AI Apocalypse Resurgence: An Apocalyptic LitRPG Adventure (AI Apocalypse: Restart Book 3), page 10
She smiled and explained, “He was my bodyguard for the last fifteen years. Saved my life when all this started. Didn’t even hesitate and picked a Warrior Class within seconds of the Event. I thought it was all nonsense. Now I am starting to think it was a mistake not to have chosen as well. I just thought they were ridiculous—like those children’s video games my granddaughter plays.”
I blinked in astonishment. “Hang on. Are you telling me you haven’t chosen a Class?”
Margaret smiled ruefully, “No. The several options I was given were not useful in the slightest, and at the time, I thought it was all a hallucination. Now that I know better, I might take another look since you told me about the ability to force the blasted machine to show further options.”
Stopping in my tracks, I rounded on the older woman. “Listen very carefully. You have the opportunity to make a major difference for yourself and these people. You need to command the System to filter your choices to rare classes and above. Look for magic classes—something that will let you lead these people, protect them, or heal them. Something that the others who picked the basic choices can’t do for themselves.”
She inclined her head thoughtfully and said, “Yes, I recall what you told the group. Possessing both offensive and supportive magic will render the dungeons far more manageable and consequently accelerate the pace of our advancement. It still defies everything I once considered rational, yet I can no longer see any wisdom in persisting with skepticism.”
I pulled a coin out of my inventory. It was one of only a handful of platinum mana coins I had earned. “Hold this while you are in the selection. You probably have already been exposed to mana enough to have a Magical Aptitude score, but just in case, this has a lot of mana infused into it. Perhaps it will help you get assigned better magic Class options. Oh, one last thing—look for any Classes that have an asterisk next to them. Those are either unique one-of-a-kind classes, or they come with a bloodline attached, which will give you additional racial abilities.”
She glanced at my head shrewdly, “Such as those horns of yours, Mr. Bell?”
I chuckled. This was one sharp old bat. I had forgotten I still had them manifested after the battle. “Yes. I have a draconic bloodline Class. It has made me incredibly powerful compared to the basic fighters and warriors.”
Not waiting, the older woman’s eyes glazed over as she interacted with the System. I stood there uncomfortably, waiting. What seemed like a long time was probably no more than ten or fifteen minutes.
I could tell when she finished because her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell unconscious. I barely caught her before she hit the ground. I lowered her gently the rest of the way, but then she began screaming as her body went rigid and light emanated from every pore.
George came running, ready to attack me, but I held up my hands and called out, “She selected her Class! This is her getting special abilities—she will be fine in a minute.”
Thankfully, it didn’t last long. Many of the survivors were already glancing over at us, fear plain on their faces as though something terrible was about to happen. Thankfully, George had a good head on his shoulders and immediately began calming them, speaking steady words that reassured the group.
When Margaret’s eyes opened, there was a new light burning in them, and she was visibly changing before my eyes. She looked drained from the ordeal, yet a brilliant smile spread across her face.
“Thank you for the sagacious advice. Because of it—and likely your influence—I was offered a bloodline Class.”
Grinning, I prompted, “Well, don’t keep me in suspense. What did you get?”
Was it just my imagination, or were her wrinkles smoothing out?
She smiled, “It is called Warpriest, with a Hydra bloodline. I chose it because it carries some rather powerful sounding offensive spells, along with strong healing abilities and several skills tied to command and directing battles.”
With my hand steadying her, she stood, flexing her fingers experimentally. A soft smile tugged at her lips as I noticed the subtle change in her posture, her frame already firmer, her face noticeably more toned. “It seems the regenerative aspect of the bloodline has already started reversing some of my years.”
She shook her head slightly, a wondering look in her eyes. “Some of this new knowledge just… feels instinctual.”
I gave her a grin. “Welcome to an elite club. With that Class, you can grow into someone very powerful—a force for good. You can help humanity not only survive what’s already happened, but endure what’s coming next.”
Margaret’s brow furrowed. “You say that, yet I stand here at only Level 1, with no comprehension of how one is meant to ascend in strength. My family built a major corporation—my father founded it just after the war, and I assumed leadership when he passed in ’03. I know how to marshal resources, direct people, and manage enterprises. But this?” She gestured faintly toward her own hands, her expression caught between doubt and resolve. “This is raw, personal power, and I have never in my life been inclined toward violence.”
Leading the way toward the dungeon below, I patted her shoulder. “I’m afraid that’s something you’re going to have to learn if you want to lead this group or protect anyone—including yourself.”
She walked quietly beside me as we explored the big underground chamber. Thankfully, the compass led us directly to a cage door at the back of the facility. I hadn’t paid it much attention the first time through since there had been no prisoners inside.
This time, however, I noticed the dull glow of a dungeon entrance. It looked like a jagged crack in the wall, something that could easily have been caused when the keep’s second floor collapsed, sending tons of stone crashing down into the first. A few stress fractures in the rock would not have been surprising—but now that my attention was fixed on it, I could feel the unmistakable tug of a dungeon, and right on cue, the unwelcome System thoughts and sensations flooded into my mind.
The fissure itself glowed faintly, a dull reddish-orange like embers smoldering deep within the rock. Warm, sour air pulsed out in faint breaths, carrying the stench of sweat, iron, and unwashed bodies. The stone seemed to twitch and shift with each breath, as though forced open by some malignant presence gnawing its way outward.
I was getting much better at recognizing the System’s forced intrusions. Ignoring the short barrage of input, I triggered Treasure Sense and focused on analyzing the entrance.
Name: Hobgoblin Warrens
Grade: Low Dungeon – Caves (Ambush Lairs)
Level Range: 4–15
Environment:
A network of crude caverns reinforced with rough-hewn timber and scavenged stone, reeking of sweat, smoke, and damp earth. Narrow tunnels and low ceilings favor ambushes and make retreat difficult. Expect hidden firing alcoves, simple barricades, and swarming tactics.
I shared the results of my skill and added, “Just stay behind me and let me do the work. I’ll add you to my party so you’ll get half the experience whether or not you land any hits. Wait for me to engage, but once combat starts, feel free to try out your spells and skills.”
I sent her a party invite, and she accepted almost immediately. A moment later, her health and mana bars appeared on my mini-map, hovering just at the edge of my vision.
Margaret’s POV
Margaret stepped through the entrance into her first dungeon.
At once, the air shifted, thick and oppressive, tinged with the acrid bite of iron and sweat. The rough-hewn stone passage opened into a cavernous hall lit only by guttering torches, their flames sputtering as though reluctant to burn here. Shadows clung stubbornly to the walls, stretching and twisting in unnatural shapes. The ground was uneven beneath her feet, worn smooth in some places by the tramp of countless boots, jagged in others where the rock had split.
The smell was fetid, an amalgam of unwashed bodies and damp earth, undercut by a coppery tang that could only be blood. From somewhere deeper within came the echo of guttural voices, coarse laughter reverberating down the tunnels.
For the first time since the Event, she felt she had truly stepped into another world—one built for predators, where humans like her had never been meant to walk.
It was just as Liam had mentioned, and even knowing the thoughts were not her own, it was hard to distinguish them as System intrusions.
She wasn’t sure what to think. She had never truly believed in this whole System malarkey—not until now. This strange young man had opened her eyes to its possibilities, dragging her worldview out of the dust and igniting it. Because of him, she now carried a unique bloodline Class, something she still didn’t fully understand, but it already felt immense. In only minutes since her body had changed, she felt twenty years younger. Her joints no longer ached, her breath came easy, her skin felt tighter, and her stride was lighter. If such a transformation could be wrought so suddenly, then surely this System could also grant her the strength to protect those under her care.
She followed close behind Liam, watching in astonishment as he tore into the first trio of hobgoblins. With a single swipe of his claws, all three were reduced to corpses, their bodies dropping so fast she almost doubted her own eyes. Then a flood of energy rushed into her—a sensation so alien and electric that she stumbled. Experience. She had leveled.
She gasped, clutching her chest, staring wide-eyed at the large glowing notification that filled the corner of her vision. The strange sensation of her body shifting with new vitality left her reeling.
Liam half-turned, eyes narrowing in concern. But she waved him off quickly, forcing herself to stand straighter. “I’m fine. I… leveled up.”
He grinned and shot her a thumbs-up, though the gesture looked bizarre with his talons gleaming faintly in the dim light. Still, he paid her no more attention, moving on with relentless purpose. She scrambled to keep up as he moved from one cavern to the next, slaughtering Level Four goblins so quickly her eyes could barely track him. She was only half-surprised when she leveled again after a handful more kills, her body once again tingling with that strange, invigorating rush.
“Is it always like this?” she asked breathlessly.
Chuckling, her terrifying young mentor shook his head. “No. It slows down pretty quick. But these first levels will go by in a blur. Honestly, I’ll be surprised if you’re not at least Level 6 or 7 by the time we clear this dungeon.”
So they pressed on. Next were the hobgoblin slingers. Pitiful little things compared to the monsters who had captured her and her people, but it was deeply satisfying to see them cut down. Liam dispatched the first group with casual ease, but when the next appeared, he actually stepped aside and nodded for her to try. Margaret’s heart hammered in her chest as she raised her hand. A ball of fire bloomed at her fingertips—far too easily, as if the knowledge had always been there. She hurled it, and the spell roared into the slingers, exploding in their midst. The smell of singed flesh and scorched leather filled the cavern. Liam’s follow-up was mercifully swift, finishing them before they could scream too long.
Even so, Margaret felt her stomach turn at the reality of it. This wasn’t one of her granddaughter’s video games. The gore was real. The bodies didn’t vanish right away; they bled, they burned, they twitched. Still, she forced herself to stand straighter, to remind herself that these were monsters, not people. The satisfaction of vengeance, small though it was, helped.
In less than ten minutes, they had advanced deeper, carving through hobgoblin warriors. Margaret practiced with her spells as they went, alternating between her healing spell and fireball until the motions began to feel natural. To her amazement, her new Hydra bloodline let her keep pace without panting or faltering. Once, the thought of near-jogging through a cave system would have winded her in seconds. Now, she felt strong—stronger than she’d ever been in her life.
Then came the hobgoblin protectors—armored elites, bigger and tougher than the warriors. Yet Liam cut them down almost carelessly. What unsettled her most was that he didn’t even seem to use his skills. No incantations, no flash of magic, just raw strength and claws. She realized after a few minutes that he only slowed at all so she could keep up.
And then, almost before she realized how far they had gone, they stood before a cavern larger than the others. A sense of dread hung in the air.
The chamber yawned wide, the ceiling vanishing into shadow high above. Massive stone pillars, crudely carved yet hulking and immovable, lined the sides. At the far end, a dais of black rock jutted upward, and upon it stood the shaman—the hobgoblin lord of this place. Its skin was a sickly ochre, its frame draped in ragged hides painted with symbols that seemed to writhe when she looked at them too long. A staff topped with a skull smoldered faintly with unnatural light, casting eerie green reflections on its leering face.
Around it, lesser hobgoblins shifted and muttered, their eyes glowing faintly in the torchlight. The entire room seemed to pulse with malignant anticipation, as though the dungeon itself were holding its breath, waiting for them to step further in.
Margaret’s heart thundered, her fingers tightening on her staff. She had negotiated boardrooms, commanded thousands of employees, and stared down hostile investors without flinching—but never had she felt so small beneath that cavern’s oppressive silence.
Liam paused to explain the rules of boss rooms: how they sealed behind you, how one either triumphed or perished within, how bosses often concealed stratagems far beyond what the dungeon had revealed up to that point. Margaret listened with rapt attention, like a schoolgirl absorbing her lessons, committing every word to memory. She knew she would need to transmit this knowledge to the others. To preserve the fortress, to preserve themselves, they would need it desperately.
Humanity’s greatest enemy might not even be the monsters, but other men. Not all who came would arrive in friendship. Some would covet, some would kill, and with no laws remaining, nothing would stay their hands.
But Margaret Tarrant would not allow that fate. She would bring George and others into this dungeon, repeat these lessons, and grind strength from the stone itself until they were strong enough to hold what was theirs.
The entrance sealed behind them with a thunderous crash, cutting off all chance of retreat. Panic threatened to rise in her throat, but Liam’s unflinching calm anchored her.
For the first time, he actually cast a spell. Chains of shadow burst from the stone floor, entwining the hobgoblin shaman so completely that it could scarcely breathe, much less move. Then Liam was gone, moving too swiftly for her eyes to follow, and the lesser goblins began to fall—their heads parting from their bodies before they even realized death had come.
When only the shaman remained, Liam turned to her, eyes gleaming with invitation. “Do you want to do the honors?”
Her mouth went dry, but she inclined her head. Stepping forward, Margaret raised her hand, summoned her fireball, and hurled it with all her strength. The spell engulfed the hobgoblin shaman in roaring flame. It shrieked once, then ceased to move.
Her vision erupted with notifications—dungeon complete, boss defeated, monsters slain, level up, level up, level up.
She was almost incredulous to realize she had risen all the way to Level 10 in scarcely half an hour. The rapidity of it left her dizzy.
Chuckling once more, her young mentor pointed toward a chest that had appeared where the monster’s body had fallen. “That one’s yours. No traps on this one—go ahead and open it.”
Did she catch a fleeting shadow of pain in his expression as he said it? Surely not.
Moving forward with deliberate composure, Margaret opened the rough stone chest. Inside were two potions, one of mana and one of health—precisely as Liam had said she would always find. But there was more: a set of armored robes. She lifted them with reverence, letting the weight of the fabric rest across her arms as she examined the fine weave and reinforced seams.
Liam’s smile was genuinely pleased. “I’ll step outside so you can try those on.”
When she had donned them, Margaret felt safer than she had in days. The robes seemed to hum faintly with latent power. According to Liam, they granted twenty-five percent magic deflection—a protection he insisted was astonishingly strong for one just beginning her journey.
What he said next surprised her, leaving her unsettled.
“This is it, Mrs. Tarrant. I need to stay behind and deal with all my gains in the Stronghold. Once cleared, the dungeon is safe until it closes, and I need those minutes of safety before I make a run for the next dungeon.”
As she was about to leave, her young mentor offered two final pieces of counsel. “When the Shop opens, you should try to get an Analyze skill. And if you intend to lead these people, look for truth detection as well. It’ll help you know whether those seeking shelter are sincere—or up to no good.”
Margaret inclined her head, smiling faintly. “That is exceedingly sagacious advice, my young friend.”
On the way out, she paused in each chamber to collect the copper mana coins. Liam had refused to tarry even long enough to scoop them up on their way to the boss. Still, these would be invaluable to her people once the Shop became available, and she could only thank her young mentor for this bounty of levels and treasure.
As she stepped back into the afternoon light, she whispered, “Be well, Liam Bell. The hopes of many now rest upon your shoulders.”
Chapter 11
Secrets from the System
Liam’s POV
I hadn’t wanted to make an issue of it when Margaret was with me. She already had enough to handle, and I wasn’t sure it was wise to let her people know I’d stumbled across a hidden zone inside this dungeon. If the AI was telling the truth, the System would kill anyone it caught poking around in places like this. I had special dispensation to communicate with the AI Node under certain circumstances, but the average person didn’t. And from what I’d seen, the damned thing wouldn’t waste time asking questions—it would just kill them and move on.
