A Dungeon’s Survival

Fabian

I shuffled about uncomfortably. I'd already given multiple reports on the matter and had been effectively interrogated several times over, but this was beyond that. The Fairy Council had convened, gathering the other two in charge of the Hero Soul Cores and myself to discuss what to do next in regards to Cameron–er, Connie–whatever her name was. There were other matters being discussed, too, ones that had been talked about nonstop as of late and were responsible for delaying a decision being made about her, but those were less immediately relevant to me, even if they were ultimately more important.

“I still think we should dispose of the core and be done with this. She's a liability,” the acting head of the proceedings, Elder Rodrick, insisted.

“I know I am no longer a member of the council, but if you would allow me to speak, I believe you're being a tad bit hasty here,” Elder Solfus, the man responsible for giving me all of the opportunities I'd squandered, contested.

“How would that be hasty?” Elder Rodrick boomed in response, “It's been nearly two weeks since this matter was uncovered, and the rogue Dungeon has been left to run amok with no supervision whatsoever! If it weren't for the loss of one of the five Great Dungeons, this would have been dealt with more than a week ago! What possible reason could there be not to shatter it and be done with this mess already?”

“That very same reason we have yet to do so, the loss of one of the five Great Dungeons.”

“We're bound to lose even more power if the status quo we've achieved is ruined!”

Solfus paused at that and stroked his beard. Then he asked, “Do we know what caused its fall yet?”

That was the subject on every Dungeon Fairy's lips right now. When the alert went out, I'd worried it'd been Cameron that died, but it had been so much worse. There were only five level one hundred Dungeons worldwide, four of which had existed since the age of the Dungeon War. They were generally accepted to be impenetrable fortresses that not even parties of level one hundred mortals could hope to clear in their entireties. Nothing short of an army of the strongest individuals in the world should have been able to stand a chance against one of them, yet it had fallen.

“No, the individuals responsible remain unidentified. By all means, they don't exist.”

“Correct me if I'm wrong, but does that not imply the existence of a previously unknown superpower or a heavily militarized shadow branch of a nation? We should have records on all individuals that could even come close to conquering a level one hundred Dungeon. An individual such as that, let alone a team of them, should not be unidentifiable.”

That was what made the situation worse. Not only were the ones responsible for the impossible feat complete unknowns, but it had been a group that had caused its fall, not an army. Nothing about the situation made sense.

“Get to the point, Solfus.”

“If it's an unknown and unrelated organization that is endangering what we've built, I don't believe our biggest concern should be avoiding taking actions solely because they might upset individual nations or the Adventurer's Guild. Up until now, we've acted under the belief that an unknown group was responsible for the destruction of many of the Dungeons we've lost in recent times. However, if they are also the ones responsible for slaughtering their way through Arachnids' Rest in record time, our problems might be far more severe than we were previously aware.”

“So you're suggesting we leave this rogue Dungeon be to do as it pleases?”

“Of course not. By all means, they should be bound by the proper contract. The absence of such a bond puts us at risk of repeating the Dungeon War. What I am advocating for is the binding of that contract by a council member themselves instead of the disposal of a valuable asset. Arl, what are the projected percentages?”

At Solfus's prompting, a fairy that looked significantly younger than the rest of the council spoke, “The Great Dungeons, as we all know, provide ten percent of the power preventing the end of the world each. With four remaining, they should still be providing forty percent. Then, the thirty-six forth tier Dungeons contribute thirty-six percent, the roughly two hundred third tiers provide twenty percent, and the seven hundred second tiers account for seven percent–those are rounded numbers, by the way. The newborn Dungeons' contributions are negligible, and the anomalous contributions were last estimated to make up somewhere around thirty-two to thirty-three percent.

“Studies on which Dungeons are contributing beyond their base values, if any are, are still inconclusive. The potential for rounding errors still exists, and the theory that there is an as-of-yet unidentified source contributing to the overall percentage has yet to be disproven. Due to our only frame of reference for the total amount of power coming in the form of the Dungeon Announcements, it is difficult to make observations. There does seem to be a trend of the unexplained contributions increasing the lower the total percentage gets, though. That has sparked several new theories in regards–“

“Thank you, Arl,” Rodrick cut the elder off as he continued to ramble off numbers, statistics, and theories, “Solfus, how are the percentages relevant?”

“How many Dungeons survive long enough to contribute even a tenth of a percentage?”

“In general or as of recent?” Elder Arl asked.

“Both.”

“That's a hard question to answer without statistics on hand, but in the past, I believe the estimate was that about three or four percent of Dungeons survived to tier three with about a sixty percent mortality rate before they could attain tier four. Recently, however, if I'm not mistaken, the trend has shifted toward what is looking to be one out of a thousand reaching level fifty, and we've been losing more third-tier Dungeons than we've been gaining new ones in recent times. I'd have to check, but I believe this trend started about a century ago and has only gotten worse. Roughly one hundred years ago, we had fifty to sixty more third tiers than we do now, and not enough of those third tiers reached the fourth to offset the loss of the others.”

“Thank you,” Solfus took back over the discussion, “The increased death rates of Dungeons have been impacting those at all tiers. As it stands, the only way we could shift this downward trend into something more favorable would be to find new Dungeons to take the places of those we've lost near the top of the pyramid, and candidates with the potential for that are only getting rarer. That was why we performed the summoning in the first place and started producing Soul Cores on top of that.

“This Connie has shown great potential in the speed at which she has grown. I believe that potential warrants overlooking some of her past transgressions so long as she can be recovered. In the end, that is just my opinion, however. You are acting head of the council now, and I no longer hold a seat.”

Rodrick heaved a deep sigh and spoke, “You are right, as you often are, Solfus. Fabian–”

I shuddered as the most hot-blooded and intimidating fairy in the room turned his fiery gaze on me.

“–I still have some matters regarding the loss of Arachnids' Rest that I must attend, but after that, so long as no other council member objects, I will personally accompany you to your Dungeon. At that time, your core will either submit to the standard contract with added stipulations or be destroyed. Until that time, you are not to make contact with her. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

I still couldn't believe how fast things had fallen apart. If only I'd been more attentive, less willing to bend the rules for her, or even just more suspicious, I could have prevented this. Sadly, it was too late now. My previous failings, my past three cores' deaths, had weighed too heavily on me, and I'd been unable to properly fulfill my role as a result.

I was sure that, had I not already bonded with her, I would've been replaced as her Dungeon Fairy if she were to accept the pact now. I'd already proven myself to be incompetent. If she chose death, I likely wouldn't be reassigned. My feelings about her aside, our fates were now tied together, and I was only going to get one more chance to convince her to chose right option. Why did she have to be so stubborn?

* * *

Sean

I'd heard that Dungeons were terrible and strange places, but nothing could have prepared me for this. It wasn't that it was dangerous; it was just wrong. It had opened up with a maze with arrows plastered on practically every wall. Making it through there had been easy since all we had to do was ignore them and go in the opposite direction every time. Then, we got to a hallway filled with bones, all of which I'd noted were from the local monsters.

From everything I knew, they should have been reabsorbed by the Dungeon, so I found it strange more than anything that they were piled from wall to wall in what would have been an intimidating display if not for the minuscule size of each bone. It was hard to be put off by the sight when the largest thing present looked like it could have come from a particularly large rabbit, not that that was too far from the truth. It'd mainly been rats we'd fought through so far after all.

Then, there was the room at the end of the hall. It had been a deep pit with monster bats resting on the ceiling above. That almost seemed normal, but for some reason, there were also tiny platforms forming a path to the other side. They were all jumping distance apart, and on each one sat a rat, stuck in place and oddly motionless. All of that, however, had only been leading up to the real surprise.

In front of us sat the core of the Dungeon. I might have expected it to be resting atop a raised pedestal or even just sitting on the ground. Instead, it was laying on a wooden bed frame that was devoid of anything even remotely cushiony. There was also a shoddy wooden chair and table present, splintery surfaces and uneven cuts all over them.

The floor of the room was composed of wooden planks or, at least, a crude imitation of them. In actuality, it looked like someone chopped up a tree and shoved all of the pieces together in an unorganized, disorderly mess while hoping for the best all the while. There were even patches of sap oozing out all over them. The walls, composed out of unevenly sized and cut logs, were at least marginally better, but the difference wasn't night and day. Overall, the area around us looked like a crude imitation of a one-room cabin made by an amateur craftsman with a sharp rock and arthritis, if that craftsman lacked a class, any relevant skill levels, and had only heard about a cabin second-hand from someone who may or may not have seen one once. It was disconcerting in a way I couldn't put words to.

Then, there was the Goblin in the room. It was hiding under the bed shaking, except its feet were sticking out and on full display. The amount of splinters protruding from them and all of dried blood coating one was enough to make even me shudder. I knew the regional head of the Adventurers Guild had said this place was strange, but no amount of descriptions beforehand could have prepared me for all of this.

“I've seen prison cells in the hideouts of bandits that looked more welcoming than this place,” I absentmindedly put words to my thoughts.

“Never mind that,” the noble who'd been playing babysitter to me said as he pushed his way to the front of our group, “There's what we came for. Go ahead and destroy it already, so we can get out of this place.”

Even as he spoke, he cast a spell. A ball of ice formed at the end of his staff and shot underneath the bed. From there, it exploded. The bed frame cracked in half and collapsed on top of what bloody mess remained of the goblin. The orb rolled along with it, coming to a halt between the two halves.

“Are you completely incapable of rational thinking!?” Fable rounded on the man, “No, don't answer that. I've heard you prattle on endlessly for hours at a time, and I don't think you've ever voiced a single intelligent thought. Let me spell this out for you in a way that self-important, narcissism-addled mind of yours might be able to grasp, assuming you're even vaguely familiar with the concept of consequences.

“You just nearly broke the core with that half-assed, pathetic excuse of a spell. I've seen children with more magical control than you, and let me remind you, you're not the one here to shatter it. That wasn't the agreement, and if you had, you would've made an enemy of Adventurers Guild in the process. Not only that, it would have been legally considered treason since this operation was jointly set up by the kingdom itself. That tiny shred of political power you love to constantly throw around in spite of the fact it isn't even yours, it would have done nothing to save you from a public execution. Do you even begin to understand that!?”

Somehow, the shear wrongness of the scene playing out before me instantly topped the list of weird things I'd seen today. Fable Apsenbow, great-granddaughter of the regional head of the Adventurers Guild, was the calmest, most proper, and politest individual I had ever met. I had yet to see the partially elven girl show signs of annoyance, let along yell, yet she had just voiced all of the pent-up feeling I'd wished I could say to the noble from the day I'd met him.

“Uh.”

And, for the first time since I had met him, he was left speechless.

“If you so much as look in the direction of the core again, I'll let you find out what real magic is firsthand.”

“Ahem, I do not believe that will be necessary. Go ahead and shatter it, one of you.”

He took a few rapid steps back, and Fable took a deep breath.

“My apologies. I seem to have lost my temper. One of you two should take this opportunity first. Consider me removing any claim to the first core as recompense for that unsightly display.”

I chuckled lightly before saying, “No, I think you should take this one, Fable.”

“Absolutely,” Cudgel immediately agreed, “Well spoken, sister. That was a few too many words for my tastes, but the spirit was there! I think you spoke for both us as well. Take it. The first core's yours!”

“If you two are certain; though I must ask again, please do not refer to me as such.”

“And, again, I must refuse. We've fought together and spilled blood together. That makes you my sister in arms.”

The part-elven girl shook her head, but I could see the slightest hint of a smile on her lips as she stepped toward the core and prepared it, taking out a large piece of fabric to set it on. Then, with an almost imperceptible spell, it shattered. She wrapped up the remains, and we were freed to go.

“That was boring,” Cudgel stated on our way out, “I hope the other Dungeons put up more of a fight. Where was the next one again?”

“It is–” the noble started before getting cut off.

“The next Dungeon is located to the west, near a burgeoning town by the name of Firmsoil,” Fable talked over him.

Yep, she's still mad.

That was fine by me. I couldn't afford to offend him, but if my new companion was willing, I'd happily sit back and watch at his expense.

“Is it dangerous?” Cudgel followed up.

“The reports are conflicting. I suppose we will have to see.”