by Hugo Huesca
“Just… be an Herbalist,” Ed said. “Do whatever it is you do. Heal people, study new potions, sharpen your skills. The way I see things, the Haunt isn’t going to survive by having one or two people with thousands of experience points; it’ll survive by everyone’s combined expertise.”
“You know, other Dungeon Lords would abhor hearing something like that,” said Andreena. “We all remember Lord Kael’s reign before you came around, and he only saw dungeons as means to an end. No more than structures to be built and then abandoned.”
“Perhaps that’s why Kael isn’t around. I’d like this place to last. To tell you the truth, despite the insane, broken-hearted murderer, the brain-eating monsters, and the eldritch abominations, I like it here. Ivalis, I mean. Hopefully, we can make it last—whatever it is we have going here in the Haunt. Can’t you feel it too?”
The air around the workshop had grown heavy. Andreena’s expression was a mask.
“Yes,” she said at last. “I guess I can.”
The hand that she placed on her new book was worn by age and a lifetime of labor. “I guess I’ll start by asking Alder to teach me how to read and write,” she said with a grin.
“That’s a great start,” said Ed.
Your Dungeon Engineering has increased by 2 ranks.
“These security runes are all very old,” said Lavy. She was examining a part of one chicken den, currently displayed on a long worktable. About a week and a half had passed since Ed’s meeting with Andreena.
“That shouldn’t have stopped them from working, right?” Ed asked. He examined the glyphs over Lavy’s shoulder. They were no different from others he had seen before, except, perhaps, that their blue engravings shone slightly dimmer.
“No, not really, unless they lose the charge or their circuit breaks, but that isn’t the case here,” said Lavy. “The problem is, potions do lose their effects due to the passage of time, and the instruction pamphlet mentioned that St. Claire and Tillman used tranquility potions to rein in the hell chickens’… erm, attitude.”
Ed nodded to himself. “So St. Claire and Tillman haven’t been maintaining their Dungeon Lord starting packages for a long time, and the mixes have gone bad. Well, some of them. The accelerated growth enchantments didn’t go bad. Obviously.”
“Obviously.” Lavy shuddered.
Potions past their expiration date explained the taste of the ale experiments.
It also explained the Jurassic Park situation that had developed inside the—now barred—part of the dungeon where the hell chicken farms were housed. Last time Ed had sent a scouting party to take a look inside had been about two weeks ago. The surviving spiderlings had reported that the hell chickens had devoured most of the barbed wire fences and were now about as tall as Heorghe. Ed had collapsed all tunnels except for the main entrance to the farms, and tripled the security.
Kes’ traps had managed to capture and kill a couple young ones, and the mercenary and Andreena were now treating the meat so Ed could sell and trade it in the nearby villages.
He was also fully intending to eat it himself. Weeks with only potatoes and scavenged food for sustenance had left his body craving meat like a vampire craves blood from a nubile neck.
“Bunch of irresponsible assholes,” said Lavy. “Their magical lore isn’t all that complex, from what I can see. Give me enough resources, and enough time to study my spellcasting, and I bet I can make runes like these. Hell, I’ll make them better.”
And Andreena, with enough ingredients, can make tranquility potions, Ed thought. His farm project wasn’t yet a total disaster, and if there was something he was good at, it was leveraging unexpected turns of events into advantages. Kind of. Case in point…
“You know what, I’ll take you up on that offer,” Ed said happily. “Walk with me, there’s something I’ve been meaning to show you.”
“Dear gods, Alder tried that very same line on the blacksmith’s daughter a day ago,” Lavy said. That explained Alder’s recent gloomy look and black eye.
“In this case, it’s not a line,” Ed assured her with a laugh.
She followed him across one of the newer tunnels he had built over the past few weeks. The Haunt was quickly becoming a complex array of tunnel networks and chambers whose locations made little sense to anyone but Ed.
A small group of drones clung to the upper section of the tunnel’s walls, standing atop each other’s shoulders to gain height. The top drone was eating the rock where Heorghe’s piping would go.
Lavy eyed the work-in-progress with clear pleasure. The constant storms of Starevos’ winter, according to the locals, were only the introduction to the incoming sleet and freezing rain, but introduction or not, they had forced the Haunt to take measures in earnest against the elements. Cotton and linen curtains covered the walls of all living quarters, to better keep in the heat. Ed had installed chimneys there, too, and most of his drone-force could be found piling up wood in the storage sections. Part of his mining workforce had run into coal a while ago, and the Haunt was now stocking up on that mineral too. With any luck, the dungeon would reduce its tree consumption in the next year. In any case, Ed planned to teach his drones to plant new seeds in the tiny section of the forest his Haunt had left bare. It was both an environmentalist measure and a practical one—the rows and rows of stumps were a telltale sign of a nearby dungeon that not even the most dimwitted Inquisitor would miss.
The pipe project would be ready before next year’s winter. In the meantime, the villagers had begun to sew pelts to the inside of their coats and jackets for extra insulation, and the Haunt’s inhabitants had quickly wised up to the practice. Lavy’s fur scarf made her look more like a Shaman from the marshes than a Witch. Ed’s own shirt now sported lines of fur around the seams, and they had made a noticeable difference. As soon as he earned enough gold, he’d buy coats for him and the minions. The villagers would need those, too, since they had lost almost everything in Burrova’s fire; but they knew how to make new coats from the wool of their sheep, which was a skill that the Haunt’s inhabitants lacked—and the villagers weren’t sharing.
The tunnel carried the noise of metal clanging against metal, along with the welcome waves of heat from Heorghe’s forge. Past the forge waited Andreena’s Herbalist workshop, and the Brewery. Even further away, the tunnel had a direct line to the underground storage to reduce drones’ travel time.
“Sorry it took so long,” Ed told the Witch as they stepped inside the chamber. “We needed a lot of transmuted resources to make it—so far it’s the most expensive room in the Haunt.” As they spoke, his drones were putting the finishing touches on what would be Lavy’s dedicated research laboratory. When the drones saw him and Lavy, they froze for a second, scurried to hide a tiny wooden statue underneath a table, and resumed working like nothing had happened.
“Oh!” Lavy gasped as she took in the sight of the place. “Ed, you shouldn’t have… I mean, of course you should have, took you long enough… but you didn’t have to make it so…” She gestured at the room, clearly at a loss for words.
Bookcases wide enough to fill the halls of any of Earth’s libraries stood against the walls, most of them empty, but some already furnished with blank books, and rows and rows of parchment rolls waiting for input. Shiny purple curtains hung behind the bookcases, completely covering the naked stone of the walls. A lasershark was sewn with silver thread in the purple of half the curtains, and the other half sported Lavy’s new insignia: a Witch’s hat with a skull and a crystal ball next to it.
The magical torches gave the room an eerie, mystical ambiance and made the silver lasershark shine mysteriously without it moving at all. Heat spread into the main hall from a back room—Lavy’s quarters, which had their own chimney and their own section of private rooms. A brazier filled with incense gave the place a heavy floral aroma, courtesy of Andreena’s concoctions.
“It really wasn’t that much effort,” Ed said, his ears reddening slightly. It was
true, since the drones did most of the work, and he simply worked the design. “My dungeon engineering skill has been rising like crazy, so I feel confident trying new techniques.”
The workbenches were filled with glass vials, ampules, and bottles, and also some tools that Ed could neither recognize nor guess their function, but which came with the basic design offered by his Mantle’s magic. Those strange tools were made of brass, mostly, but he saw a small iron knife, a tiny silver mirror, and a copper trinket that reminded him of a sextant.
“Still, we don’t have the materials to make half the tools here,” Lavy whispered. “Glass? How did you get that one?”
“Actually, the glass was easy,” said Ed. “The drones transmuted dirt to sand first, then I used the sand as material for the room. Since your instruments are considered part of the design, Objectivity accepted it, just like with the books.”
Lavy’s smile became slightly manic, like it always did when she heard about Ed’s constant explorations of what he could and couldn’t do with magic. Using sand instead of glass was perfectly acceptable, though.
On the other hand, a part of Ed’s mind wondered what would happen if he made a room that included an Abrams tank and called it a “tank garage.” Technically, a tank was an integral part of a tank garage…
Probably best to leave it as a thought experiment. But that would really be something, wouldn’t it? He imagined Kharon’s expression when staring down the sights of the tank’s cannon.
“I’m glad you like it,” he said aloud.
Lavy studied the not-quite-a-sextant and toyed with its levers. “I don’t even know where to begin. Apprentices of Chasan learned slowly, since the Warlock used us to help with his own experiments, but never bothered to teach us anything. We had to put things together ourselves in our free time, which wasn’t often.”
“Trust me, I know the feeling,” Ed said, thinking back on his own time as a non-paid intern. “That time is over, though, for the two of us. Where do you want to start?”
Lavy thought it over. “It’ll be faster if we find some books and real teachers, but there’s a lot I can figure out on my own—my father taught me all the basics.”
Ed refrained from saying anything as the Witch paced all over, clearly getting used to her new dwellings and thinking furiously.
“A corpse would be a good place to start,” she said at last. “It’ll let me practice my ritual magic: summon spirits, bind them to my will, curse them. You know, witchcraft.” She wiggled her fingers at him, mimicking the casting of a spell. “A rabbit will work nicely. But ask Laurel to bring us the corpse of an enemy spider warrior or princess next time she kills one too. I promise I’ll be respectful-ish of their spirits, and it’ll let me raise my skill ranks so much faster.”
Back when Ed had first arrived in Ivalis, he’d have been horrified at the prospect of summoning the spirits of the dead for practice and grinding skill ranks. Today, though, he didn’t find it much worse than using dead bodies to study medicine. After all, with the shit he had seen and done, a bit of desecration couldn’t phase him that much anymore.
“Ritual magic?” he asked instead.
“Ah, sometimes I forget. Dungeon Lords cast magic without understanding the theory behind it,” she said. “Ritual magic is different from the spells we use day to day. Those come from our own body, and thus we can only cast a certain number of them until we become stronger. Ritual magic is powered by something external: a place of power, a god, a spirit. It’s magic that takes a lot of time and resources, but you can technically use it whenever you like. The most powerful kind of ritual magic involves burning experience points. Your own, or, you know… those of others. That’s one of the reasons why Dungeon Lords are so keen on human sacrifice, and why they are so dangerous.”
“I see,” said Ed. Lavy was the daughter of a Dungeon Lord’s concubine. Lord Heines had sacrificed many children to power his dungeon, and had he known that Lavy wasn’t actually his daughter, but one of his mages, she’d have suffered the fate of those many others. She was as against human sacrifice as Ed. “Those rituals involve altars to the Dark? That’s a pantheon from which I’d rather keep my distance.”
“Some, not all,” said Lavy. “Rituals with Dark gods are more of a Warlock’s line of business. Altars are risky. Please a minor god and he or she will reward you. At the very least they could raise the magic the dungeon generates—but if you make an altar to the Light, Alita could realize where the Haunt is located, and send her Inquisitors knocking.”
That left the Dark as the only viable means of worship, and Ed wasn’t keen on pursuing that option.
Unless…
“Can the Light scry into the location of a Dark altar?” he asked.
“Not really. If either could do that, people could only worship them in heavily guarded forts.”
The inkling of an idea worked its way into Ed’s brain. “So, Lavy, I’ve one question about magic. A long time ago, a demigod told me that even Murmur and Alita had to abide by the rulings of Objectivity. Is that true?”
She studied him worriedly. “Pretty much. According to most ancient texts, Objectivity existed long before the first gods arrived in Ivalis. What do you have in mind?”
“Let me think about it,” Ed said. “Maybe there’s a way to get access to holy water and a few other Light advantages, without bending any rules.”
“I really hope you mean that last part,” Lavy told him.
The Witch and the Dungeon Lord kept a content silence as they both considered what the future held for them. The Haunt was stronger than ever because the people that composed it were stronger than ever. Nicolai’s threat of twenty murders seemed a promise impossible to fulfill. Soon enough, Ed would be strong enough to go looking for the rebel, instead of biding his time inside his dungeon.
“Thank you,” Lavy said, bringing Ed back to reality. She was standing in the middle of the laboratory, circling it like a little girl in a dance hall. “It’s even better than I imagined it.”
“Surely Kael’s dungeon had a cooler laboratory,” Ed said.
Lavy stopped, brushed her hair away from her forehead, and seemed to visibly search for the right words.
“You don’t understand,” she said softly. “I worked in Kael’s lab as an apprentice of Warlock Chasan, but not even Chasan thought of the lab as his. Kael’s was Kael’s. But you talk about this one as my laboratory. That makes it much better than I imagined it.”
Ed was speechless. Sure, Ed knew the Witch desired a laboratory—that was why he’d made it—but he hadn’t realized what it meant for her.
A pang of shame stabbed his chest. Making the laboratory had been a fun project, a challenge of magic and planning where he had tried to anticipate what Lavy’s needs would be, and either fix them or provide her with the means to solve them herself. He hadn’t realized what it would represent for her emotionally. She and Alder hadn’t led easy lives before meeting with him.
It also made him wonder about Kael, and the other Ivalian Dungeon Lords. What kind of person would it take to have so much freedom to build and create and not want to share it even a little?
Ed had no idea about the inner workings of magic or rituals. Lavy could do so much more if he allowed her to roam freely and explore her interests.
In trying to focus all the power into themselves, the Ivalian Dungeon Lords had crippled the natural potential of their dungeons. Where they could’ve created a realm, they had been content simply create rooms.
We’ll show you, Ed thought fiercely. We’ll show you all how it’s done. Just wait.
Your Dungeon Engineering has increased by 2 ranks…
11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE PRIEST AND THE BATBLIN
The priest held the spicy chicken leg with clear distrust souring his face.
“This attitude is getting annoying fast,” Ed said, more to himself than to Zachary. He pried the leg from Zachary’s hands, gave it a good bite, then hand
ed it to the priest.
What back on Earth would’ve been an unforgivable slight, in Ivalis turned out to be required dining manners. Zachary’s shoulders relaxed, and the priest began eating in earnest.
“Alita’s mercy,” the priest muttered. “It’s been so long since I had meat this good.”
Ed found the hell chicken’s flavor to be not much better than Earth’s normal poultry, except it had a tiny aftertaste of sulfur if you paid attention. He wasn’t about to complain, though, because he hadn’t eaten good meat in a long time, either, and Andreena’s seasoning made it downright godly.
The priest and the Dungeon Lord ate in silence, hands flying over the table so fast that it made the brass goblets wobble. The table was served with exclusive Haunt specialties: ale and hell chicken steak with a side of salad, bread, and goat cheese.
“To be honest, Lord Edward, your invitation surprised me. I admit I didn’t peg you, at first, to be one to care about the health of your soul, given its current… ah, situation.” Ed took notice that all it had taken to make Zachary stop addressing him as “you heathen Dungeon Lord” had been a warm meal. If only everyone else was as easy to convince.
“Yes, my soul,” Ed assured him. “If we’re being honest, I invited you here to have a talk about it. The Haunt requires your services, Zachary.”
Zachary’s mouth froze mid-bite, his eyes wide like a man who had found out he could turn rice into gold. “Really? And you’d like me to…”
“You’ll want to see it for yourself. Come with me,” Ed said. After that, Zachary devoured what little remained on his plate, belched loudly, and wiped the grease from his face with a cloth. Both Dungeon Lord and priest stood, and a drone dressed in a black vest and a white handkerchief in his tiny hand came to clean the table. The drone had been Lavy’s idea, a touch of luxury to keep Zachary’s mesmerized.