For days on end, Erin further experimented with mana. In doing so, he absorbed life among the seabed, capturing fish, prawn, and jelly alike.

  Then, a thought occurred to him.

  Perhaps these creatures were too small and it was their limited capacity that restricted their acquisition of mana?

  So, Erin delved deeper.

  Big fish like tuna and sea bass; Erin hounded them all.

  Their cores were bigger, yes — but that was the only major difference as even then, the bigger cores did not yield magic’s grasp.

  If not size, then perhaps intelligence? Was Erin’s next thought.

  From large fish to more intelligent critters, Erin flooded the surrounding sea with his presence.

  He searched diligently for beneath-the-sea mammals: dolphins, whales, hell, even manatees would have sufficed, but alas — none were found.

  Both because the sea’s surrounding Erin’s dungeon were erratic and frost-touched, but also because Erin could not see that far to begin with.

  Amidst the reef, however, in between the colorful sprouts of coral and the vibrant stocks of seaweed, seahorses mingled about.

  They were an electrifying yellow, bright with softer colored bellies.

  Although far from mammals, seahorses were relatively intelligent beings. Many mated for life, which indicated recognition and a developed memory.

  In-house, they were even more impressive. Seahorses could be trained almost like dogs — to respond to calls, to catch, roll-over…

  Certainly wiser than fish. Erin thought.

  So he nabbed a few of them. Whispered into their ear’s sweet little nothings — promises of more to come — Erin enticed them with mana and hormones all to direct them right into his lap.

  Per protocol, Erin started with their cores.

  Formed in minutes, Erin studied each of them intently.

  Were they any different from the fish?

  If they were, it would weakly support the intelligence theory. Unfortunately, the seahorse’s cores were typical; no different from that of the fish or the bats.

  Erin controlled his disappointment the moment it arose. Unbothered, he followed protocol.

  With their cores formed, Erin gathered some mana. It swirled in the air and conjoined within an orb beside him.

  From the mana orb, Erin picked off a single strand of mana as thin as a hair follicle and yet as volatile as radiation; Erin silenced his other thoughts.

  He pushed the sliver of mana into the seahorse’s chest. With precise control and determined intent, Erin shoved the strand of mana directly into the beast’s core.

  At first, nothing of note happened.

  The mana slipped into the seahorse’s core unaffected. Then, the core dimly responded.

  A faint glow flickered from its center. It was a fleeting light, weak and thin.

  Erin waited some more.

  The sliver of mana carried his will, after all; it should do more, but, like all his other attempts, the only response granted was the drip of water from the third floor down to the fourth.

  In other words, failure.

  As a result, Erin moved the seahorses to a pre-formed spot within the fourth floor. Thus far, the fourth floor acted as his research base.

  It was still dark. Pitch black, actually.

  And it was still largely unoccupied. Ninety percent of it was empty space, but in the corner where Erin worked — where his makeshift well sat — so too sat about seventeen other species Erin had already worked with.

  All fish.

  All trapped in their own little fish bowls, swimming in circles like their brain’s would suggest.

  Then suddenly, the dungeon’s walls shook.

  A delicate rumbling traveled through the fourth floor and, alongside it, an epiphany struck Erin.

  Erin flashed to the first floor.

  The ignition trap had just fired — that was what shook the dungeon and it’s something Erin had mostly learned to ignore due to its hourly frequency, but this time it got him thinking.

  Smoky can use magic! He thought.

  You absolute moron! Why didn’t I think of this sooner!?

  Although Erin had already meticulously studied Smoky’s core before — both before and after his evolution — Erin had never explicitly observed it while Smoky cast magic.

  Nevertheless, with the ignition trap depleted, now was the perfect time to take notice.

  Before he flashed to Smoky’s Boss Room, Erin appeared beside the first floor’s fountain. Black soot lined the floor and walls and the oxygen was weak in the air.

  The stench permeated like glue; it stuck to the walls and the charred flesh of the Bat Apes — unrelenting in its grasp.

  It brought tears to the eyes and soured the nose.

  Then, the water from within the fountain erupted.

  Three people sprung out; in fact, it was three people Erin easily recognized.

  Kuzo wiped the water off his face. He held a stern expression, but was clearly fed up with the wetness.

  Martha, meanwhile, picked the wet hair off her face. She readjusted her pointed hat and dumped the water from her boots.

  In third, to Erin’s surprise, was Dublow — Cassian’s butler? Erin wasn’t clear on their relationship, but the finely aged gentleman certainly screamed butler.

  He wore an all black suit, even in the dungeon, with a pair of meticulously polished leather boots and gloves to match. Underneath his black blazer, a forest green vest hugged his chest and a dark brown tie sat perfectly aligned — even while wet.

  Dublow pulled his white gloves tight as he stepped out of the fountain. He appeared unperturbed, determined — a man on a mission

  As the trio’s clothes dripped water onto the dungeon’s tiles, they advanced towards Smoky’s domain.

  Amidst the walk in between, Martha interrupted the silence.

  “So who’s gonna fight the squirrel?” She asked.

  “I suppose any one of us could take it down single-handedly. Why do you ask, Martha? Volunteering?” Kuzo replied.

  But Martha shook her head.

  “I wouldn’t mind.” She said, “but Master told me to use this as an opportunity to ‘observe and absorb.’”

  “‘Observe and absorb.’” Kuzo reiterated. “The hell does that mean?”

  “Master says that when you’re in the heat of battle, you’re often so focused on the immediate variables that you ignore the external ones. He told me to pay attention to the things I otherwise wouldn’t, like the lanterns along the walls or the mural above the Boss’s arena.” Martha explained with a hint of pride.

  Kuzo knit his brow.

  “Is that what you’ve been sketching this whole time?” He asked.

  In response to Kuzo’s question, Martha’s expression noticeably gleamed. She eagerly grabbed her notebook from its place along her belt and flipped through its contents.

  Stopping on the latest page, she pushed the book towards Kuzo’s face.

  “Look!” She chirped. “The acorn cupules change throughout the floor! I had never noticed it before! The changes are minor, but it’s fascinating nonetheless! I mean, why would a dungeon care so much about the intricacies of the cupules design? I asked my Master, and he said....”

  Kuzo drowned her out. He liked Martha. She was smart and kind. She didn’t discriminate against commoners and, above all else, she had a raw fascination for magic and all things related.

  The girl was passionate, but sometimes — she was too passionate.

  Just like Hyzen. Kuzo thought.

  For a second, he even wondered if Martha had got it from him, but that couldn’t be the case; you couldn’t teach that sort of fanaticism.

  At least, Kuzo believed.

  Dublow, meanwhile, marched in-line with the others. He was a man of even fewer words than Kuzo himself, a combination that did not promote party unity.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “I will defeat the Boss.” Dublow said unexpectedly and yet sternly.

  At his abrupt statement, however, Martha finally shut her lips. Although interrupted, she now cast a gaze akin to stars towards Dublow.

  Kuzo glanced between the two.

  Perhaps he said something just to quiet her down? Kuzo pondered.

  But then he shook his head.

  That couldn't be right. He insisted.

  A gentleman like himself would pamper a young lady such as Martha… perhaps that’s why he offered to slay the Boss? To impress upon the younger generation?

  It was at this time that the trio reached the end of the corridor. They were now a single corner away from the first floor Boss.

  True to his word, Dublow pressed forward into the beast’s den with an air of unwavering confidence.

  Smoky lay asleep in the arena’s center. He lay perched up against his golden acorn, which was embedded into the stone — slammed there by Smoky.

  As Dublow walked across the arena, Smoky’s nose twitched. He sniffed the air in rapid succession. Then, his golden eyes burst open.

  Smoky reeled himself off the floor and stood on his hind legs. His lips retreated backwards, a snarl growing across his face; Smoky’s teeth barred as a guttural growl erupted from his esophagus.

  Dublow continued to walk steadily forward, meanwhile.

  He re-tightened his gloves. His back stood straight. His posture immaculate: one hand clasped behind his back whilst the other retrieved a pair of dual daggers.

  He clasped the two daggers between his fingers. Their polished surfaces reflected the light from the arena’s sconces.

  In the next moment, Smoky released an ear-splitting chitter as his tails whipped around him and soared towards Dublow.

  In response, the butler readied his stance. He bent his knees and leaned forward; no longer walking, Dublow burst forward with a speed that defied his silver-head of hair.

  Before Smoky’s tails could hit him, Dublow leaped above the assault — spiraled amongst the air — and gracefully landed beyond the beast’s tails.

  Then, Dublow’s arm snapped forward.

  “Sloppy.” He said under his breath.

  One dagger shot across the arena and precisely slid into Smoky’s right eye.

  The beast recoiled back.

  Smoky stumbled backwards — distraught — and tripped over his own legs.

  *BOOM*

  His impact rattled the arena’s pillars.

  Dublow’s daggers were too shallow, however, and Smoky still lived.

  Dublow rushed towards the beast.

  Meanwhile, the shadows thickened.

  Smoky’s tails slowly submerged into the shadow beneath him. With each tail, Smoky’s shadow grew enriched: darker, thicker, deeper.

  With his one good eye, Smoky snapped his neck around and glared at Dublow. His tails submerged in the shadows, Smoky once again whipped his tails towards the man.

  Although this time, Smoky’s tails sailed across the floor as a shadow. In an instant, it was as if ink had consumed the arena’s grounds. The lightless sea converged upon Dublow.

  Black pikes and dark spears exploded from the shadows. They shot towards Dublow with deadly precision, each shadow aimed for one of his natural vulnerabilities: his heart, his brain, neck, lungs, liver, spine.

  And yet, the butler’s remaining dagger moved like a blur. He parried each attack with measured precision, his movements were fluid and precise, as if he were performing a delicate dance.

  Sparks crackled in the gloom as metal clashed against shadow. Dublow’s feet moved with flawless rhythm as he weaved through the shadows' barrage. Each step of his consistently one step ahead of Smoky’s.

  While Dublow was temporarily restrained by the shadows, Smoky pulled himself to his feet. He was evidently slower than before, careful with his skull — wary of the blade jammed into his eye — but that was not enough to beckon retreat.

  Smoky called back his shadow tails and the relentless assault ceased. Then, the beast leaned forward onto all paws and charged straight towards Dublow.

  In response, Dublow reversed his grip on his dagger and held his arms up, assuming a defensive stance.

  Smoky pushed his hind legs into the tile and exploded into the air. Beneath him, the tile shattered.

  Just as Smoky leapt into the air, Dublow took off running. He ran towards the beast and, as it soared above him, Dublow slid the edge of his blade across Smoky’s underbelly.

  He cut from shoulder to hip.

  *BOOM*

  Smoky crashed against the ground. Blood pooled beneath him. His chest lay exposed. Weak breathing and panicked gurgles resounded throughout the arena, but the suffering was fleeting and Smoky bled out before the cold could further haunt him.

  Dublow retrieved his dagger and cleaned its blade.

  Martha studied the mural above.

  And Kuzo took note of Smoky’s development; that shadow attack was relentless. The beast was clearly progressing and with it, perhaps the Guild would bump the dungeon’s rating in the near future.

  Actually. Kuzo glanced over at Martha.

  “Hey Marth, Hyzen once mentioned that the dungeon was rated C due to the first floor not possessing enough mana-enhanced beasts, but given this Boss’s rare attunement and recent improvements — do you think the Guild would reconsider?”

  Martha looked up from her notebook.

  “It’s funny you mention that. There’s actually a bit of drama at Guild Headquarters right now because of that.”

  “What do you mean?” Kuzo asked.

  “Hmm. Well, you were an adventurer once, right, Mr. Kuzo?”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Then you should know the basic principles the Guild uses to rank the dungeons, right?”

  Kuzo scratched his chin. Couldn’t she just get to the point?

  “I consider myself familiar.” Kuzo agreed.

  “Well then you should know that although the Guild does consider metrics like the number of beasts, their rank, their attunement, and so on — one metric triumphs above all the rest.”

  “The mortality rate.” Kuzo said.

  “Precisely! The mortality rate! And this dungeon’s mortality rate is off the charts! Way higher than any C-rank dungeon should be, so the Guild is catching flak for it.” Martha explained.

  “Do you think they’ll raise the evaluation?” Kuzo asked.

  But Martha shook her head.

  “I doubt it.” She said. “They’ll most likely send another inspector. Someone with ties to HQ to appease the moaning Myrtle’s, but Master has yet to receive any messages about it.”

  “Be careful.” Dublow interrupted. “There’s something waiting for us at the bottom of these stairs.”

  Immediately, Kuzo and Martha heightened their senses.

  Kuzo drew his sword and Martha squeezed her wand.

  With each step, the second floor grew closer. Turquoise light enshrouded the entrance. Water dribbled off the ceiling and a thick mist invaded the air.

  Dublow stepped onto the second floor with his daggers in hand and his eyes scanning the peripheral. It was dark and damp.

  The air was thick with a still fog that smelled of mildew and iron. Beyond the fog and over the edge, the darkness retreated unto the abyss.

  The trio spread out.

  Martha nervously looked around. She tried to peer through the thick fog, but the swaths of mist were suffocating.

  “Dublow?” Kuzo questioned.

  Dublow raised his finger, silencing the party. They stood dead still. Meanwhile, Dublow cupped his ears.

  “…jump?”

  “….you….sure…?”

  Dublow heard whispers among the fog. Voices far traveled. He tried to narrow in, tried to pinpoint their location, but with the vast abyss beside him — the echoes ricocheted sporadically.

  Then, suddenly, the voice accelerated.

  “….aaaa…aaaaAAAAAHHHHH!!!!”

  Dublow’s gaze shot up.

  Kuzo too, his eyes rocketed upwards.

  “Scatter!” He shouted.

  From above, an adventurer plummeted down.

  *CRASH*

  His leather-bound chainmail slammed into the stone. Then, another followed.

  “AAAAAHHH!!!”

  *CRASH*

  The fog dissipated as dust billowed into the air. Beneath the algae’s glow, two adventurers lay smushed atop one another.

  Meanwhile, Erin returned to the fourth floor to consolidate his gains. He had watched Smoky’s battle and through it all, he discovered an anomaly within the squirrel's core.

  If Erin could recreate it, then perhaps bestowed magic was closer than he had thought.

  ***

  Cassian’s eyes burned. They were dry and bloodshot. His long black hair was clipped behind him and he wore robes — casual, relaxed — unlike the white kimono he typically adorned.

  His focus was fading, however; his eyes were glossed over and sweat readily pooled upon the cusp of his forehead. His delicate fingers cascaded across his metal table, towards a stash of vials and beakers that were haphazardly strewn about.

  His fingers clasped around a small vial that contained a clear liquid. With a pop, Cassian uncorked the vial and poured the liquid onto a petri dish. Then, he stared, watched, and observed.

  Cassian’s observation was unrelenting.

  The man did not blink.

  Sweat dripped down his nose.

  “Fascinating…” he muttered to himself.

  “Its molecular bonds are somehow hyper-stabilized… allowing for… energy to be stored at a density greater than normal.” Cassian remarked.

  He pulled away from his microscope and allowed himself to blink. Lost in thought, he continued to ramble.

  “How can so much energy stay inert? The molecules should combust… or at the very least should be in a gaseous state but…” Cassian looked at the other vial’s of the fountain’s water.

  “If the water’s enhanced then… it must respond to some catalyst… but what?”

  *ding*

  Then, the chime of a bell interrupted Cassian’s thoughts. His lab door opened and Seven entered.

  “Lord Cassian.” She bowed. “The quest has been posted.”

  “Good.”

  Seven maintained her bow, however; she stared at the floor and clenched her fists at her sides.

  “What?” Cassian noticed.

  But the girl merely flinched in response.

  “You may speak freely.”

  “Lord Cassian.” Seven straightened herself as she gazed into Cassian’s eyes.

  Seconds passed in the eerie silence.

  “Why did you post an assistance quest at the Guild? A-Are we not good enough?” Seven asked at a volume just above a whisper.

  Cassian stood from his stool. He scanned Seven from head to toe with a soft gaze.

  “Seven…” Cassian pushed the hair out of her eyes, “you will always be enough for me, but dungeon’s are dangerous — this one even more so. I don’t intend to make Dublow my errand boy forever, always risking his life to fetch silly things like water or blood samples… I need you two by my side. The assistants can handle the dungeon.”

  Seven gazed at Cassian. She looked between each of his eyes all while hesitation clouded her own.

  “Okay.” She said.

  And a short smile crept along her face.

  Meanwhile, Cassian returned to his stool and microscope. The water fascinated him, but there was still more to digest: the algae, blood samples, various assortments of hair and nails. Dublow was even able to secure a manacorn.

  Cassian needed to see it all. And he had no intention of leaving his lab until he was finished — hence the need for assistants; younglings, most likely pre-teens or teenagers who weren’t old enough to officially register as adventurers, but were still able to accept mundane quests from the Guild — anything D-rated and below.

  Cassian needed just a few spare hands to aid in his daily life. He needed a messenger boy and a cook at the very least, but he was hoping for a few responses from the Guild. Somewhere around five assistants felt appropriate, Cassian thought.

  That was tomorrow's issue, fortunately. For now, Cassian studied the intricacies of the dungeon’s various products. Every dungeon housed a goldmine, after all, the gold just needed to be discovered.

  One more chapter coming right up!

  Served hot and ready!

  Just the way you like it!