naga used two of his arms to hold the centipede¡¯s head steady while he dug out its Honed Edge shard from the base of its mandibles with his remaining arms.


    Lirael had deliberately frozen the corpse with her Frostmane Armour in order to lock in as much of the mana within the corpse as possible and to delay the deterioration of the shards that had survived their fight. Unfortunately, only the Undead Marrow and the Honed Edge shards remained. If the Revenant had a third Tier 5 shard, she would never know what it was. Though, it probably wasn¡¯t something too useful seeing that it hadn¡¯t prevented the centipede from being enslaved by the evil infant who didn¡¯t even have a single attack or defence shard.


    Popping the crescent of crimson crystal out with a grunt, the Thrall turned to her and bowed his head. Noticing the crystalline egg in her hand, he hissed, ¡°Congratulations, Mistresss.¡±


    Acknowledging him with a nod, she turned her gaze to Sand. The boy had stripped off his shirt and was sitting on the ground with his eyes closed, leaning his back against centipede¡¯s corpse with as much of his skin in contact with it as he could manage. His chest glowed scarlet from the internal light of his shards. A dense black fog transpired out of the corpse and with every breath, he inhaled it through his nose.


    Through her connection to him, Lirael could feel his mana growing denser and rising through the spectrum with each passing moment. From a bright leaf green, it had already transformed into an emerald hue and was swiftly making progress towards a deep viridian. His Undead Marrow shard, as well as his Phlebotomy shard which was linked to it, were taking steady steps to the peak of Tier 3 in tandem with his mana.


    Lirael could feel her connection to him getting stronger and stronger as the shards absorbed the toxin present in the Revenant¡¯s corpse and converted it to Thrall venom in order to transform every inch of Sand¡¯s flesh. It was an odd sensation. Like she had a second body she could gain control over whenever she wished. It felt like he was an extension of her ¨C an extra arm. While her other Thralls were loyal to her from the bottom of their hearts, Sand, it seemed, was totally under her power physically while retaining his free mind.


    Her favourability towards the boy increased as the merit he had rendered in these past few days was compounded by this sense of connection.


    She estimated that there was enough mana within the Revenant to advance Sand into a middle stage Blue mage and the traces of the Revenant¡¯s Undead Marrow shard that remained within its corpse was enough to advance both his linked shards to Tier 4.


    A deep frown wrinkled Sand¡¯s brow as his shards refused to admit the mana flowing into them and it began to accumulate within his body, making him feel painfully bloated.


    Unfortunately, there was a hitch. Sand¡¯s Undead Marrow shard was connected to his Phlebotomy shard, and that in turn had been connected to her Thrall shard during his Enthrallment. Sadly, her Thrall shard was only Tier 3. She hadn¡¯t felt the need to upgrade it since both Vlad and Igor were restricted by their talent from advancing to a Blue Mage. It couldn''t support Sand¡¯s advancement beyond the level of a Green mage.


    Walking over to him, Lirael knelt and placed a palm against his forehead. Closing her eyes and reaching out to him through their link, she pulled.


    The excess mana flowed into her through her hand and she channelled it into her Dungeon, guiding it towards the ominous cracks in the sky. They were the worst of the damage and she would have had to reassign mana from other parts of her Dungeon, aggravating the damage there, to heal these cracks lest her Dungeon collapse at any moment. Now, the Dungeon drank in the incoming mana like a parched traveller in a desert and the cracks began to knit together.


    As the last of the cracks sealed shut, she opened her eyes to see Sand scrutinizing her face expressionlessly, his dark eyes seemingly absorbing all light that fell on them. Behind him, the corpse of the centipede crumbled into a large pile of dust as the last of its essence was extracted from it.


    A gentle breeze picked up in the area, whirling the dust away.


    Rising to her feet, Lirael offered Sand her hand. ¡°Come,¡± she said with a smile, ¡°let us rebuild our home.¡±


    For a long moment, Sand observed the proffered hand with an unreadable expression on his face. Then, silently stretching out his hand, he took it.


    Lirael walked through the forest of Weeping Willows in her Dungeon, taking in the devastation wrought by her recent battle. Sand and Igor trailed behind her.


    Uprooted trees and snapped trunks abounded ¨C the blood red sap leaking out of the wounds presenting a stark contrast against the bone-white bark ¨C and the forest floor was littered with broken vines. Seeing it up close and personal let her realize the true extent of the damage much better than the cursory scan of her Dungeon she had performed before.


    The air rang with the eerie lament of the injured ents. As she passed, the mournful dirge increased in volume ¨C the willows trying to attract her attention like children with scraped knees complaining tearfully to their mother. It was as though they were begging her to make the pain go away. She sped up her footsteps. That was exactly what she was here for.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    Reaching a clearing in the shattered forest, she caught sight of her Core Spirit situated in the middle of a broad river of blood.


    ¡°Woahhh¡­¡±


    Sensing her arrival, the solemn patriarch of the Weeping Willows greeted her weakly and opened its mouth wide, revealing a cavernous entrance to its interior.


    Its face contorted into an agonized grimace as the effort stretched the massive crack that ran diagonally across its trunk from branch to root, passing through its right eye and cleanly bisecting its lip. The crack was dark against the pale bark. The sap leaking out of it trickled down the trunk, dyeing it a bloody red. Broken branches littered the area around it and its canopy of bony vines appeared much sparser than before. The entire tree now leaned slightly to the side, several of the roots that anchored it having snapped during the series of earthquakes that had rippled through the Dungeon.


    Lirael¡¯s boots squelched as she walked through the reddish mud that lined the river, a result of it overflowing its banks. The ground beneath her crackled with a sound like crinkling foil as it froze with each of her footsteps, a layer of rime spreading outwards from each of the frozen footprints she left in her wake. As she approached the river, the temperature around her dropped, freezing the slow-moving blood in it into a bridge of red ice that grew with her each step, linking the riverbank to the spirit¡¯s open mouth.


    Entering the hollow interior of the tree, she turned around and inspected its wound from the inside. The dim red light of the Dungeon¡¯s night streamed in through the crack that spanned from floor to ceiling. Stepping up to the wall of the cavern, Lirael ran her hand gently over the splintered edges of the crack, wincing as she felt the corresponding fissure on the Agility shards in her eyes twinge in sympathy.


    Turning, she received the shards she had harvested from the Lich from the hands of Igor who had followed her in. She wedged the egg-shaped piece of colourless crystal into the crack in the wall near the ground. Sitting down cross-legged in front of it, she placed both her hands on it and closed her eyes.


    The purple crystal network of Undead Marrow surrounding the Control shard began to glow with a soft purple brilliance as Lirael¡¯s mana poured into it, projecting a grid of purple light on her face and onto the interior walls of the cavern.


    ¡°Woahhh!¡±


    The entire tree shivered, its bass voice ringing out once again as the Undead Marrow peeled off the Control shard and began to knit the massive crack together like so many strands of crystal thread. A purple radiance rippled outwards from the crack, spreading like water along the grain of the wood. Shattered bark and broken branches mended wherever the light visited until the entire trunk was wrapped in a coat of liquid light. The brilliance spread outwards following the vines and downwards into the ground along the roots.


    Within her mind, through her connection to her Dungeon, Lirael could sense the purple light spreading through the root system of the Spirit like blood through veins. As the light contacted the roots of the surrounding trees that were entangled with the Spirit¡¯s under the ground, it infected them; following them to their source it covered their trunks with the same purple brilliance. Light spread like wildfire centred on the Spirit, jumping from root to root and tree to tree until the entire forest began to glow a soft purple.


    Broken branches grew out, uprooted trees gained a new lease of life, and trees with broken trunks grew back, bent but unbroken. Wherever the light visited, the forest recovered.


    Of all the shards that composed Bloodskull, the Agility and the Undead Marrow shards were the ones most closely interlinked. This was demonstrated by the replacement of the bark of the Weeping Willows by a substance closely resembling bone and the replacement of the sap within the rattans by bone marrow.


    Lirael¡¯s goal had only been the Control shard. Obtaining another Tier 5 Undead Marrow shard had been a happy accident. While the shard couldn''t be used to directly increase the degree of integration of her own Undead Marrow shard into her Dungeon, it could be used to heal the Weeping Willows. This would increase the affinity between the two closest shards in her Dungeon and indirectly promote the degree of integration.


    Back within the hollow of the tree spirit, the massive crack sealed shut like two pieces of dough being pinched together, leaving a gnarled scar to remember it by. As the last of the wound knitted over, the final thread of the Lich¡¯s Undead Marrow shard merged into the purple light, leaving the Control shard bare and embedded into the tree.


    The transparent crystal ovoid vibrated as Lirael¡¯s mana poured into it, achromatic ripples emanating from it and spreading out across the entirety of her Dungeon. For a moment it seemed like nothing had happened, then, under the gloomy mixture of red and purple lighting, the dead began to stir.


    The skeletons and corpses Lirael had been painstakingly seeding her Dungeon with in preparation for just this moment, finally began to play their role, crawling out of the earth they had been buried in. They came in an eclectic variety of shapes ¨C ranging from easily recognizable creatures to chaotically put together chimaeras of bone and rotting flesh. They varied from the size of a palm to ones that rivalled the Magma Basilisk in size.


    The only order in the chaos was the distinct segregation of the undead by elemental affinity and location. The ones close to the central pit had an affinity to fire. Mostly Netherfire Serpents Lirael had picked up after vanquishing the colony she had tossed Sand into. It included the reanimated corpse of a Tier 4 Serpent ¨C the leader of the colony.


    The ones at the edge of the Dungeon, amidst the snowy mountains, had an affinity to ice. They were a lot fewer and came from more scattered sources than the ones with fire affinity as beasts with an affinity to ice were rare in a hot desert like the Tyhr. She had been lucky to find some in a system of underground caverns.


    Finally, those in the between had an even mix of affinities to blood and earth. Blood to increase the integration with her Dissolving Blood shard and earth in order to prime Bloodskull to accept the next shard in line after the fusion of the Undead Marrow shard was complete: The Seismic Sense shard.


    But, raising the dead wasn¡¯t Lirael¡¯s goal. It was only a step in the process.


    ¡°Woahhh!!¡±


    The Control shard buzzed louder and the Willow patriarch¡¯s deep voice joined in, the bass rumble rippling out and reverberating throughout the Dungeon. The glowing purple trees grew perfectly still, silence blanketing Bloodskull in the wake of the call.


    In one corner of the forest, a Zombie that had the upper body of a mantis, the lower body of a horse and the tail of a scorpion passed too close to a Weeping Willow. No skin covered the dark red muscles and blood vessels that twined around its body, its hollow sockets revealing the lack of internal organs. Suddenly, the Willow lashed out with its vines, bringing them whipping down onto the back of the Bloody Centaur. Its knees curved under the force of the blow and with a neighing screech, it lashed out with its scythes, slicing clean through several of the vines.


    Undeterred, the ent continued its onslaught, more vines taking the place of the fallen and the purple radiance that covered it repairing the broken ones. Wrapping around its legs with several other vines, the Willow pulled the Centaur closer and closer despite its desperate struggles. Finally, after a protracted confrontation, a well-placed vine whip crushed its head and it grew limp.


    Dragging the body towards it, the Willow wrapped its vines around itself and its prey, obstructing the view. Only the disturbing sounds of crunching bones that emanated from it gave an idea of what was going on within.


    Similar scenes played out across the Dungeon as conflicts erupted between the undead and the skeletal trees. The forest devolved into sheer pandemonium.


    After a while, one of the trees near the centre of the Dungeon that had defeated and swallowed a Tier 3 Netherfire Serpent unwrapped its cover of vines. Its appearance had changed drastically. The bark the that had been colour of bleached bone was now the dark grey of freshly formed charcoal. Ghostly green Netherfire blazed all over it, spreading over its vines and giving it a canopy of phantom flames. Only its hollow eyes and mouth burnt with dark flames the colour of dried blood.


    All over the Dungeon, the Weeping Willows battled undead, swallowed them and evolved, taking on their characteristics and further integrating the Undead Marrow shard into the Dungeon. And through the Control Shard, the Core Spirit controlled each of their actions, guiding them down the most optimal path with Lirael¡¯s help.


    The Bloodskull Gate opened wide and a huge metaphysical suction erupted from it, drawing in all the Aura of Death from the surroundings and funnelling it into the Dungeon. As the Undead Marrow shard integrated into the Embryonic Dungeon, magnanimous amounts of natural Aura began to pour into it and it began to expand, taking a step towards completion.


    Absentmindedly, Sand scratched the back of his left hand as he stood at the entrance to the cavern, keeping an eye on Lirael¡¯s meditating form while simultaneously watching the momentous changes taking place in the Dungeon through the Ent¡¯s open mouth. Turning to Igor beside him, he said, ¡°I need to take a piss.¡±


    The Naga thrall waved him away with a hand without even taking his eyes off his mistress. He had been tasked to guard her and break her meditative state at the slightest sign of trouble ¨C and guard her he would.


    Exiting the cavern, Sand walked across the bridge of red ice that still spanned the river, coating his bare feet with Aura to combat the chill of the ice beneath. The flowing blood had already begun chipping away at the edges of the bridge, making it look like a frayed strip of cloth as chunks of ice broke away and flowed downstream.


    Reaching the bank of the river, he plodded through the mud, following the course of the river upstream. His feet sank up to his calves as he traversed the soggy ground, forcing him to raise his feet high with a wet squelch every time he took a step. He kept moving, putting some distance between himself and the tree¡­ between himself and Lirael.


    He moved fast, a determined expression on his face. After about an hour, when the view of the massive ent had been concealed behind a bend in the river, his way forward was obstructed by a shallow pool of blood that had formed when the river had overflowed its banks. If he didn¡¯t want to wade through the waist-deep pool, he would have to circle around it and pass through the forest. The forest which had currently turned into a charnel house.


    Halting in front of the pool, he knelt down and leaned over it. He saw himself staring back from the still surface of the blood. The forest of glowing trees cast eerie purple highlights on the right side of his face, while the glow of the pool in front of him and the river of blood to his left dyed the rest of it red. He blinked and the soot-stained face in the pool blinked back.


    The face that stared back at him was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Not only had he shed over two hundred years of life like a snake would its skin, even his young body was incomparable from the one in his past life. Remoulded by the magic saturating his body and the ample supply of food, he had grown a few inches and his ribs were no longer so prominent. The scrawny, undernourished slave boy was no more. In his place was a lightly muscled boy of ten that looked older than his years. The Undead Marrow shard had corrected the flaws left by years of hard labour with insufficient food, healing the hidden injuries he had accumulated from the beatings dealt upon him by the orcs.


    His dark eyes carried the weight of centuries and a mission that would crush most men. A mission that was threatening to crush him now.


    Sitting back on his haunches, he studied his palms. The recently darkened muscles and the black blood flowing through his vessels showed through the translucent skin, giving his palms a greyish cast. He was a peak stage Green Mage. He had two Tier 3 shards. He had access to magical information a lot more advanced than anything he¡¯d been able to touch in his previous life. All unthinkable achievements when seen from the eyes of his younger self at the same point of time in his previous life. He had taken huge strides forward.


    But at what price?


    How could he bring freedom to his people when he couldn''t achieve it himself? With every advancement of his shards, he could feel the Vampire Princess burrowing her roots deeper into him. It was a discomfiting feeling ¨C knowing that your body didn¡¯t solely belong to you. That, at any time, you could revert to a puppet to be manipulated as another willed. That at any moment, you could become a prisoner in a cage of flesh and bone.


    ¡®The stronger I get, the deeper her control.¡¯


    In such a situation, how was he to break free of her shackles? He didn¡¯t know¡­ and that fact pressed down upon his heart like a mountain.


    But there was still a glimmer of hope in the darkness. He turned his left palm around and studied the back of the hand. From outside, it seemed the same as his right hand, the skin catching a greyish tinge under the reddish-purple ambient light. but when he probed it with his mana sense, he caught the difference.


    He had noticed this flaw before when Lirael had given him a demonstration of her authority. A gap in her control over him. A small region within the bones of the back of his left hand where the Thrall venom couldn''t penetrate. He had assumed that it was a result of his previous use of Shadow toxin to transform the bones of his left forearm ¨C the toxin resisting the invasion of the Thrall venom. But now, he was not so sure.


    With the promotion of his Undead Marrow shard to Tier 3 and the resultant transformation of the entirety of his flesh, the edges of the gap in Lirael¡¯s control over him had become much better defined. And the shape it had formed was very familiar to Sand.


    It was shaped like a perfectly cut diamond; the same shape as the shard that had brought him back through time.


    He had obtained the Tier 5 Time Reversal shard during his exploration of a naturally formed Time Dungeon. Even though he hadn¡¯t known what the shard did, given how rare Tier 5 shards were, Sand had decided to make full use of it. He had kept five skill slots free and had the shard sewn into the interior of a left-hand glove with the pointed end touching the back of his hand. In case of an emergency where all his methods failed and he was on the verge of death, he could slap the back of his hand. The shard would puncture his skin, coming into contact with his blood and fusing with him.


    Then he could activate it and pray that it would save his life. And that¡¯s exactly what had ended up happening. Except, instead of saving his life, it had sent him hurtling through time and into the emaciated body of his young self.


    The shape, the position, everything about the gap in Lirael¡¯s control pointed in one direction. It wasn¡¯t only his memories he had brought along with him into the past. The shard had come along as well.


    But, to his mana senses, the shard seemed situated between the realms of illusion and reality. And it wasn¡¯t taking up any of his skill slots ¨C otherwise, with the current nine available to him, he wouldn''t be able to fuse two Tier 3 shards and a Tier 1 Aura shard alongside this Tier 5 shard.


    This could only mean one thing. His hand trembling with suppressed anticipation, he focused his mana senses the way he had learnt to in his previous life while inspecting his Dungeon and looked through the gap.


    His field of view changed instantaneously and he lost all awareness of his body. He floated in a pure white void; without form or feeling. All he could do was vaguely sense his surroundings. There, in one corner of the void was a cloud of bright red mist.


    And as surely as he could hold up an arm and say that it was his, he could tell ¨C that diffuse clump of mist was his Dungeon. That deep connection was unmistakable.


    He could feel his mana sense retreating from the void as it wasn¡¯t strong enough to stand the strain yet. Back in his body, two lines of tears darkened the ash on his cheeks, the murky droplets dripping onto the back of his hand as he crouched over it.


    The pressure on him had been immense and it had been building up with every mistake he made. And every action he took seemed like a mistake, increasing the power of those who held his life within their palms.


    Why, he couldn''t even cook a meal without it granting some huge advantage to the girl. After he had learnt that, with a mere touch, she could take back his mana at any moment and turn his body into a puppet, he had begun to despair. He could see no way out of the mess he had found himself in.


    But now, everything was different. He had brought his Dungeon along with him through the river of time. All he had to do was become a peak stage Violet Mage and he would be able to reclaim his Dungeon. No matter how strong Lirael¡¯s hold on him, once he regained access to his Dungeon, the influx of Aura into it would remould his body and any sort of restriction placed on him would be washed out by the tide. He would be free again.


    His Dungeon was badly battered by the journey. All the mana within it had been extracted by the Time Reversal shard making it collapse upon itself into an amorphous mass of red mist. And after the initial boost he would get from absorbing natural Aura, he would have to build the Dungeon back up to its heyday through painstaking effort. Right after the promotion, he would be one of the weakest Dungeon Mages ever, weaker even than some mages with Embryonic Dungeons.


    Yes, not everything was perfect. But in this imperfection lay opportunity. All this new information he was learning about magic, about how to build, manage, and grow Dungeons. He could put all of it to use. He could make his Dungeon much better than it had been in his previous life. His starting point might be low but going forward, there were infinite possibilities.


    Raising his head, he yelled his excitement into the sky, the sound drowned out by the cacophony of the battle raging across the Dungeon.


    Nothing was impossible¡­


    For he was a Dungeon Mage.

 Book 2: C1: Thunderclap

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    Three figures emerged from the colourful miasma that perpetually covered the Myriad Toxins Desert Area. The early morning sunlight streamed through the mists behind them, turning them into blurry silhouettes that grew sharper and gained definition as they drew closer. A boy and a woman riding on the back of a massive two-headed dog.


    It had been a month in the outside world since Lirael¡¯s battle with the Evil Infant and almost two years within Bloodskull. Her Undead Marrow shard had finally fused with her Dungeon and to her pleasant surprise, even given birth to a Core Spirit ¨C the double-headed dog she and Sand were currently employing as their mount.


    The reason, Lirael suspected, that the Hellhound had grown so fast was the extra Undead Marrow shard she had harvested from the Lich as well as her action of seeding her Dungeon with a variety of undead to act as catalysts for the shard fusion. As things stood, it had skipped all the stages of its infancy, manifesting directly as a mature spirit that she could summon to participate in her battles.


    The canine spirit was an amalgam of bone and rotting flesh. One of its two heads had a helmet of bone covering the top half of its face and orange fires smouldering within the sockets. The other one, in contrast, had a jawbone covering the lower half of its face and frigid blue eyes. It had a bony scorpion tail curving up over its back, dripping a dark, crimson venom from the stinger at its tip. Whenever the blood-venom dripped onto the sand, it would seep into it with a hissing sound, leaving bright red spots in the creature¡¯s wake. Instead of fur, its entire body was covered by reptilian scales in earthy tones ranging from dark browns to muted ochres. It had a gnarly texture with the skin peeling off in several places, exposing the muscles beneath.


    Interlocking plates of bone covered its shins and back like armour with two convenient depressions just above the points where the muscles of its forelimbs connected to its shoulders, providing natural seating for its riders.


    Shifting a bit to get more comfortable in her bony seat, Lirael said, ¡°After this, we¡¯ll make a quick stop at the Mire Desert Area to gather the Oasis Leeches we need to secure a stable supply of Phlebotomy shards. Then we¡¯ll head home, setting up the spice production chain within the Dungeon on the way. When we get there, I¡¯ll finally be able to introduce you to the family and officially declare you my Champion. The Metropolis is a very different place from the desert. I¡¯m sure you¡¯ll love it.¡±


    ¡°I look forward to it, Mistress,¡± replied Sand from beside her.


    After she had finished guiding the evolution of her Dungeon and all that was left was the long wait till the Undead Marrow shard fused thoroughly, she had awoken from her meditation and set about personally monitoring the Dungeon¡¯s repair and upkeep while also taking a more hands-on approach to Sand¡¯s education. He had displayed exceptional acuity and they had made great progress in his studies in a limited amount of time.


    Lirael had noticed that he was much more relaxed around her and her Thralls. Taking it as a sign that he was putting more trust in them, she had tried to encourage this trend.


    To increase his sense of belonging further, she had even asked him to give her Core Spirits names. Something she had never felt the need for before. It was a decision she had come to regret immediately, seeing the weird but oddly fitting names he had come up with.


    She could wrap her head around the names Grim for the Willow spirit, or Blink for the Void Hummingbird, but why for crying out loud did her Magma Basilisk have to be Danger Noodle? Really, once the boy had become comfortable around her, he had put his childish side on display and taken to the task of naming things with great zeal. That was how, to her eternal mortification, the central pit had become the Ramen Bowl and the tree-cave within the Willow spirit had become Grim¡¯s Gut. Having seen his shining eyes seeking her approval, Lirael hadn¡¯t had the heart to deny him those names, but whenever she thought about how ridiculous they sounded, she felt like crying.


    As for the newly formed Core Spirit, Sand had simply decomposed the name of its species, naming the icy head Hel and the fiery one Hound.


    Feeling neglected, Hound turned his head back over his shoulder and barked at them, his ragged black tongue lolling out of his mouth. The sudden movement unbalanced the spirit, making it stumble, nearly throwing Lirael and Sand off its back. Irritated, Hel snarled and snapped at her brother, causing Hound to retaliate and the conjoined siblings devolved into civil strife.


    Raising a long stick, Sand gave both of them a hard rap on the top of their head, aggravating the strength when it was Hound¡¯s turn to drive the point through that thick skull of his. Both of them stopped fighting with a whine and looked back at him with innocent eyes ¨C as though saying: ¡°The other one started it.¡± Maybe it was their incompatible elements but the two heads didn¡¯t get along very well.


    Chuckling, Lirael reached forward and rubbed the base of their necks through a gap in their bone armour. Schooling her expression into one of solemnity, ¡°Behave,¡± she admonished sternly.


    Suddenly, in the periphery of her vision, she caught a flash of violet.


    Before she could turn her head, something slammed into the ground. The thunderous sound of the crash assaulted her eardrums, followed closely by the strong winds created by the impact. Dust fountained up into the air, obscuring the sight of whatever it was.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    Instinctively, Lirael activated her Agility shard. The world slowed down to a crawl as her personal time sped up to several times the norm. With a colourless ripple, her Domain spread out, encompassing Sand and the Hellhound within it and extending the effect of her shard to them.


    Hidden behind the curtain of slowly moving dust, the humanoid silhouette of the sudden arrival could be seen rising sluggishly from a crouch. What made Lirael¡¯s heart sink and brow furrow was that along with the passage of time, the figure was speeding up in its movements. It too had an Agility shard.


    Dainty wings of light sprouted out of her ankles as she got ready to use her Shrinking Space shard and evacuate at the slightest sign of trouble, but before she could act, the figure made a grasping motion towards her. With the sound of shattering glass, something all around her broke. Something intangible, yet extremely essential in the fabric of reality.


    With a sinking feeling in her gut, Lirael activated her shard and made the Hellhound take a step back. Instead of the hundreds of metres she had wanted to move, their position only shifted by the distance of a normal stride. Her shard had failed. It had failed because the lattice of space -- which the shard relied upon to work -- in the entire region had been crushed by her opponent. He had a Shattered Space shard.


    Both her mobility shards had been shut down by this mysterious character in an instant and the ease with which he had done so told her that he was a Dungeon Mage. An intense sense of crisis covered her heart. She wouldn''t be able to escape and in a direct confrontation, she wouldn''t stand a chance. Her scarlet eyes glittered and her mind began to work rapidly as she tried to guess the identity and motivations of her opponent and chalk out a plan to deal with him.


    Sensing its mistress¡¯ distress, the Hellhound began to bunch and relax its muscles restlessly, both the heads baring their teeth and growling at the direction of the silhouette. Suddenly, Hel, who despite her icy element was the more hot-tempered of the two heads, drew back her lips in a snarl, wrinkling her snout. Before Lirael could snap out of her thoughts and stop her, she opened her maw, revealing the frigid blue light gathering in the depths of her gullet and let loose with a condensed beam of freezing light.


    The beam expanded, widening into a broad pillar of sub-zero temperatures as it shot towards the figure, leaving a track of sparkling ice in the desert.


    The figure casually waved its hand as though swatting a fly and the pillar shattered, crumbling into a million pieces as a finger-thin bolt of violet electricity punched through its length and slammed into Hel¡¯s mouth.


    With a strangled yelp Hel¡¯s attack immediately petered out, her jaws locking up and her muscles seizing as tiny sparks of violet electricity ravaged their way through her body. Grabbing onto Sand, Lirael leapt off the Hellhound¡¯s back just in time to avoid getting shocked while poor Hound had to suffer the consequences of his impetuous sister''s actions.


    The Hellhound crashed onto the ground, thoroughly paralyzed -- Hel, unconscious with her eyes rolled up in her head, and Hound, with his tongue out and eyes rolling around in panic. The massive body of the spirit twitched intermittently as violet sparks played over its hide, leaving it utterly powerless. In the face of this paralysis, its vaunted resilience was useless as the Undead Marrow shard didn¡¯t heal nerves.


    Still holding onto Sand by a strong grip on his arm, Lirael observed the figure with a mixture of doubt and wariness. Finally, she let go of Sand and raised her hands, showing her open palms. Clenching her teeth, she shouted, ¡°Stop! We surrender.¡±


    To demonstrate her good faith, she halted the flow of mana to her Agility shard. The time within her Domain slowed down to match the tempo of the world and the spout of sand raised by the impact of her opponent¡¯s landing suddenly sped back up. A strong desert breeze picked up, catching the falling grains of sand and the sparkling motes of powdered ice hanging in the air and swept them away, giving her a clear view of the Mage she was up against.


    The ground had caved into a deep crater from the impact, with the region towards the centre glowing red with heat and the area beneath the man¡¯s feet fused into glass. As the tall, muscular man made his way out of the crater, the glass cracked and crunched under the tread of his steel-soled boots. A large iron medallion swayed from side to side above the chest of his sleeveless canvas tunic as he walked with a rolling gait unique to long-time sailors on land. A circle with an inverted triangle was engraved in its centre. An iron bead held his braided beard together and his long, storm-grey hair fluttered in the wind. His intense eyes burnt with violet electricity.


    ¡°Uncle!¡± Lirael cried out joyfully. Letting go of all her inhibitions, she dashed across the intervening distance and threw herself into his chest and gave him a tight hug.


    His salt-weathered skin crinkling at the corners of his eyes, Ezekiel Enzeal hugged his niece back as his solemn face broke into a smile. He shot a glance at the Hellhound splayed out powerlessly on the ground. ¡°I hurried over as fast as I could after the recall order for you was sent out, hoping to help you with your Dungeon. But it seems that you¡¯ve been doing fine on your own,¡± he said, each of his words rumbling out from deep within his chest.


    Breaking the embrace and stepping back a little, Lirael punched him hard in the chest with a petulant expression on her face. ¡°Uncle!¡± she complained, ¡°you scared me half to death.¡± Grabbing onto his arm she complained, ¡°And you hurt my Hellhound right after I went through so much trouble to create it.¡±


    With a deep chuckle that resembled the roll of thunder across a flat plain, Ezekiel laid a hand on top of Lirael¡¯s head and mussed her hair. ¡°It was clear that it attacked without any instructions from you. I just gave it a little lesson in obedience.¡± His tone turned serious. ¡°If it wasn¡¯t me but any other Dungeon Mage, then it might have sparked a much more intense retaliation. Lirael, I keep telling you but you refuse to listen.¡± He emphasized each word. ¡°Core Spirits aren¡¯t pets to be pampered. They are war-beasts. They need to have discipline instilled into them, especially in their early, formative days.¡±


    Letting go of his arm and looking properly contrite, Lirael lowered her head. ¡°Sorry,¡± she said in a small voice, ¡°I¡¯ll pay attention.¡±


    Sighing, he shook his head before walking over to the paralyzed Core Spirit. ¡°I¡¯m sure you will.¡± Kneeling down beside Hound, who looked absolutely terrified despite his massive head coming up to the kneeling man¡¯s chest, Ezekiel placed a palm flat on top of his head. ¡°Because I will oversee your training.¡± The disorderly sparks of violet electricity racing across the two-headed dog¡¯s massive body homed in on the palm like a frenzy of sharks that had scented blood; only to be absorbed cleanly by it.


    Standing up, he turned to Lirael who was looking at him with a glum face and cracked into a lopsided grin. ¡°I rushed over like mad to warn you¡­ that can''t just have been in vain.¡±

 B2: C2: Past, Present, Future

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    Sand hung back and watched the muscular Vampire who had appeared out of nowhere. It had taken the man mere moments to incapacitate and subdue them. A Core Spirit was equivalent to a Tier 5 beast and when Sand tried to imagine himself, even in his heyday, achieving the same feat¡­ he failed. Even though lightning restrained the undead, it had to pack a great deal of power to punch so easily through the Hellhound¡¯s icy attack and subsequently paralyze its massive body. It was a clear indication that the man¡¯s Dungeon was much stronger than the one he had in his previous life.


    Their knowledge, that power... He wanted it.


    Drawing the lingering electricity out of the Hellhound¡¯s body, the man - apparently Lirael''s uncle - straightened up and instructed her to withdraw the Spirit into her Dungeon, assuring her that a day or two of rest would be sufficient for it to recover. Summoning her Gate, Lirael obeyed and with a plaintive whine, the massive body of the canine spirit vanished from its spot on the desert.


    A complicated feeling rose within Sand''s chest as he mentally compared the man to a similarly proportioned human sailor and found them indistinguishable by appearance. Lirael with her albinism, porcelain skin and ethereal beauty had an alien feel to her. It was easy to imagine her as a member of some exotic race. But this man, with his rough, weather-beaten skin and worn canvas clothes had a sense of reality to him that drove the impression home: The line dividing Vampires and men was a thin one.


    ¡°And who might this be?¡± the man asked, gesturing at Sand.


    ¡°Uncle, I found him in one of those Gladiatorial Arenas of the Orcs when I made a stop for supplies. They had identified his talent poorly and undervalued him. I picked up a bargain by taking him off their hands.¡± Turning to Sand, she introduced, ¡°This is my uncle, Ezekiel Enzeal. He is a Dungeon Mage.¡±


    Stepping up hastily, Sand bowed deeply to him. ¡°This one is fortunate to serve the Mistress as her Champion, my Lord.¡±


    Ezekiel''s eyebrow rose as he commended, ¡°A polite one, isn¡¯t he? And well worded.¡± He turned to Lirael. ¡°I get that he is a top-ranked talent, but I don¡¯t understand how he is your Thrall, let alone your Champion when he has kept his wits about him. Haven¡¯t you bitten him yet?¡±


    ¡°Oh, that. Uncle, you won¡¯t believe what happened¡­¡± began Lirael before launching into a detailed recounting of all of his specialties and contributions. With each new article, Ezekiel¡¯s bushy brows rose higher and higher in surprise.


    All the while Sand kept his head down to hide his clenched teeth as he felt the tingle of the man¡¯s Domain washing over him and inspecting him thoroughly. By the time Lirael had finished, his back was soaked in cold sweat.


    He was afraid that his Time Reversal shard would be exposed. Although it seemed like only he could sense it as even Lirael with her bond to him couldn''t-- something which wasn¡¯t that surprising considering the shard was effectively in a separate space-- he wouldn''t put anything past a Dungeon Mage. What if he had some strange shard for reconnoitering Dungeons? Sand was extremely clear that exposure meant the end of the line for him.


    Finally, that tingling feeling vanished and a pair of steel-soled boots appeared in his line of sight. Two rough hands grabbed his shoulders and raised him from his bow, straightening his spine. ¡°Look me in the eyes, boy,¡± he heard the man say, the thunderous rumble of his voice vibrating his body.


    Raising his head, Sand obeyed, locking gazes with Ezekiel''s violet eyes shot through with sparks of purple electricity.


    ¡°My niece has selected you as her Champion. That is a great honour and a greater responsibility. There will be many cases where you will have to represent her interests; fight her battles for her when tradition demands that she not act personally. You are her representative and each one of your actions, your successes and your failures will reflect back on her.¡±


    His tone grew grim. ¡°If it was up to me, I¡¯d erase your consciousness and spend the proper number of years moulding you into the perfect Thrall. But since she insists upon preserving you, all I have to say is: Don¡¯t make me regret it.¡±


    He let go of Sand¡¯s shoulders before clapping him once on his back, hard, nearly sending him stumbling face-first into the ground. Turning around, he walked away towards the direction of the Mire Desert Area, leaving a few words hanging in the air. ¡°Serve her well and benefits beyond your wildest dreams await. We Enzeal are fair in our administration of rewards and punishments.¡±


    Shooting an apologetic glance at Sand, Lirael hurried to catch up to him.


    As he trailed behind them, Sand thought back to the two years he had spent in Lirael¡¯s Dungeon. He had learnt a lot under her tutelage. And the more he learnt, the harder he found it became to hold on to his views.


    In his previous life he hadn¡¯t had much to do with Vampires except for a single chance encounter with a Thrall. Everything he had heard about them was rumour and hearsay. Even when Lirael had come visiting to Gehenna along with her beau in his previous life, they hadn¡¯t made a public appearance. All the visual impression people had of them was Lirael summoning her Bloodskull Gate within the Arena and letting the victorious Gladiator enter it. After that, once the Red Wedding had passed and the stories of her dalliance with a human had spread, the members of the Human Emancipation Movement had placed her on a pedestal, idolizing her and turning her into a mascot.


    Sand had always believed that the imagery they used to represent her was humanized to make it relatable rather than accurate. In his opinion, any race that could create a race as ugly and deformed as the Orcs had to be monstrous themselves. Images of distended stomachs, elongated arms, and hunched backs would flash in his mind whenever he tried to picture them. His friend and confidant, Book, his only other source of information beyond the Association of Freedom Fighters, had only found a few oblique references to Vampires in the books he had read in the library of the Orc Chief before Sand had freed him. He hadn¡¯t been able to shed much light upon the topic.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    So, when Sand had gotten his first glimpse of Lirael, he had been surprised at her beauty and how human she had appeared. And now that he had learnt a lot more about them, he knew that the only difference between a Vampire and a human was their pair of elongated fangs, venom sacs and their predisposition towards consuming blood. He had learnt that just as the Orcs were a hybrid of humans and swine and the Nagas a mix of humans and snakes, the Vampires too were an amalgam of bats and humans.


    In fact, according to Lirael, the experiment by High Lord Enzeal that had resulted in the creation of the Orcs and the Nagas was an attempt at understanding and emulating the origin of the Vampire race. In the Mundane Era, she had gone on to explain, there were only humans in the world. It was only with the Splintering of the Core and the advent of the Arcane Era that the Elder Races were born.


    With the shards spreading all over the world and Dust permeating the air, sea and land, the entire biosphere was altered by the introduction of this new force of nature called magic. Mundane animals turned into Magical Beasts and the humans who were baptized by magic began to develop extraordinary capabilities at random. These capabilities weren¡¯t always benign, though. More often than not, those touched by magic wouldn¡¯t be long for the world ¨C either going crazy and turning into murderous monsters or getting sick and withering away.


    Only a very small fraction of the populace gained capabilities that were simultaneously non-lethal and useful enough to give them an edge in the dangerous new world they had found themselves in. And even smaller was the percentage of people who could pass their beneficial traits on to the next generation. Over the years as the newly formed Beasts and the humans-turned-monsters extracted their pound of flesh from humanity, their population reduced at an alarming rate, only leaving behind the strongest, most resourceful and the most magically gifted of the bunch. These were the Elder Races. The Vampires, the Rakshasas, the Golems, and the Titans to name but a few.


    Even within the Elder Races, there was a segregation of species. The Vampires, for instance, were divided into five different sub-races or families, each one in charge of one of the five Vampire Kingdoms. The Rakshasas had their tribes and the Golems their elemental classes. But all of them had some racial traits in common binding them together into one ethnic group.


    In the case of the Vampires it was an enhanced disease resistance based upon their consumption of blood. The way it worked was that the bodies of all living creatures produced substances to combat the disease when they were sick. Once they recovered, a little bit of the substances would remain in the blood as a ¡®memory¡¯ of that particular illness and the best way to combat it. So, the next time the creature was infected by the same disease, their bodies would be prompt to respond, making them resistant or even immune to it.


    The Vampires had the ability to adopt the resistances or immunities of their victim for themselves. They even had a sort of sixth sense that told them how useful the blood they were consuming was depending on how ¡®tasty¡¯ it seemed. In the chaotic era after the Splintering, when new diseases were a dime a dozen and plague was a bigger killer than Beasts, this special capability served them extremely well. The venom sacs were just there to paralyze their victim while they fed.


    It was only after the method of mana generation, shard usage, and Dungeon creation was discovered by observing and emulating Beasts that things began to look up for the pure humans. Still, with the natural advantages the Elder Races had and the social capital they had accumulated since the Splintering, they stood firmly at the apex of the societal pyramid. The heartless tread of time had relegated humans to an inferior position.


    They were the originators of the sentient races, true, but they had also become obsolete.


    That night, lying down on the open ground of the Dungeon and looking up at the dimly glowing scarlet clouds that floated across the sky, he had re-evaluated his ideals. It hadn¡¯t taken him long to realize that the entire concept of humans being an obsolete race was itself steeped in obsoletion. That might have been the case in the period after the Splintering and before magical cultivation became mainstream. In that time, the Elder Races with their special traits might have been superior, but afterwards, when humans were found to be equally capable of magic, this line of thinking became invalid.


    If not for the propaganda of those with vested interests, humanity should have returned to the forefront of the world stage. Now that he thought about it, wasn¡¯t it the same for the Orcs and the Nagas? Were they inherently inferior to the Vampires or the Rakshasas? Sand thought not. But as the people in power had deemed it so and propagated the idea widely, repeated rumour had been accepted as fact.


    Also, the origin of the mutations that had given rise to the Elder Races was the Core, more accurately, the shards that had splintered off it. Thus, once a human integrated with a shard, how was he or she different from a Vampire or an Orc? There were even Transformation Class shards that could alter the physical appearance of their users with effects like granting extra limbs or wings. If someone so wished, they could alter their appearance to match that of a Naga regardless of their initial race. The only difference being that their changes weren¡¯t hereditary and wouldn¡¯t be passed on to the next generation.


    Lying there, watching the Dungeon sky lighten into a pastel pink and realizing that he had spent an entire night without sleep, he had arrived at a new conclusion: All races under the sky were inherently equal. It was their culture and customs that defined who they really were.


    The Orcs were easy to hate. Their inhuman countenance and the way they treated their human slaves, all of it was a reason for Sand to detest them and want to overthrow their rule. The Vampires he had yet to put a label on, and the rest of the races he knew next to nothing about.


    There and then, he had set a new goal for himself: He would still emancipate the human race, but he would do so on a global scale. And he would do it permanently.


    He had no illusions about being a team-player, he knew that giving speeches and swaying public opinion wasn¡¯t something achievable with his abysmal charisma and cynical nature. Then, what could a single human do to change the world, to convey and realize his ideals of a prosperous human race?


    He didn''t know. Despite the two lifetimes he had lived, he found that his ambitions were disproportionate to his capabilities. He realized, that for someone who had travelled through time, he knew too little of the world.


    In the end, it all boiled down to the same two things. He needed knowledge and he needed power. It always did.


    Fortunately, his current circumstances with the Vampires was uniquely suited to gaining both. He was a cuckoo; an egg in another''s nest hatching with their efforts. And once he was ready to spread his wings, the world would be his oyster.

 B2: C3: Darkflame

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    Of the five great rivers that flowed down from The Spine of the World and into the Tyhr Desert, the easternmost and the westernmost ones flowed into the sea while the three in between meandered through the desert before losing their momentum and seeping into the sands. Two of the rivers, the Ravi and the Beas, merged at the tail end of their courses and drained into the Mire Desert Area ¨C a broad region of quicksand that would draw any unfortunate enough to wander into it deep into its bowels never to be seen again. Large monoliths of red and ochre striped sandstone jutted out of the moist sands providing the only footholds in the region.


    The overlords of the area were Mire Crabs, also known as Bog Spiders. Gigantic beasts that spent most of the hot days slumbering within the depths of the marsh while emerging at night to gorge themselves on the cacti that grew on the rocky outcroppings at the junction between stone and mud as well as the smaller denizens of the swamp.


    It was over one such outcropping that the air began to waver and distort, an unremarkable sight considering that it was high noon and the harsh sunlight had made the rocks hot enough to fry eggs upon. But unlike the slight shimmer of a heat haze, space itself seemed to crumple inwards at that point like a tablecloth being bunched up by a fist. Then, with a ripping sound that seemed to echo throughout the mire, a dark gash with jagged edges was torn in the very fabric of reality.


    Out of the wound in the world stepped three figures: Ezekiel and Lirael followed by Sand.


    Ezekiel cut the supply to his Portal shard and the gash began to slowly heal. There were thousands of varieties of shards related to space and spatial manipulation. Of them, the majority were geared towards mobility. Different shards achieved the same function of transferring an object from one point in space to another in a myriad of ways.


    The most common Teleportation shard, for example, forcibly altered the spatial coordinates of an object, shifting it from one node of the Space Lattice to another. Meanwhile, the Portal shard owned by Ezekiel achieved the same goal by literally ripping a hole in space. It treated space like a piece of cloth ¨C if you folded it and then poked a hole through the fabric, you could connect two distant places together. The Tier of the shard and the amount of mana used determined how deeply space could be folded, and hence how far one could jump using the portals.


    This synergized well with his Shattered Space shard that could crush the Space Lattice in a region, thereby increasing the malleability of space there. Using both in tandem let him jump great distances with minimal effort. The only caveat was that the mana costs of this method were extremely prohibitive for anything beyond short to medium length jumps. This was because, unlike Lirael¡¯s Shrinking Space shard that drew support from the Space Lattice, both of his destroyed it. The advantage, though, was that no known space shard could block him if he wanted to escape.


    ¡°What can you sense?¡± he asked Lirael as he surveyed the marsh from his high vantage on the boulder. Their sudden appearance had alarmed the local fauna and several drab brown birds flew out of the hollows in the rocks they used as nests and began circling above them, filling the air with their noisy screeches. They were mudpeckers, birds that lived in a cleaning symbiosis with the Mire Crabs, consuming the Oasis Leeches that parasited their shells.


    Ignoring them, Lirael closed her eyes and activated her Seismic Sense shard. After a moment, she opened them again and reported, ¡°There¡¯s a Tier 3 Mire Crab under the quicksand. It¡¯s resting now.¡±


    ¡°Perfect,¡± said Ezekiel before snapping his fingers. A bright streamer of purple electricity arced out from his fingers, trailing thin feeders along the way before slamming into the wet sand with a thunderous boom. The lightning dissipated harmlessly into the mud, only raising a burst of steam at the point of impact. Startled by the sudden display of magical might, the flock of mudpeckers dispersed, squawking in alarm.


    ¡°Your Dungeon just went through severe changes, introducing a Tier 4 or 5 creature so suddenly would unbalance it. While gathering enough Tier 1 or Tier 2 Mire Crabs for what you want would take too much time. Tier 3 is the perfect middle ground.¡± He turned to Sand. ¡°Also, it¡¯s an appropriate test for the boy. Go on, show us what you learnt from your Mistress.¡±


    With that, he stepped back, covering both Lirael and himself in his Domain, erasing their magical presence. At the same time, the surface of the quagmire began to bubble fiercely and a crab the size of a house burst out of it, wet sand dripping down from the sides of its soil-coloured shell. Its massive pincers clacked threateningly and frothy bubbles spilled over from the corners of its mouth in its agitation as it searched for the intruders into its territory.


    Sand¡¯s mind swiftly brought up the information he had on Mire Crabs and their weaknesses. First, they were blind. They sensed the world through vibrations in the earth ¨C a select few elites of the species even condensing Seismic Sense shards to amplify that sense. Next, like all crabs, they could only move sideways on their six spindly legs. They had a hard time turning around. His advantages were his manoeuvrability and agility. He¡¯d be able to run circles around the crab, but he¡¯d have to be careful not to get caught by those massive pincers or he¡¯d be dead, regeneration or no regeneration.


    Spinning around, the crab immediately locked on to Sand, ignoring Lirael and Ezekiel who were concealed by their Domains. Clicking its claws, it rushed at him sideways, slamming the edge of its hard shell against the softer sandstone boulder he was standing on, sending debris flying.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Leaping off the rock, Sand landed on the crab¡¯s shell before taking a running start and leaping off just before it slammed one of the pincers onto its back to crush him. He landed on the quicksand behind the crab and his legs immediately began sinking into the tacky sand.


    ~ Flame Body shard ~ ~ Netherfire Aura shard ~


    His legs, from his feet up to his knees, burst into greyish-green flames that caked the mud into loose dirt. In the two years within the Dungeon, he had assimilated a Tier 2 Flame Body shard to complement his Netherfire Aura shard and to fill the two empty skill slots he had left over.


    His eyes blazed with the illusory green flames of his Aura Sight as he dashed atop the mire towards the crab. The world gained colour, taking on the semblance of an impressionistic oil painting as everything shone with its own individual Aura.


    Sensing his approach, the crab tried to spin around to face him, but he ran in a circular arc, always putting the beast''s own body between him and the deadly pincers. Veering inwards sharply, he rushed in and drawing his mithril knife, slammed it into the knee of one of its hind legs at the point where its Aura was the weakest. His palm burst into flames that raced down the knife and the muddy-brown chitinous plates around the wound began to blush a deep red from the heat of the toxic flames.


    Screaming inaudibly with pain and foaming at the mouth, the Mire Crab jerked away from the heat, dislodging the knife. Slamming its claws into the mud, it swept both of them backwards, activating a shard and sending an unnaturally large wave of mud back towards Sand that forced him to leap away. Taking advantage of his momentarily blocked vision, the crab sank into the soil, disappearing in a burst of bubbles. When the wave subsided, there was no trace of it to be found.


    The hairs on the back of Sand¡¯s neck stood upright as his instincts screamed of danger. He dived to the side. Not a moment too soon as a claw the size of his entire body burst out of the mud and snapped shut where he had just been.


    Setting his body on fire to dry the mud that was clinging to him and trying to drag him down, Sand leapt to his feet and made a dash towards another rocky outcropping. There was practically nothing he could do to the crab while it was submerged. His shards weren¡¯t meant for that. He needed to get out of the mud and lure it onto the stones.


    He cut a zigzag route through the mud, leaving dry footprints of a lighter colour in his wake. His erratic path confused the crab making its snapping claws miss by a hair¡¯s breadth each time.


    Reaching a rock, Sand leapt up and dug his fingers into the crevices of the rock before scrambling up the steep face as fast as he could.


    The large crustacean surged out of the mud, its claw a brown blur in the air as it slammed down towards Sand¡¯s defenseless back. Bracing himself against the rock with his feet, he leapt backward at the last possible moment as the claw slammed into the rock, sending chunks of broken rock flying through the air.


    Sand back flipped through the air and landed on the crab''s face in a crouch. Drawing his right arm back, he slammed it into its mouth up to the elbow.


    ~ Burning Blood ~


    The Flame Body shard was an interesting shard that Sand had obtained from an Undead Phoenix that had been caught by Lirael for the purpose of evolving her Dungeon. At Tier 1, the shard wreathed its user in flames that wouldn''t harm them. Their opponents though, would have to deal with flame damage every time they attacked or defended against physical attacks. It was a great close combat defence shard. But it was at higher Tiers that the shard truly came into its own.


    At Tier 2, the shard allowed the user to transform a part of their body into fire for a short while. This meant that even if they were stabbed, they could just turn the affected area into fire to negate the damage. This allowed them to trade wound for illusory wound and become a menace in close combat. The bird had only been at Tier 2, but the annoying combination of its Undead Marrow shard and the Flame Body shard had made killing it a chore despite his superior magical strength. At higher Tiers, the user could extend the area of their body the shard affected and the duration of the effect, until at Tier 5, they¡¯d be able to temporarily transform their entire body into an elemental being of fire.


    After some research and a great deal of deliberation, Sand had finally chosen it as his fourth shard. Now, as he activated all his shards at once, the reason for his choice became clear.


    His arm within the crab¡¯s mouth burst into grayish-green flames. His chest glowed red as his Phlebotomy shard activated, drawing the toxic flames into his heart through his bloodstream. Under his control, instead of pushing the fiery toxins into his Undead Marrow shard, the shard pumped it into his blood, setting it on fire.


    His entire right arm below his elbow blasted out into liquid black flames that filled the interior of the crab¡¯s mouth like so much burning oil. With a silent wail the crab immediately began thrashing about wildly.


    Sand leapt off it and landed on the surface of the quicksand, his flaming feet drying out a solid platform for him. The only thing remaining of his right arm was his obsidian skeleton. As he pumped his mana towards it, black flames ignited on the bones and muscles and blood vessels began to reform at a rapid pace, regenerating his arm.


    He watched the crab struggling madly and thrashing about from a safe distance. No matter what it tried, vomiting the poison out or even eating mud, it couldn''t alleviate the burning pain spreading like fire down its gullet. Its struggles grew weaker and weaker until, finally, they ceased. It dropped limply onto the surface of the marsh, unconscious.


    By this time, Sand¡¯s arm had finished regenerating. The only defect was that his skin hadn¡¯t healed, leaving his muscles exposed in a horrific manner. It was a result of his Undead Marrow shard not being at a high enough Tier to heal skin.


    With a flash of purple lightning, Ezekiel Enzeal appeared by his side while Lirael appeared beside the unconscious Mire Crab. As she summoned her Gate and introduced the beast into her Dungeon, Ezekiel commended, ¡°Well fought, boy. That was quite the display of battle-prowess and clever shard combinations. I can see why the girl is so fond of you.¡±


    He touched Sand¡¯s right shoulder and strangely docile sparks of white lightning ran down the arm and covered the raw and exposed portion. With a profoundly itchy sensation, the skin began to grow back at a speed perceptible to the naked eye and soon the arm was as good as new ¨C except for the fact that the new skin was several tones paler than on the other parts of his body and felt tender to the touch.


    Sand bowed gratefully, ¡°Thank you, my Lord.¡±


    Ezekiel shook his head. ¡°Don¡¯t thank me yet. You¡¯ll probably be cursing me while you help collect the rest of the Mire Crabs we need.¡± Chuckling at the stunned expression on Sand¡¯s face, he continued, ¡°But you¡¯ll be thanking me for the experience when it¡¯s time for the Champions¡¯ Contest later this year.¡±

 B2: C4: The Talk

    Sand decided that he hated the sea as the Wavestrider ploughed through a wave, drenching the deck with surf before climbing the near-vertical face of another, building-high wave. He had to hang on to the railings of the ship with a white-knuckled grip; doubly securing himself by locking his legs around the metal bars to stop himself from being washed out into the water ¨C or being blown off the ship by the furious winds that constantly buffeted him. High above him, purple lighting lit the dark, overcast vault of heaven and cast vivid highlights on the raging waters.


    He shot an envious glance towards the prow of the ship where Ezekiel operated the wheel, seemingly oblivious of the nauseating roll and yaw of the ship or its rapidly shifting orientation. Only a careful scrutiny of his feet would reveal the electric sparks playing on his steel-soled boots, attaching him firmly to the metal deck. Other than the two of them, elemental beings of violet lightning manned the deck assisting in the operation of the ship.


    Lirael had cosseted herself away belowdecks, anchoring her Dungeon to the ship and escaping into it to evade the stormy ride. Unfortunately, Sand had been detained above the deck by Ezekiel to ¡®find his sea-legs¡¯. It was apparently important for that mysterious Contest he refused to divulge any details about.


    As they crested the wave, hanging suspended for an instant that stretched to eternity, Sand affirmed that he really, really hated the sea. Then the Wavestrider tipped over the edge and plunged into the abyssal darkness between waves.


    Drenched, shivering, and thoroughly miserable, Sand flared his Aura to warm himself up and dry his body. The water in the Bay of Storms was frigid and the constant dunking coupled with the bone-chilling winds hadn¡¯t done him any favours. As steam rose off him and a little colour returned to his cheeks, a violent, gut-wrenching nausea assaulted him. Making his way unsteadily over to the edge of the ship, he emptied the contents of his stomach over its rusty, moss-covered side.


    He cursed himself for not fusing an Iron Gut shard; for anything that entered a stomach modified by that shard, never left ¨C from either side.


    After dry-heaving for a while and feeling like he was going to turn himself inside-out, he forcibly suppressed the urge to vomit and took deep, calming breaths of the salt-scented air. Straightening up, he looked out over the vast expanse of water and sky. It was a world removed from the furious tempest they had so recently left behind; no waves and not a single cloud in sight. The mirror-smooth water reflected the river of stars arcing across the moonless night, making it seem like the ship was drifting across the heavens themselves.


    Sand heard footsteps behind him.


    ¡°Beautiful, isn¡¯t it?¡± asked Lirael walking up to his side and leaning her elbows on the railing. Tucking an errant strand of her hair behind her ear, she looked out over the sea. ¡°It¡¯s much more beautiful in the daytime. The water is clearer than glass and under bright sunlight you can see the very bottom. It¡¯s a riot of colours down there, with a wide variety of corals covering the sea floor, dyeing it in every hue imaginable. That¡¯s why they call it the Sea of a Thousand Colours ¨C the Thousand Seas.¡±


    Despite his miserable introduction to the marine environment, Sand couldn''t help but find the horizon-spanning body of water intriguing. After all, he had never set foot beyond the desert for the entirety of his past life. It was his first time at sea, and he was finding the sudden inversion of land and water hard to adapt to. But that didn¡¯t stop him from appreciating the breath-taking sight before him.


    ¡°Yes,¡± admitted Sand, ¡°Beautiful.¡±


    The perpetual storm raging in the Bay seemed to have sapped all the energy out of the air and no breeze disturbed the calm. Caught in the doldrums, the Wavestrider floated aimlessly upon the water without anything to push it along.


    Ezekiel unfurled the sails with the help of the lightning elementals, and a magical wind arose baseless, stretching the canvas taut with a snap. Propelled by the breeze, the ship lurched forward and cut through the still waters, leaving an expanding cone of ripples in its wake.


    After ensuring that the ship was shore bound, Ezekiel set one of the lightning elementals at the wheel and joined Sand and Lirael. ¡°The Sea is a whimsical mistress,¡± he said, his tone reverent. ¡°Even a Dungeon Mage is insignificant in front of her. The best we can do is pray that we always see her smile, never her frown.¡± He turned to face Sand. ¡°Though we do not have a sanctioned state religion in the Enzeal Kingdom, the Goddess of Storm and Sea is the deity with the largest following. Boy, interested in joining?¡±


    ¡°Uncle!¡± protested Lirael, ¡°Can you please stop trying to convert my Champion to your faith? I told you I don¡¯t want to believe in any God or Goddess. Getting him to join the Church won¡¯t sway me.¡± To Sand, she explained, ¡°He is a Cardinal of the Church of Storm and Sea. He¡¯s been trying to convince me to join since forever.¡±


    Ezekiel shrugged. ¡°It was worth a try. And your Champion doesn¡¯t necessarily have to follow your faith.¡±


    Sand wasn¡¯t completely opposed to the idea of joining an organization Lirael wasn¡¯t part of to get some much-needed distance from her, but that came later. For now, getting in her good books was much more important.


    ¡°Thank you, my Lord, but this one will follow the Mistress¡¯ example.¡± He didn¡¯t want to get caught up in something like religion before he completely understood what exactly it entailed. But he kept the Church¡¯s invitation firmly in mind.


    Ezekiel shrugged again. ¡°Let me know if you ever change your mind,¡± he said before turning to the sea and closing his eyes. ¡°Our doors are always open for new acolytes.¡± His lips began moving in silent prayer.


    For a while, silence descended upon the trio, broken only by the sound of the water splashing against the hull of the ship and the flapping of the sails in the magical wind. Finishing his prayer, Ezekiel opened his eyes and asked Sand, ¡°Do you know what happens to a Dungeon after its owner¡¯s death?¡±This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Yes, my Lord.¡±


    When Ezekiel urged him to continue, he gathered his thoughts and began, ¡°When a Dungeon Mage dies, one of three things can happen. The first case is when the Dungeon is so damaged that it collapses and decomposes into its constituent Auras. That then spreads out into the world, permanently altering the environment of the region where the mage died, bringing it closer to the environment of the Dungeon.


    ¡°In the second case, the Dungeon survives the death of the mage and is inherited by their successor. The successor can be either a Tier 5 peak mage who has yet to condense their Embryonic Dungeon, or it can be someone who has built their Dungeon using the same Formula as the dying mage.


    ¡°Finally, if the mage hasn¡¯t designated a successor properly, it just falls where they died and merges with the world, turning into something akin to a naturally occurring Dungeon. A dimensional pocket ¨C a separate space. Their only difference with a natural Dungeon being the existence of a lingering Core Spirit that oversees its working.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± commended Ezekiel. ¡°You¡¯ve learnt well, but you aren¡¯t fully correct. Rather, there are gaps in your knowledge. The successor of a Dungeon doesn¡¯t necessarily have to be someone with the exact same Dungeon formula.


    ¡°Even if the formula has been improved by the successor and changes have been made to it, they can still inherit the Dungeon if the resultant Dungeons are close enough to each other. A Dungeon, at its core, is a mix of the mage¡¯s mana in the form of Genesis Stone, and external Aura that transforms the stone into the myriad environmental features of the Dungeon. As long as the Aura composition of two Dungeons are close enough, they can be fused together into a larger, more powerful Dungeon.¡±


    Inserting herself into the conversation, Lirael added, ¡°The only other way to increase the power of a Dungeon after it forms, beyond assimilating another Dungeon, is to manage the resources within it well so it expands naturally. This growth is obviously a much more gradual process."


    Ezekiel nodded. ¡°The reason I brought this up is because of the Champion¡¯s Contest that we need you to participate in.¡±


    ¡®Finally, thought Sand, pricking his ear up, ¡®some information about that.¡¯


    ¡°Since the conception of our race, we have been researching and experimenting with shards and Dungeons. There have been several Dungeon formulae that we have discovered from Beasts who managed to create their own Dungeons, and there have been several we have invented by studying nature and unlocking its secrets. Many of these Dungeons have been relegated to history for their lacklustre performance, while the best ones among them have been passed down from generation to generation or from the holder of a political post to their successor.


    ¡°In this manner, the Dungeons have grown stronger over time and the power of our family and the Kingdom has grown correspondingly. This also means that if any of our enemies manage to decode our Dungeon formulae, they will always be left chasing our tails. These Dungeons are the trademarks of the Enzeal family, not because only we can create them, but because of the thousands of years of research that has gone into improving them and identifying the most optimal method of managing them. They are our fields of expertise.¡±


    Sand was realizing how high the hurdle in front of him really was. His goal might be lofty, but the roadblocks of practicality in his path were high enough to obscure even that. Just creating a Dungeon wasn¡¯t enough, he would have to learn how to manage it perfectly if he wanted the best growth rates for his power. And even if he managed to achieve that somehow, he would still be millennia behind the high-level Dungeon Mages of the Elder Races. The amount of catching up he had to do was mind boggling.


    Ezekiel continued, ¡°Depending on which of these standard Dungeons we choose to cultivate, we are classed into Lineages. For example, I¡¯m from the Storm Lineage, while Lirael here doesn¡¯t belong to any of them as her Dungeon will be the first of its kind.


    ¡°Your task in the Contest will be to compete with the Champions of prominent youths from the other four Royal families and explore the Chimaera Dungeon.


    ¡°The Chimaera Dungeon was the Dungeon of our High Lord, Nosferatu Enzeal. It was the culmination of the entire Enzeal family¡¯s magical research -- a fusion of the Dungeons from several of our Lineages.¡±


    Sand¡¯s eyes widened in shock.


    ¡®Just how powerful is that Dungeon? How fast can it grow? Just how vast is it?'' These questions bounced around in his mind. He didn¡¯t know how many Lineages there were in the Enzeal family, or how many participated in the creation of the Chimaera Dungeon. But whatever the number, the Chimaera Dungeon must have been the pillar of the clan.


    ''No wonder the Enzeals declined so fast after losing their High Lord and access to the Chimaera Dungeon.¡¯ He couldn''t help but suck in a sharp breath as he tried to estimate the power of a High Lord. Each one had to be equivalent to tens of or even a hundred Dungeon Mages on their own.


    ''And there are four of these anomalies remaining.¡¯


    Noticing his reaction, Ezekiel nodded in satisfaction. ¡°It¡¯s good that you can grasp the significance of that so swiftly.¡± His tone grew low and deep, the regret clear in his voice. ¡°Unfortunately, roughly three thousand years ago, there was an accident and we lost our High Lord along with access to the Chimaera Dungeon. That third scenario that you mentioned played out after Lord Nosferatu¡¯s passing and the Chimaera Dungeon merged with the world, forming a natural Dungeon.¡±


    He sighed. ¡°Despite our best efforts to reclaim the Dungeon, it was all thwarted by the simple fact that the Core Spirit of the Dungeon sealed it off and threatened to detonate it if a Dungeon Mage tried to force their way in. It would only allow mages without a Dungeon in, to test their mettle as a potential successor. The only thing we could do was send mortal mages into it to explore in the hope that they would somehow gain the approval of the Spirit and claim the Dungeon.¡±


    Sand frowned inwardly. There was a discrepancy with the information he had from his past life. A hundred years later in the timeline the Dungeon Mages of the Orcs had also been allowed access to the Chimaera Dungeon. ¡®Maybe the Core Spirit decided to change the rules after a hundred years because no one was succeeding.¡¯


    ¡°But there was a problem with that. The mages had to reach the very centre of the Dungeon ¨C something made near impossible by the abundance of extremely strong Beasts that populated it. The first few batches to go in were completely annihilated. Thus, from then onward, we began sending Thralls in instead of the mages to map out and explore the way. Over the years, a lot of progress was made, and we were getting close to mapping out a complete safe route to the centre.¡±


    He clenched his teeth. ¡°Then the other four families began to meddle.¡±


    Lirael took up the narrative. ¡°They began to pressure us and under the combined threat of four High Lords, we had to cave and make concessions. Now, we still send our Thralls in every decade, but now we aren¡¯t the only ones doing that. The other families send their chosen Thralls to expedite the Dungeon too.¡±


    ¡°But, Mistress, we still have a head start over them, right?¡± asked Sand.


    Lirael nodded with a smile. ¡°That we do. If the other families denied us even that, we threatened to destroy the Dungeon and then launch an attack a single one of the families at random. Since they couldn''t predict which one that would be, they had to stay in line for fear of us perishing together with them.¡±


    ¡°Anyway,¡± said Ezekiel. ¡°this is what the Champion¡¯s Contest is all about. Over the years, it has evolved into an indirect competition between the promising juniors of the Five Royal Families as well as the families themselves. The focus has shifted from conquering the Dungeon to preventing the Enzeal from doing that, while at the same time, gleaning the secrets of the Dungeon little by little. For the past few competitions, the Enzeal contingent have always been the first to be eliminated before the four others tussle amongst themselves.¡±


    His eyes flashed with violet electricity as he looked Sand right in the eye. ¡°From you, I saw the hope of our team¡¯s resurgence in the Contest. Don¡¯t disappoint us.¡±

 B2: C5: Dreams and Nightmares

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    Sand watched the sunrise set the sea on fire. The light of dawn shone upon his face, giving it a ruddy gloss as he stared blankly at the surface of the water, his mind lost in the labyrinth of his thoughts. The calm waters mirrored the sky, painting the world in shades of orange from horizon to horizon.


    ¡°They¡¯re here,¡± said Lirael as she joined him, seating herself sideways on the railing and looking out over the water. ¡°The Sunfish.¡±


    Following her line of sight, Sand noticed small clumps of darkness rising up from the depths of the water and spreading across its surface. Squinting a bit, he realized that the shadowy masses were groups of jet-black fish ¨C an entire shoal swimming just beneath the water. As the Wavestrider cut across the sea, it scattered the fish, only for them to regroup after it passed.


    The water in the Thousand Sea might be clear as glass, but even at noon with the sun directly overhead, one wouldn''t be able to see the bottom due to the water absorbing and scattering the light. Normally, this would leave the seabed in perpetual darkness, but due to the existence of the Sunfish, that was not the case.


    The scales of the Sunfish soaked in sunlight, making them look darker than black. Once they absorbed the light to their limit, they swam downwards to the seabed before releasing the stored radiance like tiny suns. Hence their name.


    The algae and the seaweed that populated the coral reefs at the bottom of the sea depended on this light to grow. And the flora, in turn, was consumed by the Sunfish and the myriad other species of marine life. This was why the Sunfish were also known as the Farmers of the Sea.


    As the two of them watched, the dark depths lit up as more and more of the fish completed their round trip to the surface. Rendered fuzzy by the intervening water, the oranges, pinks, greens, reds and blues of the corals formed a marbled expanse of colour dyeing the entire sea in their hues. For the first time in his life, Sand caught a glimpse of the Thousand Sea in all its glory.


    It looked like a scene straight out of a dream.


    The Wavestrider forged ahead through it all, a magical wind filling its sails.


    The sun climbed up from the horizon, making its way across the cerulean dome of the sky as the day wore on. As it reached the zenith, Sand noticed that the numbers of the Sunfish were tailing off. Peeking over the edge of the vessel, he saw that the water beneath was growing murkier the further they went. A quick scan of the sea in front of the ship showed him that the waters ahead were jet-black as far as the eye could see.


    He was just about to report to Lirael when Ezekiel¡¯s voice drifted down from the crow¡¯s nest. ¡°Worry not, it¡¯s but an old friend.¡±


    Looking up, squinting against the bright glare of the sun, Sand found the man staring off into the distance ahead. He highly doubted ¡®friend¡¯ was the right word here. Ravenous monster was probably the more appropriate descriptor. Anything this far out in the open sea and powerful enough to affect such a large Territory wasn¡¯t something to be trifled with.


    As a precaution, Sand lashed himself to the mast with a length of rope. He''d had enough of being tossed around.


    Ezekiel¡¯s expression grew serious as the Wavestrider penetrated deeper into the region of black water, the Sunfish growing scarcer before vanishing entirely. Whatever lived here didn¡¯t seem to welcome the little marine farmers¡¯ presence.


    From above the crow¡¯s nest, the entire region looked like a blot of ink upon a painted canvas, the distant edges barely visible even to his keen eyes. It was as though they were traversing a sea of ink.


    Despite how outwardly relaxed he had sounded, inwardly he was cursing. It was just his luck to run upon the Kraken on one of the legendary monster¡¯s migratory jaunts.


    Beasts that had condensed their Dungeons were, in essence, mobile natural disasters. Unlike the case in Tier 5 where they were tied to their Territories, upon their promotion, the Territories became tied to the Beasts, moving along with them.The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    Be it the dreaded Thunderbird that carried a storm on its travels across the heavens, the Glacial Dragon ¨C the harbinger of winter, or the Kraken whose territory of ink was feared by sailors as the Graveyard of Ships, they all left death and destruction in their wake as the environment of their Dungeons clashed with the natural environments they passed through.


    Unlike a human mage who could only increase the size of their Dungeon after it was formed by annexing a related Dungeon, with negligible gains from managing it well, the Territories of the beasts grew automatically with time as they absorbed the Aura of the world. That was why the strength of a beast was judged by its age. A ten-thousand-year-old monster like the Kraken was obviously at the very peak of the food chain.


    The atmosphere grew oppressive as the Kraken¡¯s Domain covered the ship, pushing against Ezekiel¡¯s, probing his depth. Jet-black tentacles emerged from the sea, shedding water in torrents. Each one was nearly as wide as the ship and the small part that was exposed hinted at the hundreds of metres that lay underneath. They formed fleshy arches on the water or towered up into the sky, caging them in from all sides.


    Under ordinary circumstances, if they were to run upon such a beast, their fates would be sealed. But in this case, there were two factors that gave them a chance at survival.


    Firstly, a Dungeon Beast wasn¡¯t dominated by its instincts like an ordinary animal. With the formation of their Dungeon, their wisdom too was activated. Their intelligence was no worse than a human¡¯s and a specimen as powerful as the Kraken might even be a bit smarter. It wouldn''t just attack blindly; it knew how to balance risks and rewards.


    Secondly, studies of the Kraken showed that it went through cycles of weakness and strength with a weak period lasting a century every millennium or so. It was speculated that this was the result of the old Kraken dying and passing on its Dungeon to its successor. The hundred years of weakness was the time it took the new Kraken to adapt to and grasp the strength of the inherited Dungeon.


    A lot of attempts had been made to seek out the Kraken in its weak period and kill it, but the sea was too broad and the Kraken¡¯s stealth capabilities too strong for them to ever amount to something. Going by the scholars¡¯ predictions, right now it was a weak period for the Kraken. Judging by the emaciated size of its Territory (compared to the horizon spanning extent in its heyday) the predictions were correct.


    Now, Ezekiel just had to convince the monster that he was too tough a bone to chew. Convince it that the effort required to defeat them would be much more than what it would gain from consuming them.


    The light around them began to dim as the Kraken exerted its power over the world, until even with the sun directly overhead, very little of its light and none of its warmth made its way through to the deck of the Wavestrider. Sand watched with clenched fists and barely disguised envy as he watched it turn noon to dusk in an instant.


    Ezekiel immediately sent a message to Lirael, instructing her to suppress her Aura as much as she possibly could. After all, an Embryonic Dungeon was a rare delicacy for any Dungeon Beast as much less effort would be required to dismantle and digest it.


    Then he sent a command to the lightning elementals manning the ship. Dropping whatever task they were doing, they all froze for a short moment before their forms collapsed inwards into spheres of purple electricity. Thin tendrils of lightning began to stretch out of the spheres, braiding together into slim tentacles and soon, in place of the sailors, there were Lightning Jellyfish floating above the deck of the ship.


    Ezekiel opened the gate of his Dungeon. A circle of crackling purple electricity formed in front of him and out of it a swarm of the Lightning Jellyfish gushed out, joining the others and blotting out the sky.


    The swarm surrounded the ship, encasing it in a cloud of electricity that crackled and snapped threateningly. The Kraken seemed to hesitate as its tentacles recoiled slightly from the lightning.


    Everyone on the ship held their breaths, waiting for the behemoth¡¯s decision.


    Their hearts leapt up to their throats when one of the massive tentacles stretched towards them and tentatively poked the swarm. As it drew close enough, a thick discharge of electricity arced from the electric cloud and shocked it. The fragrance of roasted squid spread in the air as the tentacle jerked back.


    Enraged, the Kraken began thrashing the water with its tentacles, turning the calm sea into a raging whirlpool. It was only with a great effort that Ezekiel managed to keep the ship from being drawn into the centre of the vortex.


    All the tentacles shot upright as though preparing to slam down on the ship, but at the final moment, they deviated their course and slammed down behind the ship instead, creating a great wave that carried them out of its Territory and unceremoniously dumped them outside.


    Ezekiel didn¡¯t waste any time in recalling the Jellyfish into his Dungeon, leaving a few to transform back into sailors. Summoning the magical wind, he put as much distance between him and the Kraken as he could before it changed its mind about letting them go.


    Sand, who had lashed himself to the mast to prevent himself from being thrown off, untied himself and forced the feelings of nausea down.


    Turning back the way they came, he noticed the Kraken retracting its tentacles into the water. Soon, the ink in the water began to pale, until it disappeared entirely, leaving no trace of the nightmarish creature. The sea reverted to a smooth stretch of water mirroring the blue sky.


    After a while the Sunfish returned and the vibrant colours of the corals shone through, blurring the boundaries between dream and reality once again.

 B2: C6: Dungeon Management

    Scattered across the world, we find vestiges of the past, of a time before the Fall. A time when all one had to work with was their own two hands. Yet, as we gaze upon these relics, testaments to human ambition and ingenuity, we cannot help but fall into silent contemplation of the lost glory of Man.


    - UB02D7355; Golem Hegemon


    The Shackled Titans knelt in the sea facing each other; the saltwater lapping against them barely coming up to their thighs. The two gigantic statues of solid bronze ¨C one an emaciated beggar in rags holding his hands before his chest in supplication, the other a king in all his royal finery holding his crown out to him ¨C had been tarnished by weather and the heartless tread of time. A patina of verdigris and moss dulled the once lustrous metal and as the Wavestrider passed between them, underneath the arch formed by the thick chains that connected their bound wrists, Sand¡¯s gaze never left them, his eyes deep.


    The message inherent in the piece was thought-provoking, as was the sheer logistic difficulty of creating an artwork of this scale without the aid of magic. Pride swelled in Sand¡¯s chest, then determination. As they left the statues behind, he finally tore his gaze away from them and turned to what lay ahead.


    Aevenport was the largest harbour city in the Enzeal Kingdom. Just a casual glance netted Sand a rough estimate of several hundred ships of all sizes and make moored in the waters. It was a constant bustle of vessels entering and leaving. He noticed that while the departing ships had no restrictions on their route, the ones entering all passed under the shackles of the Titans. No, not all, the smaller fishing boats didn¡¯t seem to be limited that way.


    As he was puzzling over the phenomenon, Ezekiel noticed his curiosity and explained, ¡°The Titans mark the border of our territory. The Embryonic Dungeons fused with the city project their Domains out on the sea. If anything with a shard enters the Domain, it will immediately raise an alarm. Only the things passing between the statues are exempt.¡±


    Sand nodded in understanding. It was an early warning system. The small fishing boats were, in all likelihood, manned by mortals so they wouldn''t trip the alarm. But the large ships were sure to have a Mage or two onboard.


    ¡°The same for teleportation. Unless you want the army breathing down your neck within moments, you don¡¯t try to jump right into the city. They won''t be too gentle when they apprehend you. And the hefty fine they slap you with will leave little more than the clothes on your back.¡±


    ¡°Thank you for the guidance, my lord.¡±


    Ezekiel looked ahead again. ¡°Your actions reflect upon your mistress. Read up on the law of the land as soon as you can.¡± He shook his head. ¡°It should have been the first thing she taught you.¡±


    The people at the wharf seemed to recognize the Wavestrider and gave way for it. So it didn¡¯t take them much time to successfully dock the ship. After they debarked, Ezekiel summoned his Gate and withdrew the vessel into his Dungeon, drawing quite a bit of attention.


    Sand was quite surprised to see that most of the dockworkers were human. What was more, none of them seemed like slaves. There was a conspicuous absence of shackles or whips. Before he could thoroughly take stock of the situation, Lirael tapped him on the shoulder.


    ¡°Enter my Dungeon. I don¡¯t want you exposed before I deal with my family,¡± she said before summoning her Gate.


    Sand could only comply. Suppressing his curiosity, he walked through the illusory waterfall of blood and found himself in Bloodskull. Taking a quick look around, he determined that he was within the Willow Woods quite close to Grim¡¯s Gut. As he made his way towards it, the skeletal trees on all sides of him stirred slightly before returning to rest when they realized who he was.


    He paused as he reached a clearing in the forest which hadn¡¯t been there the last time he had been here. Forging ahead, he entered it to find one of the gigantic Mire Crabs he had subdued occupying it. Sensing him, the beast grew agitated and made to attack.


    Just as Sand was about to defend himself, hundreds of skeletal vines stretched out from the trees surrounding the clearing and tied it down. It thrashed and struggled causing the trees to creak ominously and even some of the vines to snap. But finally, it could only give up utterly exhausted.


    ¡°This iss the last one,¡± hissed Igor as he emerged from the forest on the other side of the crab.


    Sand had helped subdue five of the beasts in total. If what the Thrall said was true then he had managed to settle four of them and integrated them into the Dungeon within the short span of a week in Dungeon time. He was quite efficient.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Now that he looked closer at the Crab, he saw that the ground around its feet had softened into a dense slurry ¨C a result of its shards. Sand skirted around the clearing, hugging the treeline and giving the gigantic pincers of the beast a wide berth as he approached Igor.


    Reaching his side, he saw the Naga making fluid gestures with his four arms reminiscent of undulating waves. This was a physical crutch he used to better utilize his Water Manipulation shard. The disadvantage of this method was that if someone was familiar with the mage, they would easily be able to predict what they were going to do next by looking at their movements. Also, reliance on body movements made the shard utilization a bit rigid as a specific movement could only be mapped to a single magical effect and one could only memorize so many movements before making the exercise quite pointless.


    While Sand didn¡¯t approve of limiting oneself in this manner, he could see why someone would choose to do so as this method allowed one to master the shard¡¯s use much faster. For a Thrall, who had to be trained from ground up, this method would get them up to speed sooner.


    With the burble of gushing water, a stream of blood rushed down the trench he had already dug into the ground, connecting the main river to the growing swamp being created by the Mire Crab. As soon as the blood poured into the mud, dyeing it a dark red, the exhausted crab perked up and began struggling with renewed vigour. Igor snapped his fingers and the vines retracted to the edge of the swamp, letting it go but poised to capture it again. The crab clicked its claws in agitation but didn¡¯t dare challenge them again.


    Instead, frothing at the mouth in frustration, it unleashed its rage upon the ground -- glowing with an ochre yellow radiance that liquefied the soil, making the swamp spread.


    Sand and Igor stepped back until they were at the very edge of the clearing before the expansion finally stopped. With a final threatening click of its pincers at them, the beast sank into the mud ignominiously. A few occasional bubbles at the surface of the bloody swamp were all the evidence that remained of its continued existence.


    ¡°Now, we waitsss.¡± Igor turned around and began to walk away. ¡°Come.¡±


    The successful integration of the Mire Crabs was the penultimate step in the process of turning Bloodskull into a spice factory. As the crustaceans settled into and adapted to the environment, the Oasis Leeches they carried would provide a constant supply of Phlebotomy shards.


    All that remained was to take these shards and link them to the undead marrow shards of some of the Weeping Willows, then feed these modified trees with various kinds of undead, and finally, collect the spice imbued marrow from them.


    Of course, it wasn¡¯t as simple as that and several minor steps were required to achieve this. But a lot of trial and error during the two years (Dungeon time) they had spent waiting for the Undead Marrow shard to integrate into Bloodskull had paid off. They had a working procedure that guaranteed a success rate over fifty percent in a reasonable timeframe. This would obviously be improved as they grew more familiar with the process and modified it, but as a starting point, it was more than adequate.


    Sand followed Igor out of the forest and in front of the patriarch of the Willows. The Spirit greeted them with its characteristic bellow before opening its mouth. They crossed the newly created stone bridge into Grim¡¯s Gut, the massive tree Spirit, and consequently its cavernous interior, having grown even larger with the Dungeon¡¯s expansion.


    At Igor''s urging, Sand walked over to the glowing egg-shaped crystal embedded in the trunk of the tree, the Control shard, and took a seat in front of it cross-legged. Placing his palms on top of the crystal, he closed his eyes.


    Relaxing his mind, he connected it to the shard. His consciousness sank into the shard and expanded through the tangled network of roots that covered the entire Dungeon, giving him an all-encompassing awareness of the entire realm.


    The strain on his mind from this sensory influx should ordinarily have knocked him out at his level, but his prior experience as a Dungeon Mage meant that it wasn¡¯t an issue for him. Thus, apart from Lirael, he was the only one among her Thralls able to operate the shard. It was like a console from which he could remotely manage the Dungeon by ordering the Willows about.


    The undead reproduced by using their Undead Marrow shards to grow extra copies of their bones and having them split off as preliminary individuals. Thus, their population could easily get out of hand. Using the Control shard, Sand could order the Willows to cull their numbers to acceptable levels, or even have them protect certain species that were under the threat of extermination from the other species of undead.


    He could also alter the speed of flow of time in the Dungeon in relation to the outside world, even assigning different rates to different sections of the forest at the cost of higher mana consumption.


    In short, he was practically a God within Bloodskull, albeit one whose authority was built on stilts and could be stripped from him at any time Lirael desired. Breathing deeply, Sand began the task of supervising and optimizing the functioning of the Dungeon. It was extremely draining mentally, as all said and done, he wasn¡¯t a true Dungeon Mage but merely a peak stage Green mage.


    The reason he had volunteered for the arduous task was firstly, to make himself more valuable in Lirael¡¯s eyes and secondly, to increase his understanding of the principles underlying Dungeon creation and management. He had been someone who learnt by doing. A single stint at the console taught him much more about the influence of the shards and how they linked together to produce the Dungeon phenomena they did than hours of reading about them in books.


    The Dungeon was an attempt to approximate nature, thus, by definition, much simpler. It had way fewer components than a similar natural environment. For example, Bloodskull only had blood, fire, ice and death Auras. But in nature, wind, water, earth, life¡­ countless other Aura types would mingle with the main Auras, making the situation much, much more complex.


    Thus, for someone who wanted to gain insight about the fundamental laws of nature, studying the barebones framework of a Dungeon would be much more beneficial.


    Sand immersed himself in the work of Dungeon management. It was a great opportunity for him to advance and he wouldn''t let any of those pass him by.

 B2: C7: The Prophet

    <div>


    ¡°That¡¯s as far as I can take you.¡± Ezekiel shot a glance at the door at the end of the corridor and shook his head with a sigh. ¡°Wish you luck,¡± he said, before turning around and leaving.


    Lirael watched her uncle leave until his back disappeared around the next corner. Then, turning around, she slapped her cheeks lightly with her hands to psych herself up before making her way to her father¡¯s chambers.


    Smoothing out her dress as best as she could and running a hand through her hair, she raised her hand to the clapper¡­ only for the door to swing open on its own. Taking a deep breath, she passed through it.


    The room she found herself in was quite compact and minimalist in contrast to the large, ornate mahogany door she had passed through. The floor was made of granite polished until it resembled a black mirror, casting darkened, hazy reflections of all that stood upon it. The walls and ceilings were a pristine white. The only piece of furniture was a broad mahogany desk that took up most of the room at the end further from the door. And the only decoration was a monochrome banner that hung on the wall behind the desk that bore the insignia of the Enzeal family ¨C a circle with an inverted triangle inscribed within it ¨C marked in white upon black.


    Sunlight streamed in through wide windows on one side of the room, illuminating the surface of the desk, the neat stacks of paperwork taking up most of the space on it, and the man sitting behind it.


    Lirael got down on one knee and lowered her head. ¡°Greetings, father.¡±


    Nathaniel Enzeal didn¡¯t seem to have heard her as he continued his work unabated. Silence settled over the room for a moment, alleviated only by the scratching of pen on paper. Only after finishing whatever missive he had been working on did he put the implement down with a clack. Folding the letter, he filled it into an envelope. Lighting the candle of sealing wax beside him, he dripped a blob of the red substance on the flap before pressing his signet ring on it, sealing it and imprinting his sign. Taking up his pen, he wrote an address on the back of the envelope and tossed it into a small basket beside him.


    Finally, putting everything away, he leaned forward, placed his forearms on the desk and interlaced his fingers in front of him. Looking down his aquiline nose at his kneeling daughter, he said, ¡°Rise.¡±


    Lirael, who hadn¡¯t dared to disturb him while he was working, hastily got to her feet and raised her eyes to meet his gaze.


    Nathaniel Enzeal closely resembled his brother in build and facial features. But unlike Ezekiel, his face was clean shaven, and his jet-black hair cropped close to his skull. His nose was more prominent and his skin possessed the pallor of someone who actively avoided the sun in sharp contrast to Ezekiel¡¯s weathered complexion. The biggest distinction though, were his eyes. At some point in time his gaze could be the chilling stare of a serpent, and at another, the regal glance of a lion. His eyes were in a state of flux, constantly transforming from one beastly pupil to another.


    ¡°How was your little excursion north?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Successful, father. I managed to fuse my Undead Marrow shard with my Embryonic Dungeon. I¡¯m confident I¡¯ll be able to upgrade it to a full-fledged Dungeon soon.¡±


    Nathaniel simply nodded, neither accepting nor denying her optimistic claims. ¡°Show me,¡± he said as he extended his Domain to cover her.


    Lirael hastily erected her defences and pushed back with her own Domain, staggering back under the immense weight of her father¡¯s inner world. Her father was one of the four Lords of the Enzeal family as well as the leader of the Transformation Lineage that specialized in using their magic to morph into beasts or take on their characteristics. Comparing his Dungeon to hers was akin to likening the light of the moon to a mere firefly.


    Her Domain popped like a soap bubble, but before his Domain could crash down upon her, her father retracted it. The pressure disappeared like a bad dream, leaving her soaked in cold sweat and gasping for breath.


    ¡°Good,¡± Nathaniel commended, ¡°your world is stronger than before¡­ and denser, more tightly knit.¡±


    Despite the praise, Lirael couldn''t find it in herself to be happy. Because she knew that the accolades weren¡¯t for her accomplishments but for the rise in her value as a commodity to barter for political capital. She was sure that even now, the cogs in her father¡¯s mind were spinning, calculating how much more she was worth now with this development and how much more he could squeeze out of the Sangre clan for her. Or, she could only hope, considering whether she was more valuable to the clan and to him unmarried.


    After a short lull where Lirael regained her composure and her father stared at his interlaced fingers, deep in thought, he looked up and spoke:


    ¡°The Sangre prince has been petitioning me for a meeting with his future bride for quite a while now. He has been very¡­ insistent.¡±Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    ¡®¡­ free with his money,¡¯ translated Lirael automatically. With rising certainty and dread, she listened to his following words.


    ¡°I feel the two of you should meet.¡± He looked right into her eyes. ¡°Keep your schedule free this weekend.¡±


    ¡®Sure enough.¡¯ Even though she had known what to expect, prepared her heart for it, but still, hearing her father sell her out so blatantly made her clench her fists and struggle to keep her expression neutral.


    She probably failed. But her father kept his eyes on her anyway, waiting for her response.


    Lirael nearly told him about the spice trade she would soon be part of on impulse. Surely that¡¯d be enough to change his mind. Surely, he¡¯d approve of her then. Find her worthy of the same favour he showered on her brothers¡­ But she forcefully bore the urge, taking a deep, shuddering breath to compose herself and ensure that her voice wouldn''t crack.


    ¡°Y-es, father.¡±


    It cracked anyway. Turning on her heel, she fled outwards in hasty strides. If she stayed a moment longer, she couldn''t guarantee that she wouldn''t break down and cry.


    ¡°Wait.¡± She halted her footsteps at the threshold of the room at his call. ¡°Pay your mother a visit after this.¡±


    She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, then exited the room, shutting the door none to gently behind her.


    As she made her way along the winding passageways of her family mansion, she rubbed her eyes with her forearm and gritted her teeth, holding back the tears of frustration.


    Of the four main Lineages of the Enzeal family ¨C Storm, Transformation, Eon, and Transmutation ¨C the Storm lineage was primarily focused on attack, the Transformation lineage defense and versatility, the Eon lineage handled the support and logistics and the Transmutation lineage was known for crafting the famed living weapons of the Enzeal clan which could fuse with shards, gaining magical effects of their own.


    The latter three lineages ruled a third of the Enzeal Kingdom¡¯s territory each; their Lords sharing the highest authority amongst themselves in the absence of a High Lord. The Storm Lineage on the other hand had gone down the unconventional route of eschewing political power in favour of establishing a religious organization: The Church of Storm and Sea. Ezekiel had said that it wasn¡¯t the national religion, but in effect, it was. The leader of the Storm Lineage concurrently held the post of Pope.


    Without a single authoritative figure to unify them, the main lineages as well as the minor noble lineages had fallen prey to their selfishness. The political atmosphere was rife with internal discord and nepotism. Corruption had eaten the nation away from the inside.


    Growing up and thriving in such an atmosphere had dyed Nathaniel in the colours of materialism and practicality. The moment Lirael, unlike her siblings, had stepped off the beaten track and chosen to develop a Dungeon of her own in defiance of his directive, he had given up on her. It also didn¡¯t hurt that she was on extremely good terms with her uncle. Lirael didn¡¯t know what exactly had transpired between the two brothers, but there was bad blood there.


    Ezekiel was childless. Not for the lack of trying, though. He and his wife had been blessed with two brilliant children; both top-ranked talents who had showed no dearth of promise growing up. But the dark hounds of misfortune had dogged the footsteps of the boys and they hadn¡¯t lived long enough to fulfil their potential. Lirael hadn¡¯t been born when it happened and understandably neither her uncle nor her aunt wanted to talk about it. All she had gathered from hearsay and oblique references was that her father might have been partially responsible for their demise.


    Unable to withstand the loss of two children, her aunt had thrown herself into her business, not even considering the possibility of conceiving again. Until, that is, Lirael had come along and become the daughter she never had.


    Lirael had spent more time growing up with her aunt and uncle than her actual parents. Her father had been too busy climbing the ranks and her mother¡­ otherwise incapacitated. It was from the frequent trips her uncle took her on to see the world that she had developed her love of travel and exploration ¨C her free spirit. Even her Shrinking Space shard, her very first shard, had been a gift from him after a successful ¡®joint¡¯ expedition to track down and capture a Void Hummingbird. As a Red Mage without a shard, she knew exactly how useful she had been on that occasion and just how much she had deserved ¡®her portion of the spoils¡¯ as her uncle had put it.


    So, yes, she knew why she had become so estranged from her father. But that didn¡¯t make it easier to accept the fact that he was willing to sell her off to the highest bidder like so much chattel.


    Turning a corner, she reached the entrance to her mother¡¯s quarters ¨C another large and ornate door; this time crafted from a pale, nearly white willow.


    She didn¡¯t bother knocking. Her mother wasn¡¯t in a state to appreciate a concept like privacy and her father¡¯s wards ensured that none without his authorization could encroach upon this section of the mansion. The doors swung open smoothly at her slightest touch, revealing the scene within.


    Unlike her father¡¯s office, her mother¡¯s quarters were broad and dominated by light colours and open spaces. The floor was laid with beautifully veined pink-tinged marble and rather than walls, the domed white ceiling was held up by patterned pillars of stone. Beyond the pillars, surrounded by high walls was a garden full of roses in full bloom. Female attendants in diaphanous white gowns watered and trimmed the hedges laden with an even mixture of red and white flowers.


    And in the centre of it all, her mother reclined lazily upon a bed with white sheets, indolently trailing her hand across the surface of the artificial pond that took up most of the room.


    The pond was perfectly circular in shape with a Taiji symbol painted upon its bottom. The interplay of black and white visible through the clear water. Two large carps, one black with a white, diamond-shaped mark on its forehead and the other a pristine white with a black mark, circled each other in a delicate dance, sending ripples across the water whenever they came close to the surface.


    Her mother was dressed in clothes similar to her attendants, with the exception that instead of white, the fabric of her dress was a rich crimson. Just like her flowing hair that draped over her form like a blood-soaked blanket.


    She looked up at the sound of Lirael¡¯s deliberately loud approach; her eyes crinkling at the corners as her face lit up with a childish smile of recognition. And in those eyes, devoid of an iris or a pupil with black and white fog swirling within, Lirael saw a psyche shattered by the weight of the future. She saw her mother ¨C Ellimere Sangre. The Prophet.

 B2: C8: The Prophecy

    At the price of their Past and their Present, they see the Future.


    ~ Dracule Sangre, High Lord of the Sangre Kingdom.


    As Lirael knelt in front of her mother and let the red-haired woman lovingly run a hand through her hair and along her cheek with a guileless smile on her face, she was reminded of the reason she couldn''t really bring herself to blame her father. After all, who wouldn''t resent the one who regressed the love of their life into a child trapped in an adult¡¯s body.


    No. Not even a child. The price exacted by the Dungeon of Prophecies from its bearers for short bursts of clairvoyance was a thoroughly shattered mind. And it was complications during Lirael¡¯s birth that had forced her mother to promote her Embryonic Dungeon to the next stage.


    The Prophet Lineage of the Sangre clan were followers of the Goddess of Destiny and Time. Their order was exclusive to females with the Dungeon Mages holding the title of Saintess and their leader bearing the designation of Holy Mother. The peculiarity of the Lineage meant that while the members retained their sanity as mortal mages, condensing their Dungeons meant losing their minds under a constant barrage of incoherent snippets of the future.


    The members of the Prophet Lineage were also famed for marrying outside their country, forming a network of diplomatic ties with highly placed men across the Vampire territory. Her father''s marriage with her mother was one such union.


    Lirael clasped her mother¡¯s hand against her cheek and gave her a watery smile. Even though her mother hadn¡¯t been there for her since her childhood, it was testament to the strength of maternal love that she responded to her presence with such happiness despite her addled mind. Leaning forward, she hugged the woman tightly eliciting a squeal of childish joy. Burying her face into the crook of her mother¡¯s neck, she cried -- huge breathless sobs that wracked her whole body.


    Ellimere cried out in wordless concern and rubbed her back, seemingly picking up on her distress.


    The intensity of Lirael¡¯s sobs reduced under her mother¡¯s ministrations, until only the occasional sniffle was left. Letting go of her mother, she straightened up and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand. Looking around, she found that she was surrounded by her mother¡¯s handmaidens ¨C all twelve of them.


    Because of the threat of lunacy forever looming above their heads like a naked sword, the Prophets put great emphasis upon the training of Thralls who would be intelligent enough to take care of them when they weren¡¯t in their right minds. Her mother¡¯s handmaidens were Thralls who had been carefully groomed by her to excel both in combat and housekeeping. The emotional distress of their Mistress had drawn them over.


    A little embarrassed by all the eyes trained on her in her vulnerable state, Lirael coughed and got to her feet. Sitting down on the bed beside her mother, she waved the attendants away. ¡°Everything¡¯s fine here. You can go back to your duties; I¡¯ll look after mother.¡±


    Nodding in eerie synchronization, they moved away in utter silence and busied themselves with their respective tasks. Lirael shuddered slightly. Her mother¡¯s attendants were a large part of why she hadn¡¯t liked visiting her mother as a child. She had found their mechanical behaviour rather creepy.


    Ellimere still seemed a bit distressed from the sudden tearful episode and now it was Lirael¡¯s turn to comfort her mother. Hugging her from the side, Lirael hummed a soothing tune as they watched the fish circle each other in the pond. Slowly but surely, the older woman began to drift off to sleep with her head resting on Lirael¡¯s shoulder. Once her breathing grew even, Lirael gently positioned herself so her mother¡¯s head rested in her lap. Leaning her back against the stacked cushions and running her fingers through her mother¡¯s silky, scarlet hair she settled down to watch her mother¡¯s attendants at work.


    All the handmaidens were Green mages at the very least, with most of them being Blue mages; and the strongest, her mother¡¯s Champion, an initial stage Violet mage. It was only after she had been introduced to magic and started her own training in it that she had begun to appreciate exactly how much of an expense maintaining this huge cohort of Thralls really was.


    She cast a quick glance into her Embryonic Dungeon. The Magma Basilisk in the central pit was slumbering deeply to recover from its injuries from fighting the Evil Infant. Leo, on the other hand, had recovered from the upheaval of the Dungeon in the aftermath of the fight. This had led to an imbalance between the fire and ice Aura in her Dungeon. This problem was mitigated slightly by the fact that the Basilisk was stronger and more mature than the little blue Frostmane Lion. And this was just one of the many complications one would have to take into account while managing her Dungeon.


    Right now, Sand was in the process of doing just that. Using the Control shard as a console, he was manipulating the Weeping Willows scattered across the Dungeon in order to adjust the speed at which time flowed in different parts of it. The trees near the central pit began to weep bloody tears that evaporated in the heat and rose up to the sky as a bloody mist, speeding up the flow of time there, while the trees scattered across the mountains wrapped their vines around themselves and sank into a period of dormancy, bringing the flow of time there close to the outside world¡¯s. Done correctly, this would balance the rate of heat production and absorption in her Dungeon and stabilize the flow of heat from the centre to the edges. And Sand seemed to have everything well in hand.If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    Dungeon management was quite a calculation intensive process and unless one had a great deal of talent, allowing them to intuitively adjust the settings, trial and error was the only way to go. Having someone capable of doing it for her freed up a lot of her time for other activities. And that person had to be a Thrall, otherwise she would be placing her life in the hands of someone whose absolute loyalty wasn¡¯t assured.


    She had been inclined to believe that the huge expenditure on her mother¡¯s attendants was a waste. After all, seeing enough resources to fuel her advancement to a Dungeon Mage twice over being poured into mere Thralls had been quite grating. But now that she had a capable Thrall of her own, she knew that these twelve attendants were worth their salt.


    For the members of the Prophet Lineage, their insanity wasn''t necessarily permanent. As the size and strength of their Dungeons increased, the future became more coherent and they became capable of resisting the onslaught of broken glimpses of possible futures. The mages at the higher rungs of their organization progressively regained control of their mental faculties, up to the High Mother ¨C who was wholly sane¡­ except for her eccentric choices in fashion.


    In fact, the members of their order treated this period of mindlessness as a rite of passage -- a time when they were closest to their God.


    Unfortunately, as an Enzeal Lord¡¯s wife, there was very little chance of Ellimere becoming the Holy Mother, or indeed advancing her Dungeon any further via inheritance. The sacrifice of her sanity was likely permanent.


    Lirael sighed. Even if her father wasn¡¯t willing to treat her like his daughter, she still had a lot of things going for her. A whole new industry waiting to be exploited. An uncle and aunt who treated her like their own biological child. A talented Thrall who could potentially take over the task of managing her Dungeon completely.


    And a mother who loved her despite a shattered mind. She couldn''t really complain.


    She looked down fondly at her lap¡­


    ...only to find her mother staring back, black and white fog swirling furiously within her wide-open eyes.


    Those eyes were mystical vortices dragging her mind forcefully into their depths and she felt powerless to resist. Then she was falling and falling and falling down a well with no bottom as black and white mist swirled all around her, obscuring her sight. She screamed, but found she had no voice to scream with. She flailed, but discovered she lacked the limbs required to do so. She tried to breathe but found she didn¡¯t need to. Time seemed to lose all meaning as the instant seemed to stretch to an eternity and an eternity, to an instant.


    Suddenly, she wasn¡¯t falling anymore. Looking around, she noticed that though her sight was still obstructed by the mist, all of it was black instead of the mix of black and white she had seen before. And in looking around, she found that she had a body again. Though it wasn¡¯t the one she originally had, or indeed even remotely human. She was a phoenix. A majestic bird with flaming feathers burning with pure white fire.


    She called out in surprise and the cry was a resonant trill that echoed out into the dark mists. She flexed her muscles and her wings swished down with a mighty beat that blew the fog away and shot her upwards. Or at least, towards what she thought was up. There was no sense of gravity in this place and for all she knew, she could be hurtling towards the ground instead of the sky.


    She flew on and on for what seemed like an eternity, covering what her perception told her must be miles, but she didn¡¯t reach the end of the mist. It remained unchanged, not thinning out or intermingling with the white mist like she expected it to. If not for the powerful, rhythmic beat of her wings, and the trail of white fire she left in her wake, she would have thought that she hadn¡¯t moved at all.


    Then, as suddenly as she had been dragged into this odd place, she passed through a barrier into a world painted white. Everywhere she looked only pure white mist met her gaze. Her brilliant flames merged with her surroundings, like she was the fire and the world a transient construct of her smoke.


    Despite this change, there was nothing other than the mist in her surroundings. Despair was slowly creeping upon her. The bone-chilling despair of ever leaving this place. Turing tail, she flapped her wings hard, blitzing back towards where she came.


    Despair turned into a certainty of doom when the barrier between black and white she had expected to find didn¡¯t appear. No matter how long or how fast she flew, white smoke caged her in from all sides, suffocating her.


    She cried out; her fearful trilling warble lost into the all-encompassing mists with nary an echo.


    Then with a mighty roar that reverberated through her very bones, a huge scarlet dragon burst out of the mists and bore down upon her.


    She barely had time to respond to the behemoth¡¯s sudden appearance before it had hooked the wicked talons of its hind legs into her wings. Her call for aid turned into a shrill screech of pain. Then they were both plummeting through the mists, carried by its momentum. The dragon was nearly twice her size and no matter how she struggled, she couldn''t shake its grip. Her own talons barely left a mark, creating trails of incandescent white sparks as they scrabbled helplessly on its scales.


    Suddenly, they burst through the barrier between black and white she had been searching for and the dark mists surrounded her again. But she couldn''t bring herself to rejoice because of the ferocious dragon entangled with her. Her cries were drowned out by its roars as they tumbled through the fog.


    First one, then the other, the dragon tore her wings off and her world devolved into pain as it felt like chunks were being ripped out of her very soul.


    When she recovered, she was just in time to see down the crimson depths of the dragon¡¯s gullet as its open jaws bore down upon her head. A strong smell of blood blew towards her along with the fetid stench of its breath. The scent she normally found pleasant now nauseated her as she waited for her inevitable death.


    A streak of greenish-black flashed at the edge of her vision and she was able to catch a glimpse of the tiny snake that lunged out from within her flaming white feathers and sank its fangs into the dragon¡¯s leg.


    Dark flames tinged with green raced up the dragon¡¯s body like fire upon oil and, within moments, the ferocious beast was reduced to a charred skeleton with noxious green flames burning at scattered spots upon it.


    Feeling the grip of the skeleton loosen, Lirael relaxed.


    She was just about to try and locate her mysterious saviour when, suddenly, the skeleton¡¯s claws tightened their grip again. Snapping her head up, she found herself looking into two clumps of pure green flame burning in the hollows of the skeletal dragon¡¯s sockets.


    Lirael jerked awake with a gasp, drenched in cold sweat and breathing hard. Hastily looking down, she found her mother curled up on the bed, sleeping blissfully with her head on her lap. The fish were still circling each other in the pond. The attendants were still hard at work. All was as it should be. As though that vision had been nothing but a dream.


    She knew better, though. It hadn''t been a dream she had just woken from, but a glimpse of her future.

 B2: C9: The Crimson Prince

    Beneath clear skies with storm clouds at the horizon, a seething mass of people gathered in front of an elevated platform.


    At the forefront of the crowd were several figures chained together by their wrists and ankles, with the chains affixed to the ground by wooden stakes driven through rings attached to them. Their exalted statuses could be inferred from their expensive clothing, but their current dishevelled state spoke of a fall from grace. All the chained men and women shared a striking resemblance to each other, making it easy to recognize them as members of the same family. Their ages varied widely; from a dignified old man with pure white hair and deep wrinkles crinkling the corners of his eyes to a scared young girl, barely over ten summers old, desperately clutching the hem of her mother¡¯s skirt.


    A bare-chested man sat upon a wooden stool above an elevated platform overlooking the crowd. His bronzed skin gleamed under the sunlight and the corded muscles of his arms rippled as he repeatedly ran a whetstone along the edge of the massive executioner¡¯s blade laid across his knees. His unruly mop of hair was the colour of blood; and his eyes, above the scarlet silk scarf that covered the lower half of his face, were a dark crimson. If one focused on them for too long, they would start noticing the shifting images at their depths demonstrating scenes from his inner world ¨C his Embryonic Dungeon.


    A petite, dark-eyed, pale-skinned woman with impressive curves stood beside him dressed in the black and white uniform of the Sangre palace maids. An iridescent blue streak ran down one side of her jet-black hair that she kept cropped to the base of her neck. Coupled with her expressionless face, her fine features and porcelain skin made her look like a doll. Holding a scroll unfurled in front of her, she read aloud from it without any emotion colouring her voice.


    ¡°Count Revos, Green Mage: -


    "Apprehended on suspicion of colluding with cross-border shard smuggling rings, after a thorough investigation, he was found guilty of doctoring the accounts of the shard ranches under his purview and skimming a percentage of the produce. His associates in the smuggling ring transported the shards across the border to the neighbouring nations. Most notably, the Enzeal Kingdom.


    ¡°Due to crimes including but not restricted to official graft, fraud, and treason, he and his entire family have been sentenced to death by beheading. To be administered by his highness, the Crown Prince himself.¡±


    The crowd grew agitated at the recounting of the crimes of the head of the Revos clan, hissing and booing at him as they clamoured for justice. The family huddled closer together and a grimace of regret flashed across the old man¡¯s face. Regret for the actions of his son that had implicated the whole family. The young girl turned away from the rowdy crowd in fear, burying her face into her mother¡¯s skirt.


    A handsome middle-aged man who looked like the younger version of the old man and shared many features in common with the little girl, dropped onto his knees and shuffled forward as far as his chains would allow. Leaning forward, he kowtowed, knocking his forehead repeatedly against the rough gravelly ground until he drew blood.


    ¡°Your highness! Please have mercy,¡± he cried out. ¡°I am guilty of the most heinous crime, I know. But my family is innocent. They knew nothing. Not my father, nor my wife and definitely not my baby girl¡­ Spare them, please!¡±


    His wife too dropped to her knees and hugged their daughter tightly. ¡°Spare her, your highness,¡± pleaded the woman desperately. ¡°She is but a child. She knew nothing of her father¡¯s crimes. His life, mine¡­ they are yours to take. But please¡­¡± she sobbed, ¡°I beg of you. Take her in as your Thrall if you must. Just let her live!¡±


    The hysteria in her voice calmed the blood thirst of the crowd as they realized what exactly they were asking for. Their clamour died down as they waited for the response of the man on the executioner¡¯s stage.


    Under the focus of a thousand eyes, Vincent Sangre continued sharpening his weapon with utter dedication. The executioner¡¯s blade looked like an oversized cleaver with a leather wrapped handle long enough for a comfortable two-handed grip. Its blade was a rectangular piece of dark metal with a single honed edge that shone silver under the sunlight. The rhythmic rasp of the whetstone against the metal was the only sound audible in the square as the crowd waited for his response with bated breath.


    Finally satisfied with the edge of the blade, he set the whetstone aside and got to his feet. Turning his rust-red eyes towards the chained convicts, focusing on the man and the woman, he spoke in a voice reminiscent of clashing swords.


    ¡°Leave those two for last. Start from the youngest.¡±


    Then he turned away, closing his eyes and standing as still as a statue as he focused all his attention on the blade in his hand. Another maid with an icy countenance, a twin of the one on the stage except for the colour of the streak in her hair ¨C a shockingly bright red ¨C stepped forward from behind the family at his words.


    Seeing Vincent¡¯s second Thrall approaching them and realizing that the only mercy for her child would be an early death, the woman let out a keening wail that made the hearts of all present tremble. Blood began to trickle down her nose, ears and the corners of her eyes like tears as she fought desperately against the Restrictions that had sealed her shards and cut access to her mana.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    The maid¡¯s figure blurred as she appeared behind the woman and chopped down sharply on the scruff of her neck, knocking her out. As the woman sank to the ground, the maid stepped forward and tore the terrified child out of her desperate grasp, unloosened even by her loss of consciousness. The other members of the family strained against their bonds, trying to reach out and stop her. Especially the child¡¯s father whose face, dyed red from his bleeding forehead and the backlash from resisting the Restrictions placed upon him, had taken on a demonic cast with bloodshot eyes, clenched jaws and popping veins.


    The maid ignored their curses and pleas as she unclasped the shackles of the little girl, shouldered her in a fireman¡¯s carry and moved towards the dais where her master waited with blade in hand.


    The Revos family had been a distinguished family and their blood ran true. Most of them were mages of one level or another. Yet they all had to watch helplessly as their youngest was bound to the scaffold by her delicate wrists, her tear-stained, terrified face held in place by wooden restraints, so her neck was extended, waiting for the heartless knife to fall.


    Vincent Sangre, his eyes still closed, raised his blade in a two-handed grip above his head. The pleas of Revos family tapered off as they stared stubbornly at the gleaming edge. Their silence much louder than their screams.


    ¡°Mercy, Prince.¡± Suddenly a voice rang out in the square from the midst of the crowd, extremely conspicuous in the sombre stillness. Then another. ¡°Mercy for the girl.¡± More voices joined them from all sides until the crowd that had been baying for blood mere moments ago, now prayed for absolution.


    The volume of the crowd rose until their voices merged into one rising crescendo. Hope returned to the eyes of the girl¡¯s father as he watched the stage unblinking, waiting for the Crown Prince to put his blade aside.


    A flash of silver. A beautiful arc of light sketched by the descending blade. The sound of a tiny head bouncing against the ground ¨C oh so loud in the choked silence of the crowd. The twitches of the headless body. The final struggles of a young heart as it pumped blood out in desperate spurts from the neck. Blood that dyed the wooden floor of the stage red and pooled around the disembodied head, frozen in a rictus of fear. Those lifeless eyes speaking of the years of life they could have witnessed, the things they would never see.


    Her father sank back on his haunches, his face slack. All the fight had gone out of him. His ambition that had driven him to flout kingdom law, the fire that had burnt in his eyes, extinguished, leaving nothing but cold, grey ash.


    ¡°Next,¡± said the Prince, drawing glares of pure hatred from the remaining members of the Revos clan. Hatred mixed with fear. With the death of the girl, they knew that their time was nigh. They could feel the blade upon their neck.


    The old man closed his eyes and took a deep breath¡­ wishing that he hadn¡¯t lived long enough to suffer the indignity of being clapped in chains and paraded publicly. Wishing, that the execution of his granddaughter, that delightful ray of sunshine, wasn¡¯t among the last things he would see.


    An inhuman scream forced his eyes open and he snapped his head to the side. The girl¡¯s mother had awoken, just in time to see her daughter die.


    The air around the woman¡¯s body warped and twisted as her mana, fuelled by her rage, burst through the Restrictions placed upon her by her jailor with a Tier 5 Sealing shard. Cracks proliferated across her skin as her body was destroyed along with the magic binding her. A dark blue mist spurted from the cracks, surrounding her in a corrosive haze. The ground, her clothes, the shackles binding her¡­ they all melted away under the effect of her only Tier 3 shard as she broke free and rushed onto the stage.


    She had only managed to unbind her Corrosion shard at the cost of deep fissures across the blue crystal and lacking the protection of her Aura shard, the mists had already eaten through her skin by the time she was within reach of the motionless Prince. She had only managed to reluctantly protect her eyes with her mana. After this attack, she wasn¡¯t long for this world.


    Life, death, it mattered not. All that mattered was the man on the stage holding a knife stained with the blood of her child. As she stretched her hand out to claw at his face, Vincent finally opened his eyes.


    Rust red calm met hate-filled azure and then the woman¡¯s line of sight spun. The sky and the earth exchanged places again and again and the last thing she saw was the corroded husk of her body tumbling to the ground without a head.


    Then there was darkness.


    Vincent retracted his hand after beheading the woman, stepping sideways to avoid the blood spurting from the headless neck. Ignoring the shock of the onlooking crowd and the burgeoning whispered discussions, he closed his eyes and focused on his Domain that covered every inch of the execution stage, including the two corpses.


    He breathed in deeply and his Dungeon breathed with him. The scent of blood mingled with the copious amounts of mana released by the death of a Green Mage. Twisted by her resentment and unwillingness at the point of death the mana had taken on a transient life of its own. In his mind¡¯s eye, he could sense it transforming into the special kind of Death Aura that was the basis of his Dungeon. Which the members of his Lineage, the Soldier Lineage, had named Murderous Aura. With surveillance shards kept off outside by his Domain, no one could see the reddish-black Aura that floated up from the woman¡¯s corpse and lunged at him, as though trying to fulfil its previous owner¡¯s will, only to be absorbed cleanly by him and converted into a tonic for his Dungeon.


    Pale crimson flames ignited across his body, burning silently, smokeless and invisible to anyone without the appropriate shard. Instead of generating heat, they exuded a sense of cold. Not the cold of winter, but the chill that ran up one¡¯s spine when looking into the eyes of a venomous snake. The chilling threat of an impending death.


    Opening his eyes, ¡°Next,¡± he called out in that same emotionless tone, like it wasn¡¯t two living persons he had cut down, but two trees.


    The sun crossed the zenith as the hours rolled by and with one last swing of the blade, Count Revos, the chief criminal, joined the rest of his family in death. But the man had been dead even before the blade fell. Watching his loved ones pay the ultimate price one after the other for his mistakes had killed him as surely as the separation of his head from his body.


    Most of the crowd had dispersed by then, unable to stomach the bloody scene, but those that had remained made way for the Prince as he stepped through the pooled blood on the dais and got down from the stage. Followed by his twin Thralls, he passed through the clear passage formed by the parting crowd. The people he passed by, whatever their opinion of him, lowered their eyes and bowed... shivering as the fine hairs across their body stood upright affected by the Murderous Aura overflowing off him.


    They only relaxed after he had gone far away, leaving bright red footprints, stark against the white flagstones of the square.