The morning fog curled low over the hills as Nick and Ray crested the final ridge, boots crunching softly over dew-slick stone. A faint heat rose from the earth, remnant smoke lingering in the air like a long forgotten memory.
The Siege Vault was just ahead.
A scar in the landscape. A wound the world never healed.
Ray scowled down at the field below. “So… this is it? Doesn’t look like much.”
Nick shaded his eyes with one hand. From here, the camp was a blur of canvas and smoke, steel and movement. Guard tents ringed the perimeter in a half-circle around a crumbling stone trench system, and armored figures milled around open cookfires and weapon racks. A dozen colorful banners fluttered on makeshift poles, each one bearing a different adventuring party crest. The scent of old ash mixed with breakfast stew and oil.
“This is the most interesting place on the map,” Nick said quietly.
Ray glanced at him.
He reached into his coat and retrieved the map from his inner pocket. The wax seal had long since been broken. “The notes say it’s a pseudo-dungeon that’s only been cleared once. Duke Jantzen himself soloed it when people thought it was impossible to clear.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And nobody’s cleared it since?”
“Nope,” Nick tucked the map away. “The rumor is, no matter how many people you bring, it’s impossible. Anybody who makes it inside burns to death.”
They started down the path, boots slipping once or twice on moss-slick stone. The trail narrowed as it neared the basin, winding between shattered walls and scorched tree trunks that still stood like blackened ribs. The fog thickened near the base, parting only when they stepped into the encampment proper.
The shift in energy was immediate.
Conversations paused. Men and women glance their way—some weary, some wary. This wasn’t a rookie adventurer camp. These were veteran fighters, healers, and strategists. There was a shared language in their eyes:
We’ve been here too long.
A heavy silence clung to the stones, broken only by the rhythmic clatter of whetstones.
“They’re prepping for another run,” Nick said under his breath.
“Are we going to join?” Ray asked. “Storming a fortress sounds like fun.”
The corners of Nick’s lips turned up. “Absolutely.”
“Because we’ll learn something?”
“Because I want to know more about dungeons,” he replied. “And I want skill points.”
They passed a small command tent where a group of adventurer captains were bent over a crude map scratched into the dirt with char. A woman in polished steel armor looked up as they passed, her sharp eyes assessing them. Nick gave her a nod. She didn’t return it.
Another man, younger and broader, looked them over and called out, “You two with a team?”
“No,” Nick replied.
The man snorted. “Then you’re either stupid or suicidal.”
“My wife says I’m both,” Nick said. “For the record, I think I proved her right when I died.”
The younger man gave Nick a wary look as if weighing whether that was a joke or a confession. He settled for a grunt and turned back to the map, muttering something to the steel-clad woman. She didn’t glance up again.
Ray leaned close as they walked past. “So… we’re not joining a team?”
Nick’s eyes scanned the outpost. There were maybe three dozen adventurers here, gathered in uneven clusters. Some sat on crates or overturned shields, checking gear or patching armor. Others stood in tight circles, murmuring tactics or prayers. He caught snatches of conversation as they passed:
“—he made it halfway up before the flames broke his ward—”
“—it’s not the heat, it’s the damn aura…”
“—I swear, that damn orc was mocking us.”
“No,” Nick said finally. “We’re not joining a team. They’re decent enough people, probably. But they’ve been fighting this place for months and making no progress.”
“So they’re just bad.”
He shook his head. “I didn’t say that. You don’t always fail because you’re bad. Sometimes, the enemy is just better.”
Ray nodded slowly, her hand rubbing the handle of her baseball bat. “I guess so. I don’t think I’d lose if I had to fight everyone here, though.”
He sighed. “That’s because they literally can’t kill you.”
He looked ahead. Beyond the camp, a ravine split the earth, jagged and sharp like a wound. On the far side stood the Siege Vault.
There was no aperture to enter this dungeon.
It manifested directly into the world, yet still existed as an extradimensional space. This was an exceedingly rare type of dungeon that usually indicated the presence of a dungeon core.
Yet this dungeon supposedly didn’t have a core.
It was an anomaly that proved humans didn’t know enough about dungeons to even begin to say they understood them.
The Siege Vault wasn’t a ruin.
It was a fortress.
Thick stone walls rose from the broken rock, pitted and scorched from battle. Towers loomed at the corners, their battlements cracked, one half-collapsed. Fires burned in the high windows, casting flickering orange across the scorched facade. Chains hung like vines from the ramparts, some broken, some swaying gently in the breeze.
Nick stopped just short of the rope bridge that spanned the ravine. It had been repaired dozens of times, planks mismatched and lashed together with whatever was available. The ropes were scorched black in places. Adventurers had set up warding sigils on both sides.
Ray stared at the structure. “We have to cross that?”
“It builds character,” Nick replied.
She tilted her head. “I don’t think I need more character.”
He placed a hand on her shoulder and nodded. “Then let’s say it’ll put hair on your chest.”
She glanced down. “What?”
He turned to the nearest supply post—little more than a canvas tarp over a few crates. A quartermaster leaned against one, smoking something that smelled illegal. She raised an eyebrow.
“You going in?”
Nick nodded.
“You’ll want heat resistance, then. Maybe a charm against panic.” She flicked her cigarette to the ground. “They say if you stay too long, the fire starts whispering.”
“Charming.”
He tossed her a gold coin and picked up a satchel of red vials marked with the sigil of the Acolyte’s Guild.
Mana potions.
He handed one to Ray and clipped the satchel to his belt.
“Your funeral,” the quartermaster muttered as she turned away.
They stepped onto the bridge.
It groaned beneath their weight, ropes creaking as the ravine wind howled between the boards. The Vault loomed larger with every step—its gates sealed shut with rusted chains and molten slag. As they reached the midpoint, Nick paused and looked back.
The camp had already started to fade into the haze.
The last few steps of the bridge felt longer than they should have. The moment Nick set foot on solid stone, something in the air shifted. Since this was his third dungeon, he was starting to recognize the feeling.
He was officially inside the dungeon now.
The ground beneath the fortress gates was cracked and scorched, warped by time and heat. Ash had gathered in the corners like snowdrifts, untouched by wind. The metal doors ahead were shut tight, warped inward as if something had tried to break out rather than in. Molten slag had long since cooled into black, glassy crusts, sealing the seams like scar tissue.
Ray stepped up beside him, peering upward. “No guards?”
“There were.” Nick gestured at the skeletal remains piled near the gates. Most of them were human, though a few had warped skeletal structures that likely belonged to some type of beastkin or another race. One body had fused into the wall, ribs melted into the stone like wax.
He stepped forward and placed a hand on the blackened surface.
The moment his fingers brushed metal, the chains slithered. They moved like vines through water—sliding, peeling, shifting. One by one, the locks fell apart with a dull thud. Heat breathed out from within the gate like an exhale from a furnace. Somewhere deep inside, a horn sounded—low and mournful.
The doors didn’t open, they sank, lowering into the ground with a sound like the earth grinding its teeth.
Darkness loomed beyond.
Ray’s fingers tightened around her baseball bat. “This is going to be fun.”
Nick turned to her. “Remember the rule.”
She blinked at him. “Which one?”
“No killing until you learn to control your aura.”
Her expression soured instantly. “Even in dungeons?”
“Especially in dungeons.”
“But what about my new weapon?”
“If you want to use it, then you better learn to control your aura quickly,” he replied, stepping through the threshold.
She huffed but followed him anyway.
The Siege Vault was a fortress turned inside-out. The entrance hall was wide and sloped, designed to funnel intruders toward choke points. Burned banners hung in tatters from iron hooks. Charred crates and splintered shields littered the ground. The walls bore the scorch marks of impact spells, and ancient bloodstains streaked the stone.
There were no enemies in sight—all the defenders in this region having long since been cleared by other parties that were currently further inside.
The deeper they walked, the hotter it became.
The air grew thick and suffocating, the heat causing sweat to form and the air to feel clammy. Ray’s boots scraped against the stone, her expression bored and somewhat annoyed as she twirled her baseball bat.
Nick raised a hand, signaling her to stop.
The next chamber opened into a large interior courtyard exposed to a half-collapsed roof overhead. Light from the sky poured through in broken beams, illuminating the twisted remains of a barricade. Rubble was strewn across the ground, blackened timbers still faintly steaming. The bodies of adventurers lay at odd angles—some burned, others torn apart. A few still twitched.
On the far side of the courtyard, two survivors fought for their lives.
A woman with a halberd was locked in melee with a towering, half-armored creature—an orc with scorch-marked skin and ritual scars carved into his chest. His eyes burned with unnatural fury. A wiry man with daggers moved in and out like a shadow, but he was clearly flagging.
The woman parried once, twice, then stumbled as a second orc flanked her, swinging low with a jagged axe.
Nick tensed. “They’re going to die.”
Ray shifted forward instinctively. “Should I—?”
“No,” he said. “Not yet.”
The halberd-wielder parried the low swing and tried to lunge forward, but her grip faltered. The first orc knocked her weapon aside with a grunt and raised his axe for the killing blow.
Nick raised a hand. “Now.”
The air rippled.
Thirty-two fireballs ignited in formation behind him, spiraling outward like wings of flame. Each one burned hot enough to warp the air, their combined glow casting shadows that danced like devils on the scorched walls.
Then—silence.
All thirty-two vanished.
Gone. Snuffed out in the same breath they were born.
And just as suddenly—
They reappeared.
A perfect split, sixteen targeting each orc from every angle—above, behind, under, to the side.
The first explosion landed. The second followed, then the rest—a cascading storm of fire and pressure that turned the courtyard into a furnace.
When the light faded, only ash and craters remained.
=You have defeated (2) Branded Orcs=
=You gain 0.20 skill points=
=Current skill points: 0.93=
=Level up! Multi-Fireball is now Rank 13/-=
=Level up! Flickerflame is now Rank 2/100=
=Level up! Nimble Hands is now Rank 2/100=
=Level up! Enhanced Fire Magic is now Rank 2/100=
He killed the orcs with a single spell, so Emberheart didn’t come into play, and the orcs died almost instantly, so Ignite didn’t gain any experience either.
“Damn…” he muttered. “Do I need to hold back a little?”
The two adventurers blinked, still standing. Their armor was singed. Their hair smelled like smoke. But not a single burn touched their skin.
The halberd-wielder stared at her hands. Her gauntlets were cold—untouched as if the fire hadn’t even tried to burn her.
She turned to Nick, eyes wide, mouth half-open.
You—” she began, then stopped. “What was that?”
The other adventurer looked around the smoldering courtyard like he’d just walked out of a dream. “Where did they go?”
Nick stepped forward, the embers still fading around his boots. “Gone,” he said simply. “You’re welcome.”
The halberd-wielder blinked again as if trying to reconcile the battlefield with what she’d just seen. “Are you, perhaps… some kind of archmage?”
Nick shrugged. “I formally started studying magic yesterday.”
The dagger-wielder shook his head. “Bullshit. I’ve seen fire mages. They throw one fireball, maybe two if they prepare another one with Quickcast. You cast—how many?”
“Thirty-two,” Ray bragged, raising her nose in the air. “He can do more than that now.”
“Thir…” the man spluttered, falling silent as he stared at them in disbelief.
“Are you with one of the guilds?” the halberd-wielder asked quickly.
Nick flashed his recently updated guild card. “Adventurer’s Guild. C-rank.”
She sighed. “We’re technically C-rank, though that’s more our party rank than our individual level.”
“We were F-rank a few days ago,” Ray bragged. “We started at the same time. I’m also C-rank, by the way.”
She stared at Ray for a moment, then smiled. “Well, it’s reassuring to have people like you around. I’ve died over twenty times trying to clear this damned dungeon. I wish the guildmaster would let us try somewhere a little easier.”
She shook her head. “Anyway, I guess I owe you some money. I would’ve lost everything on me if I died here.”
Nick waved her off. “You were holding your own.”
“Not for long,” said the dagger-wielder. “And not against that.” He glanced at the ash, then at Nick, like he wasn’t sure which was more dangerous. “You heading deeper?”
Nick nodded. “This is just the courtyard. We’re aiming to clear this place.”
Ray slung her baseball bat over one shoulder. “It’s our first time here. Wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”
The woman hesitated. “I’m not sure what you’ve heard. This place has only been cleared once. Monsters reset every twelve hours after you kill them, and the miniboss up ahead resets daily. No one’s taken it down yet today.”
Nick grinned. “Then we’ll handle it.”
They stepped through the shattered inner gate, leaving the charred courtyard behind. The second hall was narrow, designed for bottlenecks. The stone walls were scorched black and lined with jagged metal barricades, rusted into place. Every ten paces, a pair of heavy iron doors had been blasted off their hinges, strewn aside like broken teeth.
Ray sniffed. “It smells dirty down here.”
Nick scanned the walls. In some places, glowing runes pulsed faintly under the soot—ward sigils and enchantments from a time before the dungeon formed. Not all of them were dead.
“Someone used to live here,” he muttered. “Or fight here.”
They reached a sharp corner that opened into a larger chamber, this one round and domed like a collapsed tower. A ruined altar stood at its center, flanked by the remnants of charred benches. On the far wall, blackened bones were fused into the stone—dozens of them, humanoid, arranged in a pattern that was almost reverent.
A stillness hung over the space like mourning.
Ray’s voice dropped. “This doesn’t feel like a warzone.”
“It probably wasn’t intended to be one,” Nick said.
A low rumble echoed from deeper within.
Ray’s grip tightened on her bat. “You think that’s it?”
He nodded once. “Probably.”
They moved through the chamber, careful not to disturb the bones, and descended a sloped hallway where melted torches had dripped like candles. As they turned a final corner, a wave of dry heat hit them like a slap.
Ahead, an enormous steel door stood half-open, its hinges warped and groaning. Beyond it, a massive chamber glowed with dull, reddish light, like the heart of a dying volcano.
Inside, a dozen corpses lay scattered—adventurers, some still smoldering. Their armor had melted in places, and their bodies were badly burned.
Nick stepped past the threshold, eyes narrowing.
The monster noticed him.
A massive orc—easily eight feet tall—knelt at the far end of the chamber before a scorched shrine of blackened stone. His back was broad, layered with burn scars and ritual brands. A broken banner was slung over one shoulder like a shroud. Embers danced around him like fireflies, drawn in and out of his breath.
Nick nodded again. “Yup, that’s definitely the miniboss.”
The orc stood slowly and turned.
His eyes burned like coals.
Project Knightfall 