Dungeon Heart: Halls of Stone, page 24
“Swift as always.”
“I wouldn’t be the right hand of the king if I wasn’t.”
“Well that is true as well.” Ikfes leaned in his seat, his face looking upwards towards the ceiling. It took a minute, but a smile spread widely on his face. “By the way, that was a clever trick, the one that Azure Arrow pulled on us.”
“The contract with the lady that lost her team?” Alester replied curiously.
“Yeah that one. Creating a contract in the dungeon, writing it on leather... Very clever if you ask me,” Ikfes chuckled. “We should have specified that the contract had to be made before entering the dungeon.”
Barking a laugh, Alester finally smiled properly. “We live and learn, dear friend. Live and learn.”
At the heart of the kingdom of Mussol, the royal capitol of Hyspa stood proudly. Protected by walls of stone and noble warriors, the city was the crowning jewel of the entire kingdom. At its heart, the royal palace stood. Its dark towers crafted of basaltic stone reached up into the sky, providing archers with an excellent vantage point, should they ever need to defend the palace.
It was within this architectural marvel that one could hear the roaring laughter of King Vas as he celebrated the contents of the letter he had just received. Though the death of so many talented individuals was a sad moment for the adventurers, the fact that Ravoul had disappeared and had probably died was cause for celebration. The man had his hands in a variety of shady deals, ranging from illegal slavery to the trafficking of restricted items.
In other words, he was a real pain in the kingdom’s side. The only reason why the authorities had been unable to apprehend him was that there had never been quite enough evidence to convict him, and people that were supposed to testify against him had the annoying tendency to mysteriously disappear.
As a king of the people, Vas wanted nothing more than to behead him and be rid of him once and for all, but Ravoul had had his hands in too many pockets and too many friends with too much power. Moreover, he had had influence among a large number of merchants that operated both inside and outside the kingdom. Attacking him or killing him brazenly without any solid proof would cause an uproar amongst nobles, and it would terrify the merchants who saw him as one of their own.
The man had caused Vas more headaches than he cared to remember, and long had he dreamed of ridding himself of the arrogant noble. And now, it seemed that his wish had been granted, and by a dungeon no less! A young dungeon had done what no man in the kingdom had managed to do, leaving the crown free of any direct association to his death.
The occurrence was a god-sent gift. Sure, he would have to find a way to maneuver around the political unrest that would inevitably follow the death of a person that had had such a large presence in the kingdom, but for all intents and purposes this was a golden opportunity for him to swoop in and pick up those newly untethered connections that Ravoul had had in his pocket for so long. The merchants were a wily bunch and they would not trust him easily, but they were also clever. He had little doubt that at the very least a number of the most influential traders would be more than happy to align themselves with him (and his deep pockets backed by royal treasury) now that Ravoul was gone.
“Good. Good!” King Vas boomed merrily, smiling as he spoke to his empty studio. He took a minute to bask in the happy thought of not having to deal with Ravoul before he continued to read the letter. Its contents grew more interesting as he read on.
Alester had kindly provided a summary of the events that had transpired in the contest, and the king found himself engrossed in the tale that he was reading. Even with all his experience, he had never seen or heard of a tale such as this. The dungeon was much more than he had dared to hope, and he was certain that this little dungeon at the edges of his kingdom belonged to the upper echelons of dungeons. This dungeon had to be the beginnings of a Heroic dungeon at least, if not a Legendary one.
Thus, the importance of this dungeon had suddenly escalated to become far more than a national resource, becoming a national treasure in the king’s mind.
Yet, how could he deal with it without arousing suspicion?
He was certain that it wouldn’t be long before the neighboring nations caught wind of the result of the contest, and if he suddenly sent an armed force to the edge of his kingdom it would arouse suspicion, or worse, it could be mistaken as his kingdom readying for war. On the other hand, should anyone figure out the true worth of the dungeon then it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that many countries would be more than happy to start a war to acquire it.
And since the dungeon was so close to the border of the kingdom it would be an easy target. It would be more weird if the neighboring countries didn’t try to take the dungeon upon discovering its potential.
The king sat and brooded over the situation, pondering the best course of action when the doors to his studio swung open gently. Looking up from his luxurious seat, the king made eye contact with the bronze-skinned beauty that was his wife. Even after all these years her beauty had not faded. Her eyes were a deep brown that sparkled in the sunlight, and her wavy hair was as dark as night. High cheekbones and delicate nose complemented her gentle features, making her look somewhat like a fairy. Her body was lithe and feminine, covered by a silk dress colored royal blue and threaded with gold string. In her arms rested sweet little Honey, purring away with eyes half shut while his beloved queen petted him idly.
He would be lying if he said that she didn’t take his breath away.
He smiled at her warmly, and promptly stood with his arms outstretched towards her, pulling her into a big hug while their lips met in a kiss.
“My beloved,” he said with a bright smile, “what brings the queen of my heart here?”
“You sappy old lion,” the queen said with a chuckle, as she leaned into the embrace. “I came looking for my dear husband who has been locked away in this room since lunch. I heard you laugh all the way from down the hall. You were laughing so hard and for so long that I was worried that you would end up suffocating yourself by forgetting how to draw breath between your howls of laughter.”
“Bah, you underestimate me, Shana,” the king said dismissively, still smiling at her. “I am not yet so feebleminded as to forget to breathe.”
“Whatever you say, beloved,” she said teasingly before she parted from the embrace. “So tell me, what was it that had you bursting at the seams with merriment? I haven’t heard you laugh like that since Emma set fire to Alester’s rear end by accident when she was nine.”
“Ah yes, I remember that,” Vas said, grinning at the memory, but he soon returned to the present. “Poor man. I had to placate him with quite the expensive wine that time. Wait, before I get distracted, here, have a look at this.”
The queen received the card from the king’s hands, and started to read. As a scholar and enchantress, her attention to detail was one of the best he had ever seen. Within minutes she had read and reread the entire letter, committing it to memory.
“That’s quite a lot of news,” she said thoughtfully. “Are they certain that Ravoul is dead?”
“There is no body to prove it,” the king said, “but their arguments are sound. I can’t imagine Ravoul faking his death for anything or anyone, nor can I imagine that the nobles have become so short sighted as to assassinate one of their key players for some minor gain in the short term. To me, this seems like a very legitimate incident. Ravoul is most likely dead. I would say the odds are twenty to one that he was truly killed by the dungeon, and every day that passes, those odds increasingly favor his death.”
“And what do you plan to do with the dungeon?”
“I am still thinking about that one,” the king admitted. “As much as I would like to send in our forces to protect it, I can’t send too large a force. If I did, I have no doubt that it might be seen as preparation for a war of some sort. That would only antagonize our neighbors and invite them to attack.”
“The army?” the queen asked incredulously. “My love, you can’t truly have considered them. Even if this dungeon is as rare as we think it is, the risk is too great. More importantly, if the dungeon is completely self-aware and as intelligent as the reports make it out to be, then could you imagine what it would think if it found itself surrounded by an armed force? Not only would we have a potential war on our hands, but we might turn the dungeon hostile to us.”
“How would the dungeon know that it’s surrounded by the army?” Vas asked curiously.
“I am not sure,” the queen admitted, “but there is something awfully strange about the speed at which it prepared itself to deal with the adventurers. We are talking of fending off well over a hundred B rank adventurers, here. It must have some sort of sensory ability that provides it with at least marginal knowledge of what goes on around it.”
“Hmm... I had not considered that,” the king said. “Perhaps you are right. All the more reason to avoid that route.”
“I think that you should just send some undercover agents for now to keep an eye on the dungeon,” the queen said. “And ask Ikfes to stay there for a while, at least until we have had a word with the new ruling lady of the area. Then if we could station a few court mages and some strong captains at the village, they would be far more inconspicuous than an entire army.”
“Hmm, place a few key individuals to hold the line, huh...” the king said thoughtfully, mulling the idea over. “If they are met by a large force of skilled individuals it could be trouble, but that should work fine as long as they remain undercover.”
“That’s the idea,” the queen said with a smile. “You could also start by training a proper militia in the area and fortifying the town proper. It wouldn’t hurt at least.”
“Brilliant as always,” the king said with a laugh, his mood only improving after talking with her.
“Yes, yes, I’m a genius,” the queen replied, fighting to hold back her own laughter. “Now, isn’t it about time you sent a letter to Lady Dian Vela Rossa? She wasn’t one of the nobles we backed in the competition. It would be wise to hurry bringing her over to our side as fast as possible, before the nobles catch wind of it.”
“Yes, we should get to that,” the king nodded as he tried to rein in his mood a little. “Right then. I suppose it’s time to schedule a royal visit to the village of Nam, isn’t it?”
Chapter 20
Deep in the stone halls of the dungeon, Smit found himself working tirelessly on his new room. The dwarf did not have enough power for another breakthrough just yet, but he had more than enough to push the boundaries of his dungeon just a bit, enough to craft a small room right next to his dungeon core room.
The room itself was no more than six meters wide and ten long, with perhaps two-and-a-half meter high ceilings, but even that volume had been considerably costly compared to what it should have been. As Smit had expected, once he reached a certain size at a given breakthrough level, expanding became significantly more difficult. He didn’t mind that, however, as he didn’t need the room to be any larger than this.
He was not planning on creating a mass production assembly like those massive breweries that the dwarven kingdom had, nor was he planning on opening a large restaurant that required the finest wines. He had but one goal: beer! Ales! Mead! Maybe even some wine when he acquired grapes as a plant he could grow. But for now, simple alcohols would do, and therefore there was no need to overextend himself at the moment for the sake of finding or acquiring more extravagant ingredients. He was no expert in the field of brewing either, and he was only barely aware of the basics of it all. Hence, it suited him just fine to start experimenting with a small selection of plants.
There was a fiery determination in his eyes as Smit focused on his project, shutting out any external influences from affecting his work. He began by making the area as clean as he could, with smooth floors that would not get in the way of anyone working here. Then he created what could be considered a fireplace, right against the wall. The fireplace was circular, rising a couple of feet like a miniature tower. On top of it, Smit created a sturdy iron grill that could hold the weight of a large copper cauldron full of water. Above that, he created a vent that would draw out any smoke, and utilized both earth and wind spirits to carry it out of the room and cleanse it.
Next, he created two separate cauldrons, as well as several small barrels made from baked clay. The cauldrons would serve to start the process by boiling water for the brew and roasting the grains used for ales and beers. The small barrels would be used to rest the brew and allow it to ferment appropriately. Admittedly, it saddened him that he couldn’t make the barrels out of oak, as that would add to the flavor, but he did not yet have the ability to create the wood as he did with stones. Clay was easily formed and baked into the desired shape, and it allowed him to mould it easily into any shape he wanted. For now, the clay barrels would have to do, but he vowed to himself that he would upgrade the barrels as soon as he could.
Lastly, he created a handheld millstone and an elongated mortar so that he could roll the millstone along it. While not the most efficient way to mill the grain, it would allow him to crush it efficiently, and enable him to control how finely to mill the grain. In theory, this was all that was really needed for brewing, as far as large equipment was concerned. However, that was not to say that it was as simple as that. Any dwarf worth their salt knew that ale could not be made with water alone. One needed malt! Without malt, one might as well be making honey water.
Malting was the process in which the grains used for beer would be soaked and then allowed to sit until they were dry. Once the grains started to germinate, it was imperative to crush them appropriately to ensure it could be fermented properly.
Hence, he had created a large table on the other end of the room, beside which was a large copper barrel with water. This is where the grains would be malted appropriately. Sadly, he did not have any of the right grains among his resources either. Without them, the process had come to a standstill.
That said, it should not be a problem for long. The day after the adventurers had left his dungeon, Smit had endeavored to create a handful of larger spy mice, with larger brains than the previous ones. Their goal was simple: to go out and gather small plants, specifically rye, oats, and wheat, even corn if they could find it. Any plant that could be considered consumable and a grain he wanted in his repertoire. Most importantly, he wanted the plants alive, as difficult as that could be. It didn’t matter what happened to them after they arrived at the dungeon; all that mattered was that they got here alive, and then died here, so he could absorb them and recreate them as he wished.
Though the task sounded quite simple, it would still be extremely difficult for something like a mouse, even with the augmentations that Smit had given them. Despite this, Smit was confident that some of his mice might succeed, if not for any other reason than the fact that about a day’s walk away there was a village booming with crops, due to the crown’s kick-starting of its economy.
Under these conditions it should be possible for some of his mice to make it back with the plants. Heck, even if only one or two of his mice succeeded, it would be more than good enough for his purposes. And if all of them failed, they were just mice with little magic cores. He could produce a small army of them in a matter of minutes if he so wished.
Rubbing his hands together in anticipation, Smit hummed eagerly as he returned to his room, sitting down in his cross-legged position. He could scarcely wait to taste the bountiful nectar that was alcohol, but it would do him no good to simply stand there and wait for his mice.
And so, he began to cultivate.
It had been several weeks since he had enough time to cultivate at all, and he was very aware of the fact that his growth had stagnated. Over the last three weeks, though the deaths of adventurers had supplied him with large quantities of anima, stopping their advance had actually prevented him from gaining any mana at all. If anything, they had managed to deplete his reserves by forcing him to modify the dungeon while they were in it.
He sighed heavily at the thought of their contest. Not for the first time, he wondered what he could have done differently that would have made things go in a better direction for him. That was not to say that it had ended poorly, but he felt that there might have been a better way to handle it... he just didn’t know what that way would have been.
Eventually he waved away such thoughts, and focused on the task at hand. He had more than enough incentive to work hard and gather strength. He had been invaded by goblins and adventurers, and a messenger from an ancient god had come to pay him a visit. Gods didn’t usually just visit a dungeon.
Perhaps it was the stress of the last few weeks or just his own mind overthinking everything, but something in him whispered that his troubles were far from over. It was just a tiny little voice, the echo of a whisper, but he trusted it. He might have been old, but his instincts had been tempered over the centuries, watching history unfold before him. Age gave way to wisdom, and he had learned to not dismiss such thoughts, or at least, not immediately.
If his premonition was the result of frayed nerves and the worry of an old soul, he could hardly be blamed, considering the recent turn of events. Even if it turned out to be baseless worry, there would be no downsides to getting stronger.
And so he cultivated with an unwavering dedication.
He became tranquility itself, a void that called forth the powers of the world.
Ziggurd’s soul meandered the halls of the dungeon aimlessly, admiring the artwork around him. It was quite different to observe the dungeon when he felt no threat to his life. While he had been surprised by the dungeon previously, he hadn’t quite been able to admire it properly. Not that anyone could fault him for that; survival was paramount, after all. Even with weeks wandering the halls, there was only so much that a person could appreciate while being in constant motion and worrying about being attacked and torn to pieces.
