Dungeon Madness: The Divine Dungeon Book Two Page 6

  The chests were ready, the dungeon was populated, and the aesthetics were pleasing. The walls in the maze weren’t quite ready, but they were growing. When a light breeze laden with Essence suddenly moved in my depths, I realized the door was open! Let’s see how far people are willing to go for their greed today…

  ~Seven~

  Dale’s team was working hard under Craig's tutelage, practicing moving as a unit without interfering in the other’s attacks. After a little more than an hour, Tom was gasping for air — although his oversized Warhammer was feather light. Though the amount of Essence he had to constantly supply to the weapon was miniscule, the strain wore him out quickly. The others in the group were in the D-ranks, and several of them had multiple open meridians. Dale — a rarity — had all of his open, making his endurance and control of Essence much more fine.

  “You need to break into the D-ranks, Tom.” Craig informed him. He mercilessly continued, “Look at those around you, still working hard while you gasp and pant, holding your knees. Are all of those muscles for show?”

  “I… *pant* Apologize for my weakness.” Tom gasped. “I shall work harder on my cultivation; I shall not rest peacefully until I am able to stand beside my team through all of our trials.”

  Craig nodded while the others rolled their eyes. “Good! In that case, I do think that you are ready to open a meridian.”

  Tom looked up hopefully, “I have heard this term several times and have seen the effects of opening several at a time with Dale. Will it shrink and collapse my body as it has with him? What does this process involve?”

  Craig snorted, the first time Dale had heard anything approximating a laugh from him. “No, that was a result of his Essence suddenly blasting every impurity out of him at the same time. If he had been conscious it would have shattered his mind and ruined his body.” Dale choked on his laughter a bit on this revelation. “I want you to strip as much as you feel comfortable with, whatever you keep on will need a professional clean… or be burned.”

  Tom stripped so fast that the others didn’t even have a chance to think about looking away before they saw dangling bits. He did not have the same social norms of decency, and had no issue being nude, even in combat.

  Craig chuckled, “I should have been clearer. This is fine, but… next time perhaps you keep on your smallclothes?”

  “Nothing small there.” Rose muttered, blushing at the shocked look from Hans.

  Craig directed him to open his heart meridian, the same one Dale had started with. After several minutes of intense concentration, Tom gasped and became pale as Essence rushed through him. He clutched his chest as the wave of Essence wrapped his heart, spitting up blood and filth as his Essence met his lungs. Black sweat collected over his body, and the air took on a tang of foulness. When he finally looked at his friends, his eyes were a deep red from a broken capillary. The blood was filling one of the sclera, giving him a frightening visage, especially with the other gore and filth on him.

  “That felt horrible.” Was Tom’s understatement of the day. “The worst kind of heartburn imaginable, then as if I were breathing dry, overheated air from a forge.”

  “You are a fire cultivator, yes?” Craig inspected Tom for damage as he talked. Tom nodded, so Craig continued, “You need to work on the purity of your Essence. For the next month, cultivate nowhere but in the dungeon. The purity of the loose Essence in there will dilute the taint you have absorbed. If you keep pulling in the amount of corruption you have been, there will be serious issues when you try to break into the D-ranks, not to mention the C-rankings.”

  Tom stepped over to the river to clean himself, and a Dark Elf appeared to Dale’s right. He bowed, ignoring Dale’s startled yelp. “Your Grace, I have come with a daily report for you, as per instructions. Would you like to hear it now, or in private? There are no matters of particular sensitivity.”

  Dale cleared his throat and ignored Hans's pantomime of him squealing. “Here is fine, good sir. If you are going to be bringing the report often, might I get your name and ask that you reveal your presence at least five feet — maybe ten feet — away from me? Also, why are you calling me ‘Grace’?”

  The bow deepened, “This one thanks you for your kind regard! My name in the human language will likely be easier for you to pronounce, it is Jason. I am calling you ‘Grace’ because your dealings with the Lady Brianna — as well as your holding of land — has allowed you to be granted a title from our Queen, and you have been named a Duke.”

  Jason hesitated, choosing his next words carefully. “Understand, please, that you hold no rights to inheritance, but quite a significant hold on our future. You control the land upon which a Silverwood tree grows, after all. Hence the title as an offer of goodwill, and a form of diplomatic immunity from other kingdoms. Although to that end, I believe you now hold the honorary title of Baron with both the Lion and Phoenix Kingdoms.”

  Dale was nonplussed as Hans's face clouded, looking like a storm was about to break. “And now he is a Noble, too.” Hans grumbled. “Of course. His head is going to swell to the size of a-”

  “And… what are the benefits to this position?” Dale apprehensively questioned the bowing Elf.

  “To ensure that there are no misunderstandings when dealing with our culture, I have been given a memory stone that will grant you our language, political knowledge of our courts, and the customs of our people. This alone would be worth several hundred gold, but our Queen feels it is necessary for future dealings… as you have nearly died sixteen times while conversing with our Princess.” Jason told him, voice never varying from an even cadence since he had begun speaking, even when discussing the near executions.

  Dale started sweating a bit, a feat that over an hour of constant combat training had been unable to replicate. “I would like that stone very much.” He rushed to say. The Elf grinned slightly and held up a small stone. There were motes of light moving in it, not unlike a chi spiral but obviously holding a specific thought pattern.

  “Your discretion regarding our politics will of course be… appreciated.” Jason muttered in a slightly threat-promising tone. Dale nodded, and pressed the stone to his head. The light from the stone shot into his skull, creating pathways and memories in his brain that may as well have been there from birth, since they melded with his own so well. The stone shattered to glitter, and Dale stood still for several minutes while the information became a part of him.

  Finally, he shook himself and looked at Jason, who was still bowing. “My deepest apologies! Please stand, Lord Jason. I am sure you realize that I did not understand that you were waiting upon my command to rise.”

  Rose took this moment to close her hanging mouth with an audible click. “Dark Elves? Here? And Princess Brianna is here as well?”

  Jason looked over at her, and in a barely civil tone he nodded at her and responded, “Yes, she is here, half-breed.”

  The others looked shocked, but Rose — and now Dale — understood how poorly Elves viewed mixing of the races. Dale didn’t want to give him a chance to further offend anyone or have someone attack him. “Report.”

  The Elf launched into his report, detailing several crimes that had been stopped and how fights had nearly started when the Elves moved in on their new land and evicted those living in tents from the area. They had redirected many people along the river banks so that cooking water was pulled from upriver, clothes cleaning was further downriver, and bathing was done even further downstream. Sanitation was still an issue, but the position of sanitation officer had been filled. Garbage and refuse were being collected. The current plan was to begin dumping it into the dungeon as soon as it was open, as it would all vanish shortly afterward. Perfect solution!

  Dale nodded as the Elf spoke, asking what had been done with the people committing crimes. He was informed that they had been delivered to Protectorate Cole, who had been appointed by the council to give judgement to criminals. Originally, Magistrate Acman — a Dark Elf —
had been offered to fill the position, but it turned out he was obstinate and hard to work with. Even Jason had to admit — internally of course — that even such an illustrious Elf as Magistrate Acman may not have been the best for this position. Even in the short amount of time he had been there, Protectorate Cole had proven his worth repeatedly. Cole had worked at his abilities in aura reading to the point where he was able to discern truth and lies at a glance. Therefore trials were short and efficient, and justice meted out quickly.

  Tom came back, dripping from the quick scrub in the river. As he dressed, he curiously eyed the Elf. Jason glanced at him in return — noting his sodden state — and grimaced, “Apologies, Your Grace, it seems we missed a bather.”

  Craig smoothly joined the conversation, “My fault, I had not heard about the new rules and sent him to bath after opening a meridian.”

  Jason bowed again, “I should go and warn any who were collecting water. I shall return on the morrow.” He vanished, and — Dale assumed — left. Dale’s team went to lunch, eating with their usual calorie-desperate gusto to the slight — yet poorly hidden — disgust of their server. After finishing, they stepped outside where they were met with both excited and angry shouting.

  “What’s going on?” Adam wondered aloud, mind clouded with exhaustion. Father Richard had begun training him in earnest, the mental fatigue of the training was horrendous.

  Dale squinted at the milling crowd, “I don’t know, I haven’t heard noise like this since they first opened the portal. Shall we look into it?” They walked at a fast yet measured pace, staying in formation as best as possible. Craig had drilled into them that if they made combat a part of every daily routine, it would be easier to keep their bearing and formation while in battle.

  They waved down a man who was running toward the Guild tent, “What is going on?”

  A happy grin flashed across his face, “The dungeon is open!”

  A sour-faced man near them overheard and growled, “Yeah, but they are charging everyone fifteen percent of their earnings if they want to go in. Fracking council put it out this morning. So long, single run retirements!”

  Dale looked at Hans as the complaining man walked off. “What did that mean?”

  “Most people that live in the middle of nowhere — like you used to — can go through the dungeon a single time and have enough money from coins or sale of items to retire. Those whiners will still be wealthy; they just don’t want to give up any money for the greater good of the people living here.” Hans shook his head. For the first time, Dale fully understood the political ramifications of what he had been doing, and the conversation devolved into the pros and cons of several nuances of the situation, much to Hans's delight.

  They chatted for a few minutes, until Hans asked a pertinent question, “Did you get all of this political savvy from that memory stone?”

  Dale considered, “I must have. I mean, I have been trying to learn faster, but I had been getting better at it only very slowly. Now it feels as natural as breathing to have an in-depth conversation concerning the taxation benefits of a high-yield resource center such as a low corruption dungeon.”

  Hans laughed, never had he imagined that Dale would become a focal point for political and economic debate. It normally took years of study to be able to hit the finer points of the conversation they were having! Dale wouldn’t have understood half the words they were using this morning. They walked to the entrance to the dungeon, noting the queue of people waiting in front of the new fortifications.

  The walls were hardened stone, seamless even if they had been put up in haste. There were many kill slots in the stone; these were places for weapons, arrows, or magical effects to pass through to kill monsters that tried to escape the dungeon. The doors were stone banded with metal, obviously made by Mages as there were no seams or welds in the work. Unlike normal fortifications, these were built to keep things in and kill them, not keep things out while defending the location.

  There was at least one spectacular benefit to owning the land, Dale’s group bypassed the line waiting to get in and went directly to the clerk. She looked up, bored. “Guild or standard?”

  Dale looked at her as a troubling idea crossed his mind. He hoped he was wrong about what she was about to say. “What is the difference?”

  She released a long-suffering sigh, “Oh my gawwd… Non-Guild need to pay a fifteen percent tax to the landowner so he can throw a party or something. Guild rate is the standard flat twenty-five percent.”

  “Throw… a… party?” A vein on Dale's temple began to throb, “No, there is a fifteen percent tax on everyone, and the Guild takes twenty-five percent of the gross amount after that. Also, the tax is in place to build this campsite into a city that doesn’t make you wade through feces on your morning commute. Who sent these orders?” Dale was trying very hard not to yell.

  She made a very unladylike noise, “You have a problem? This came straight from GL Frank.” She finished her sentence like he was an idiot and with that the conversation was over.

  “How… interesting.” Dale had a maniacal grin on his face, “Oh Hans,” he said in a sing-song tone, “be a dear and send a runner for the Guild leader please. Or, GL Frank, as she calls him.”

  “…Dale…” Hans began worriedly.

  “Now, please.” Hans sighed and motioned for one of the messengers that were near the entrance. He sent him off with a sad look.

  “Who do you think you are?” The clerk looked pissed off. “You don’t summon the Guild Master like he is a common thug.” Her face looked troubled as Frank appeared next to Dale, he had moved so fast that he was invisible till he stopped.

  “What?” Frank barked at the clerk. Then he noticed Dale, “Oh. I thought there was an issue in the dungeon. What is the matter, Dale?” Dale explained about the tax rate, and to his credit Frank looked confused.

  “I sent the orders about the tax rate this morning.” He looked at the clerk, who gulped. “Where is the memo?”

  “S-sir, it was just a misunders-” She began, quickly cut off by Frank.

  “I didn’t ask for you to talk, I asked where the memo was.” He growled. “Hurry up, I ran out of a meeting for this. Literally.”

  She rummaged around in her papers, obviously stalling. Frank made a noise and stepped in, pulling out a paper hidden under her log book. He showed Dale the proclamation, then held it close to the clerk. “Are you trying to make the Guild look like a bunch of greedy, self-serving shakedown artists? Or can you just not follow orders?” He tore into the despondent clerk.

  “Sir, I just thought that-”

  Cutting her off again, “Obviously, you didn’t think. This is the second time you have been caught disregarding orders. I shudder to think about all the times you must have gotten away with things if you were only caught on these gross infractions! I know that you aren’t technically part of the Adventurer’s Guild, but do you think you will keep your job if I go talk to your master at the Scribe's Guild? Your job isn’t exactly labor intensive and it pays well. I’m sure we could find someone trustworthy to fill it if you do something like this again! Give me a count of the reported incomes of the Guild members that entered, by the end of the day.”

  Frank turned to Dale, “I’m sorry about this Dale, the Guild will cover the differences in reported incomes today. We can’t charge the people that already went in after all. They didn’t agree to it.”

  Dale smiled, “Frank, my real worry was that you had a hand in this. Seeing that you so quickly resolved the issue renews my confidence in you. I am very glad that my choice of you for the council was the correct decision.”

  Frank nodded, and wondered if Dale understood that what he had just said was as much a compliment as a warning. Probably not, Dale didn’t have the understanding of political subtleties to make that kind of remark, so he took it at face value. “I certainly hope my loyalties are never again called into question, and that I keep your confidence for a very long time.” He gla
red at the quailing clerk and removed himself at high speed, returning to his meeting.

  Dale looked around at his nonplussed team and the suddenly silent line of people waiting to enter. The clerk was nearly in tears at her public admonition, only her new-found realization that professionalism was the only thing allowing her to keep her job forced her to hold back the waterworks. “Well. Shall we enter?”

  ~Eight~

  Dale’s group walked into the much larger entrance and looked around, whistling at the bustling mining activity. Where before the door had entered into a shallow cave entrance and eight to nine people could mine at a time without injuring their neighbor, now it seemed like half the population of the camp was chipping away at the stone.

  “Excuse me, could I get by you there?” A man asked them politely. Turning to let him pass, Dale exclaimed in wonder as he met a non-human half-breed for the first time in his life.

  “Of course! Hello, my name is Dale. It is a pleasure to meet you sir. Can I ask your name?” Dale almost stammered in his excitement. The man was built like a Dwarf, having the beard and the height, but his features were distinctly Orcish. He was also in full plate armor, and wearing it with an ease that spoke of constant use. The man eyed Dale for a moment, looking for disgust or pity, then broke into a wide grin, revealing disturbingly pointed teeth.

  “Well, some of the asshats around here call me ‘Gnorc gnorc’ like I have damn gnome blood, but I am a Dwork and proud of it!” He roared at a couple of miners nearby that were making rude comments about him. He held out his hand, and shook Dale’s in a powerful grip. “The name’s Evan.”

  “A dork named Evan?” Hans failed to hide his mirth at his taunt, “A Half-Dwarf, Half-Orc… with a human name.”

  “It’s pronounced Dwork.” Evan eyed Hans, “I don’t know if we will get along well, you and I. It has been a pleasure to meet you though, Dale, but I need to get to work. I have a month to make my first payment on this beauty.” He hoisted his pickaxe, the same one that Dale had rescued from thieves recently. He stepped over to an unoccupied area along the wall and put on a helmet.