Dungeon Calamity (The Divine Dungeon Book 3)

by Dakota Krout

  “You would do well to realize exactly who you are threatening,” Brianna stated in a bored tone. “Dale here is a landed Baron in both the Lion and the Phoenix Kingdoms, and a Duke of the Huine nation. Attacking him would start a very large scale war against the High Elves.”

  The group leaving slowed, looking at each other. They grudgingly walked back to their seats and sat down. The main Elf–frowning–opened his mouth, but Dale cut him off with a slice of his hand. “Nope, your turn is over for now. Amazons?”

  “We heard that there was clean Essence and powerful weapons in the dungeon. We want access.” The spokeswoman jumped directly into conversation, ignoring the annoyed squawk from the Elf.

  Frank coughed into his hand, eyes lighting up. “Are you registered with the Guild?”

  She shook her head sharply. “Sign on to a Guild run by men? Please. What would be the point? Get drooled on by cattle as we walk around in tight leather armor?”

  Tyler took over, as business and taxes was his area of expertise. “For non-Guild affiliated parties, the tax rate is currently twenty percent. For a foreign group such as yourselves, there is a ten percent rate that you must pay directly to Lord Dale’s personal account. There is also an export tax of fifteen percent for both the Lion and Phoenix Kingdoms. Though Dale is a Duke of the Dark elves, they have no authority to claim taxes, else it may be higher.” Dale was startled at the amounts stated; he had no idea it would cost them that much to go into the dungeon.

  Apparently, neither had the Amazon. “Y-you want us to pay a sixty percent tribute of the goods we collect in the dungeon?”

  “And I will require a binding Mana contract to that effect,” Tyler finished cheerfully. His eyes were alight, and he was happily thinking of ways to invest the money they would bring to the city. Maybe Dale could finally get his city-run bathhouse. The lady tried to argue, but her attempts at negotiation met only stony yet merry resistance.

  Having failed completely to get concessions, the Amazonian ground her teeth, leaned back, and nodded. “Fine. Expect trainees to arrive at the start of the week. We’ll get your contract signed, even if it is an abyssal deal.”

  “To the Dwarves!” Dale spoke with gusto, pointing at the stout people and moving the meeting along before tempers could flare higher.

  The Dwarf gave a friendly wave. “Hey there. We tracked a recent purchase of Mithril to this Dungeon. We also want access.”

  The council looked amongst themselves; they knew this information would leak out, but it was faster than they had expected. Tyler sighed as he uncomfortably broke the silence, “It is true; the Mithril came from this location.”

  A mad rush of noise followed this statement as the other delegations suddenly started speaking over each other. Tyler waved his arms, “Hey!” he shouted sharply, calming the groups down. “It has only appeared once in a way someone could claim. Once in over a cumulative five thousand different dives into the dungeon!”

  “And who got it?” The Dwarves were eyeing the merchant with undisguised greed.

  “Th-that isn’t for me to say.” Tyler swallowed at the glares that were being directed his way. First the Amazons, now the Dwarves!

  Dale interceded on his friend’s behalf, “We have a policy of discretion, which I am sure you can appreciate. If they want you to know, they will come forward with that information themselves. We’ve had issues in the past with people attacking someone for a large sum of money or a powerful Inscribed item.” Tyler nodded sadly at this, remembering the time when he nearly lost an expensive pickaxe to thieves.

  “You aren’t making many friends today, lad.” The Dwarf sat back and steepled his sausage-like fingers.

  Dale sighed and wryly smiled. “Truly, I am trying to make friends, but none of you are giving me good incentive to help you out. They threatened us,” he waved in the general direction of the Elves, “they have been needlessly rude,” he waved at the Amazons, “and you hit against a city regulation. To your credit, at least you’ve been polite about it and haven’t threatened me. Is that about to change?”

  The Dwarves gained a considering look, and the spokesdwarf slowly nodded. “Alright, you make a good point. What would you say if I told you I’m authorized by Thane Moonshadow to open trade routes between our cities? Could that grease the wheels of our discussions?”

  There was silence for a few moments. Most of the gathered people were quiet due to shock, but Dale kept his mouth closed out of confusion. “I’m sorry to say, I don’t-”

  “Dale, hush!” Tyler gave a small panicked laugh as he squeezed Dale’s arm hard enough to bruise a non-cultivator. “This needs to be a private negotiation.”

  “... I see.” Dale nodded at the Dwarf. “If you would be so kind, can we resume this discussion after this meeting?”

  “Certainly,” the Dwarf magnanimously agreed, giving a self-satisfied smirk at the Elves. “Let’s have a drink later?”

  Dale turned to the High Elves. “Access to the Silverwood tree will have to be granted by the Dark Elves. I’m sorry, there is nothing I can do, we made a deal. Now, access to the dungeon is a different matter. That is under my control and mine alone.” His eyes darkened. “As of this moment, you will not have access to the dungeon.”

  “What?” The Elf roared for the second time today. “Then what in the abyss is the point of talking to you! Even if we successfully bargained with these trumped-up marauders, we couldn’t do anything about it!”

  “You are going to have to earn access,” Dale asserted powerfully. “It will not be easy. It will not be cheap. You think the Amazons have a high rate?” His voice was rising in volume as he whipped himself into a fury.

  “They at least didn’t waltz in here and threaten to kill me! I’ll agree to whatever terms the Dark Elves negotiate on my behalf. Have fun with that! Good day to you!” With this declaration, Dale ended the meeting and walked out with the Dwarves, leaving behind the fuming Elves, as well as the Amazonians, who were now feeling much happier with the bargain they had made. The Dark Elves also looked pleasantly surprised at the gift Dale had just handed them.

  Dale, the council, and the Dwarves were taking a tour of the area to cool their tempers. By the time they found the tavern, the snow was turning to sleet and running down their cloaks. They stepped indoors to a groan from the general populace as the heat was instantly leached out of the building.

  “We need to find a way to block that.” Tyler muttered as they got jokingly dirty looks from the people drinking inside.

  “Can I buy you a drink?” Dale offered the group of Dwarves.

  “Oh-ho! You sure do know how to open talks correctly!” came the jovial reply. Dale grinned; he really liked Dwarves.

  “Thaddius?” A confused voice came from the bar, catching the attention of the entire negotiating group.

  “Beor?” The spokesdwarf roared in surprise. Dale looked over and saw the Dwarves that had raised the city’s defensive wall drinking at the bar.

  “Y-you! Why are you here?” Beor was pointing a shaking finger at them and looked like he had been hit by a curse of confusion.

  The Dwarven delegate’s face turned red. “Why are you here? Did you know that your father put out a bounty for your safe return? Did you know he’s been worried sick?”

  Dale suddenly realized a very important fact. The monarch they had been discussing was ‘King Moonshadow’. Beor… Moonshadow and his brother had been exiled… oh, boy.

  “We knew about the bounty! He’s a twisted ‘father’ isn’t he, Stonewall?” Beor nudged his brother, who only nodded.

  Thaddius’ stomped his foot on the floor and bellowed, “You nitwits! He’s been sending delegations to every kingdom in an attempt to pull you back to his side! He’s dying!”

  Beor fell silent for a moment, but when he looked up, his eyes were blazing. “I’m sorry... for the kingdom.” He uttered mercilessly as he crossed his arms and arched an eyebrow.

  Thaddius’ voice became meek. “He rescinded
the exile. He built an orphanage, just like you wanted. He even sent me to open trade routes when he heard of the Mithril coming from here.”

  Beor was completely flabbergasted at this piece of news. Speechless, he and his brother looked at each other in silence. Dale–in a flash of brilliance–decided to capitalize on this moment.

  “Beor, would you like to join us for a drink? On me, of course. We were just about to open negotiations for those trade routes.” Dale smiled as Beor realized what he was doing.

  Beor’s face cracked into a smile for the first time this evening. “You’ve treated us good, Dale. Real good. Let’s see what kind of bonus we can get you in your trade talks. No one negotiates like a Dwarf, and none better than the princes.”

  Thaddius seemed like he wanted to say something about this, until Beor continued, “After all, if the exile was rescinded, that means I was reinstated as Crown Prince. Following this logic, I have full power to set up trade agreements and treaties.”

  “How about snackies?” Stonewall giggled drunkenly, smacking his lips loudly after finishing his pint.

  Looking surprised at first, Thaddius then turned crafty. “Of course, my Prince. So long as you return with me to present the signed documents to your father.” Beor looked a bit put off by this, but nodded in agreement. Motioning to Stonewall, Thaddius smiled. “On a more important note, how many has he had tonight?”

  Beor looked at his swaying brother, “I think that’s his second.”

  “Second? Second pint?” Thaddius seemed very interested. “Is it good or just powerful?”

  “Oh, yes. Very good. The ‘dungeon special’ is brewed exclusively with materials from the dungeon below us. From the hops to the water. Even the barrels are made from a tree that grows down there. The stuff is packed with Essence, and even the high rankers can get pretty loopy. They have normal beer too, if you… aren’t up to it.” Beor chuckled at the excited faces of the Dwarven delegation. “Not your brightest moment Dale, offering to buy the drinks tonight.”

  Dale looked at all the happy faces and smiled. “I think I can manage for one evening.”

  An hour later Dale was wobbling in his seat as he tried to finish his second drink from the special ‘Dwarfhunter’ keg. Surprisingly, the Dwarves had thought the name of the brew was hilarious. “Nuh… no, guys! I don’t want to be ahn askhole,” he drunkenly explained to Hans and Tom, who had joined him in the tavern. The Dwarves were across the room, making frantic arm motions as they tried to make their reinstated Prince get better deals for the Dwarven nation. “Ikt’s jush tha, if I come off as too nish, they try and take advantage! I haveta, ya know, seem like a *buuuurp* Noble. Haughty, unbending, stuck up. They wanted to kill me becaush I wouldn’t let ‘em have the tree-*urrp*! How messed up is that? How’m I the askhole?”

  “You aren’t an asshole, Dale. Every politician gets into situations like this eventually, you can’t please everyone.” Hans patted him on the arm, ready to dodge away if Dale looked like he would hurl. “I get it, I do! That’s why you’re pushing yourself so hard, yeah?”

  Dale grandly nodded. “Yesh. Any advantage I can geht, I gotta take. You taught me that! They… why do so many people wanna kill me, Hansel bread? Khee-hee, Hansel Bread. Like gingerbread. Thatsh your new nickname.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Hans gently yet firmly disagreed, seeing the mirth in Tom’s eyes. “You just keep doing your best, buddy. There’s a reason you have guards all the time now.”

  “Cause someone tried to kill me and dump me in the dungeon,” Dale helpfully explained. “I bet the Elves wouldn’t evhen put me in the Dungeon. Just lemme rot in the open,” he grumbled, swaying heavily.

  “Let’s get you to bed.” Hans gingerly swung Dale’s arm over his, half lifting the young man. They stumbled out of the area, moving into the blowing snow in search of shelter. Tom watched them go, quietly fidgeting with his mug… and thinking.

  ~ Chapter Thirteen ~

  “Ow! Ahh! God!” Dale awoke to a simultaneous series of slaps, buckets of frigid water, and strong blows from a flat piece of wood. “What is happening?” He roared, leaping from his bed and swinging at the invisible assailants.

  “What’s happening is that you got drunk, fell asleep, and decided not to come to your training session!” Though not a fire cultivator, his Moon-Elf instructor’s eyes seemed to be blazing with an abyssal fury. “We need to catch up, so I will be beating you until you get to the training ground. Feel free to take your time.” The cantankerous Elf vanished, but the slaps and heavy blows had not abated. Dale was knocked to the ground from a particularly vicious strike.

  “Celestial feces! I’m going!” Dale leapt to his feet, only to be knocked forward again. He dove through the entryway to his tent, having lost his room in the church to the wounded that were still in recovery. He took off sprinting, but somehow the invisible blows kept pace with him. By the time he got to the training area, he was bleeding from a split lip and had bruises forming across his body. His instructor was waiting there impatiently, obviously faster than Dale could dream of being.

  “That’ll do,” the Elf muttered, allowing the torrent of strikes to finally abate. “You’ve been getting complacent, Dale.”

  Dale thought he knew better than to argue, but his mouth raced ahead of him. “Things are going well! I’m not getting complacent, I’m just feeling confident about my progress…” He trailed off as the stare turned to a glare.

  “What progress?” the Elf demanded spitefully. “You are like a child that plays at fighting, and you’ve outgrown your old toys so you are getting bored! I see you in the dungeon, being careless, taking risks, missing an attack upon a monster entirely and letting it close on your cleric. You almost lost a member of your group today because you decided that you wanted a one-on-one duel with an overgrown Cat! You’ve never landed a blow on me, and you still have trouble controlling your Essence! So tell me brat, where is your progress?”

  Dale clamped his mouth shut tightly. He knew the Elf was right but was shocked at how long he must have been following him to know all of this information. Dale seemed to deflate, nodded, and smoothly moved into the ‘ready’ position, showing he was prepared to begin training.

  The Elf scoffed. “Ready, hmm? Well, not everything you do is the worst I’ve ever seen. I saw you take a technique designed for earth and use it as one for water. Somehow you were able to instinctively grasp the changes that needed to be made for the element. You could be an overwhelmingly powerful Essence user someday; it seems you are a natural!”

  Dale brightened a bit, but the Elf heartlessly continued, “Too bad you suck at everything else. Today, you are on protection duty. That scarecrow,” he pointed to an effigy awkwardly dressed in ladies clothing, “is a princess. Keep her safe.”

  A howl resounded through the air, and the area seemed to brighten as eyes opened all around them, reflecting the moonlight. A massive wolf–easily as large as the Boss Mob Snowball–stepped into the light. With a snarl, it charged the scarecrow. Dale ran at it, pumping his legs and jumping. He knocked the shadowy beast aside, and it rolled to a halt with a yelp. Dale jumped on it, pounding away until it was still. His final blow was interrupted as he was suddenly impacted from the side, his ribs groaning in protest from the abrupt shift.

  “Your mission was a failure!” The Elf ranted over the sounds of tearing cloth. He pointed at the destroyed mannequin that was being torn apart. “Was your job to kill the wolf? Or was your job to protect the princess?”

  Dale looked up to see two wolves fading away, chunks of scarecrow dropping from their vanishing maws. “I was trying to stop th-”

  He was interrupted. “Do you want to be a duelist or a cultivator? If you can only handle one thing at a time, being a warrior of cultivation is not for you. Situational awareness, Dale! You focus too hard on only one thing, and people will die! Namely you. Again!”

  Dale rushed at the wolves nearing the scarecrow, landing a heavy blow and then moving to the next an
imal. He stopped six wolves this time before the sound of cloth tearing announced his failure. Then an unstoppable force smacked him to the ground.

  “Again! Save her! She is going to die, and it will be your fault!”

  Dale’s mind was buzzing, there had to be more to the lesson! This time, instead of fighting the wolves, he grabbed the scarecrow and ran. The chuckles of his master made him grin, until he felt a sharp object tear into his side. He screamed and dropped the ‘princess’ who was subsequently torn apart.

  “Better, smarter.” The Elf nodded at him as Dale looked for what had stabbed him. He finally noticed that the scarecrow had a knife. “Sadly for you, looks like the princess didn’t want to be saved. Today’s lesson, Dale. I’m sure you’ve heard it before, but let me reiterate. Trust no one and nothing. An attack can come from anywhere, at any time. Also, never again get drunk to the point that you are unaware of your surroundings!”

  The training progressed. Wolves became warriors, then assassins. Spells were introduced, and Dale soon had second-degree burns and minor frostbite. Every simulation was different, but they all had at least two things in common: Dale was subjected to extreme pain each round he failed, and he failed all of them eventually.

  As dawn approached, Dale was allowed to stumble back to his tent. He unstoppered and drank a large health potion, passing out immediately after. Hopefully that would boost his regenerative capabilities to the point that he wouldn’t need a cleric when he woke up. There was no energy left in his body.

  A few hours later, he was shaken awake by a concussive *boom*, followed by a flash of light and a few screams. He groggily got up, crushed and absorbed a Core with a shudder of pleasure, then raced toward the thunder, hoping to help whoever was under attack. Dale got to the point he was sure had been the origin of the noise, but there didn’t seem to be any issue. There was a large area without snow, but no signs of combat or destruction.