“Can you freeze it?” Hyzen asked.

  “I doubt it.” Martha squatted down beside the roaring rapids.

  “Look how fast the water is moving. Anything I freeze will probably shatter before we get any good use out of it.”

  Hyzen scratched his chin.

  “Rocky might be able to carry us through.”

  Martha shook her head.

  “I doubt Rocky is tall enough, but even if he was — I still think the water is moving too fast.”

  “Hmm…” Hyzen replied.

  “What if we had a kayak?” He asked.

  “A kayak?” Martha repeated. “In the dungeon?”

  “We can hire someone to carry it down here. Make it a D-rank quest. It’s essentially another porter, don’t you think?”

  Martha scrunched her brows.

  “It’s not the worst idea in the world… but we don’t even know what the kayak will be facing yet.”

  “Well obviously, my apprentice, it is only an idea, after all. On the flip side of things, it looks like our delve this time around has come to an early end.” Hyzen said.

  “Good.” Martha replied instantly. “My back is starting to hurt.”

  “Your back will grow stronger.” Hyzen said as he turned towards the staircase.

  Before she left, Martha took one last look at the roaring rapids. The water was violent. It thrashed around and clapped against the dungeon’s walls like thunder.

  But even when the thunderous bangs were absent, the sound of the surging water itself drowned out the third floor. Like gravel constantly pouring, the third floor was remarkably loud.

  With her last look goodbye, Martha followed her Master up to the second floor. She ignored the wall’s depictions and followed her trail of Lunar Petals up the canyon’s steps.

  Soon, she’d see daylight again.

  She wished she could sleep in, but with the preliminary delve out of the way — her Master would open the dungeon to the public tomorrow.

  The Viscount would probably be there. Alongside his chessboard of more-than-likely-paid-off aristocrats.

  And since her Master would be there; she had to be there.

  Martha sighed.

  Work. She thought.

  When does it end?

  ***

  Erin was disappointed that Hyzen didn’t full-send it into the river.

  He knew it was idiotic — just look at the water for Christ’s sake — but he would have loved to see it regardless.

  The mental image of one of his Sea Tanks barreling across the water and absolutely obliterating some poor soul’s vessel…

  Erin couldn’t wait.

  Although the massive influx of adventurer’s soon to come meant that Erin was in more danger than ever before — he surprisingly found himself more excited than not.

  His confidence was misplaced, perhaps, but he felt he had a good basis to stand upon.

  Between Kuzo and Hyzen, the two men who had raided his dungeon the most, neither treated it like some stroll in a park.

  Take Kuzo, for example — Erin had seen the man split vessels in two; he’d decapitated Smoky in under a second and he’d shown himself to possess extraordinary reflexes, oftentimes evading the clutches of the second floor’s shadows with mere millimeters to spare.

  Then, there’s Hyzen — a man who, like Kuzo, wielded unnaturally adept reflexes; he consistently toys with Smoky and is able to run laps around the Bat-Apes; and none of that even shines a light compared to the mere fact that he’s exposed himself using three different elemental types: wind, light, and earth.

  Yet still, between the two more-than-qualified men, neither were able to simply walk through Erin’s dungeon.

  And the reason, Erin concluded, was due to their builds.

  Kuzo was a high single-target melee damage dealer. Excellent in his role, but his abilities lacked width; the Vesperclaw, for example — an opponent amongst the skies — Kuzo’s sword couldn’t reach the beast if it hadn’t descended of its volition.

  Hyzen, meanwhile, was a utility-support mage. Due to his vast number of expressed affinities, he is able to appropriately respond to a multitude of situations — both advantageous and disadvantageous.

  But both men — Erin believed — were susceptible to instant death; neither wore armor, neither received any attack head-on — they were fighters, not defenders.

  And Erin had a sneaking suspicion that was the case for most adventurers — they were men and women who sought personal power.

  Strength. Authority. Autonomy. Wealth.

  Power.

  That was an adventurer's dream, wasn’t it?

  All of them, Erin believed, would likely lack the tools necessary to conquer his dungeon; hell — it’s the third floor and there’s already talk of kayaks.

  Needless to say, Erin felt confident going into tomorrow.

  He felt even better when he thought about the rapid influx of mana he was about to receive.

  There’s no risk without reward! Erin hollered.

  Regardless, Erin accompanied the Master and apprentice all the way out of his home. Once they left, Erin prepared some gifts for his new guests.

  He wanted it to be a real welcoming party for them, much like the one currently taking place at the Viscount’s estate.

  Erin wasn’t eavesdropping or anything crude like that — he was simply aware of it. With so many people gathered in one spot — with so many mages gathered in one spot — the Viscount’s estate appeared like a major blip in Erin’s radar.

  Perhaps one of these days I might be able to crash their little party…

  ***

  Cassian and Kuzo arrived fashionably late; a choice more than an accident.

  Kuzo still wore his Navy garb: black suit, gold cufflinks, navy cap.

  Cassian, on the other hand — he finally removed his silky robes. In its place, however, he wore a black suit with green accents.

  He held a darkwood cane, a forest green sash ran across his chest, and his hair — that was normally lazily tied behind him — was brushed and conditioned.

  His raven locks cascaded down his back and rustled in the coast’s breeze. In addition to his cane, Cassian carried a small box — a gift for the Viscount.

  Upon their arrival, the two were led into the estate. It was a compound just shy of a castle; three stories tall with a central tower that overlooked the port.

  The Viscount’s estate was crafted of gray brick and had wooden floors. The floors were oak from the forest nearby, they had been polished to a mirror-like glaze and reflected the light of the many chandeliers that dangled above them.

  The chandeliers appeared molded from crystal — most likely some mana-enhanced stone from a dungeon beyond. They glowed a soft, opaque white; ghostly.

  The Viscount had gothic taste; that much was obvious.

  He had skulls encased in glass all along his halls and empty suits of armor lined his extended corridors.

  In the very forefront of his estate, gargoyles guarded the entrance; they were molded from stone into shapes of birds of prey: eagles, griffins, phoenixes, to name a few.

  Carriages lined behind one another; they arrived in droves, all parked and bound to the Viscount’s newly constructed stable.

  Cassian and Kuzo were led through the estate’s halls until they were spit into a ballroom; a massive enclosure of space, adorned with spectacular chandeliers, stained glass, and of course — a domed ceiling.

  Men and women in luxurious attire mingled about; some danced, some ate, but most socialized.

  The aristocrats stood around tables flushed of meats and greens. They held cocktails — bright and vibrant — stuffed to the brim with colorfully sliced fruits and sparkling liquids.

  The Viscount danced among the center; his wife danced with him — a woman half his age with hazel hair, blue eyes, and tanned skin.

  She wore a blue dress that complemented her eyes — a slit in her dress revealed her inner thigh — and she danced in stilettos, black, like her husband’s suit.

  Her husband, meanwhile — the Viscount — wore a black suit with blue flair. White gems adorned his fingers and a thick, sterling necklace brushed against his bare chest — the Viscount wore a suit, yes, but his undershirt had gone astray.

  Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

  The two were obviously made to complement one another, their outfits made to match.

  “From the House of Moor — second born Cassian Moor enters alongside his retainer ‘White Flash’ Kuzo!” The party’s herald announced.

  Although the music continued to play and the Viscount continued to dance, the announcement pulled heads away from the ball.

  Eyes and ears, attention and interest — when Cassian and Kuzo entered the Viscount’s ball, glares akin to a predators’ welcomed them.

  As if the music stopped, a wave of tension fell on deaf ears.

  Cassian ignored it.

  He pervaded across the polished floor to a table reserved for the Moor’s; a gesture of necessity more than of

  good will.

  The table was desolate.

  It was cornered in the back of the ballroom, beside the lavatory. The lights were dimmer there, the music quieter; from the lavatory’s doors, an unacceptable odor wafted out.

  It crept around the ballroom table — whispered to it like a lost lover; the foul stench was soft, hush, and nearly unrecognizable… for the laymen folk, that is.

  For the mana-enhanced, however — for the mages and knights of society — the smell was clear and obnoxious; as was the message it conveyed.

  “It seems we’re not welcome here.” Kuzo said as he pulled out his seat.

  “Their loss.” Cassian replied curtly.

  Kuzo eyed the box in Cassian’s hands.

  “Seven bought it.” Cassian said.

  “If it were up to me, though…” Cassian leaned over the table.

  “I wouldn't get him more than a —”

  “Gentleman.” A man interrupted Cassian.

  He approached from the lavatory’s exit — from behind Cassian and Kuzo.

  He was an elderly man: gray thin hair, a sagging face, and a small frame. He wore spectacles, carried a cane, and although he was dressed appropriately — he was by far the most underdressed of the gathered aristocrats; he wore a plain tuxedo — slightly bedazzled with an intricately folded pocket square — just enough to make him stand out from the Viscount’s personal servants as they wore something much the same.

  “May I?” The gentleman asked.

  Cassian eye-balled Kuzo.

  Kuzo shrugged.

  “You may.” Cassian replied.

  The gentleman pulled out a chair and sat amongst the Duke’s table.

  “Your cane appears exquisitely crafted. May I?” The gentleman reached.

  Cassian obliged and handed over his darkwood cane.

  The old man studied it intently. He tested its balance, he inspected its craftsmanship, he even coursed some of his mana into it — Cassian was only able to tell due to the runes he’d inscribed along the cane’s shaft.

  The runes didn’t ignite like crazy, but they sparkled. Gently. Softly. Weakly.

  “Marvelous….” The elder muttered to himself.

  Growing perturbed, Cassian butt in.

  “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of meeting… I am Cassian Moor, second born son of Duke Moor and —”

  “Did you know?” The elder interrupted as though Cassian hadn't spoken at all.

  “The Willows weep this time of year. Their blood runs thin, I fear.” The elder returned Cassian’s cane.

  Then, he left.

  He disappeared amongst the crowd of aristocrats. He became nothing more than just another bobbing head in the ever moving crowd that mingled among the ballroom.

  *ding* *ding* *ding*

  The Viscount tapped a knife against his glass.

  The music stopped and the aristocrats quieted.

  “First, I would like to thank you all for gathering on such short notice. Just twenty days ago — I was a Captain in the Empire’s Garrison, but before even then — before many of you knew me and before I became the man I am today — I was a lost soul down South…”

  “My mother was a barmaid. My father a banker. Life was slow. Life was more grueling than many of you know; so on my fourteenth birthday, I fled. I fled my home, my country, and my people… all for a chance at something more.”

  “Twenty days ago — I believe I finally achieved what my fourteen-year-old-self had sought after so long ago; I now have a beautiful wife, beautiful land, beautiful friends, and a beautiful home. Let tonight mark the change in our lives — like that fateful night so long ago when I decided to fight for more — let tonight be our rally; let tonight be our fight for more.”

  “For tomorrow — the Oakroot Catacombs will open. Men and women from far and wide will seek us out; they will come for the dungeon — yes — but they will reside upon our land, eat our food, and purchase our wares. Ladies and gentlemen — let tonight be our last night as captains, barmaids, and bankers — for come morning — we will rise as nobles.”

  “Now let us cheers! Not for me and my appointment, nor for my beautiful wife and our immaculate home; let us cheers for each other; may we all find success in this uncharted land. Cheers!”

  “Cheers!”

  “Cheers!”

  *ding*

  *ding*

  “I digress! I digress! I apologize, my guests — for I forgot one important detail.” The Viscount turned his hulking body towards the back end of the ballroom.

  He raised his now empty glass towards the lavatory.

  “To my friends from across the sea…” He began.

  “I hope you find our hospitality to your liking. I would hate for us to get off on the wrong foot. With that said, once again — cheers to new friends and new opportunities!”

  “Cheers!”

  “Cheers!”

  “Cheers!”

  Cassian, however, did not cheers.

  Neither did Kuzo.

  The aristocrats surrounded them. They glanced at them. They spoke under hushed tones.

  The message was evident.

  The Moor’s were outsiders and they were to be treated as such.

  It was a political move — of course — all moves were.

  A newly appointed Viscount with a Duke’s son marching around; the hierarchy was already muddy.

  Cassian had showed up the Viscount once before, at the grand opening of the Guild Hall. In a public setting, with not only his servants and supporters around, but his subjects around — Cassian blatantly disregarded him.

  The nobles played chess, however, not checkers.

  An eye for an eye.

  In a public setting — the Viscount’s own ball — he struck back.

  The Moor’s are to remain on the sidelines.

  Cassian received the message loud and clear.

  There was only one miscalculation, however; Cassian no longer spoke on behalf of his father.

  Unfortunately, his public image could not sour now.

  It was checkmate tonight.

  But tomorrow night?

  Cassian grinned.

  He loved a game of back and forth.

  And now he had an excellent reason to play.

  ***

  “Come on! We’re gonna be late!” A boy’s voice shouted above the wind.

  “I’m coming! Wait! Hold on!” A girl replied.

  The two children sprinted down Main Street; they blew past carriages and horses and stumbled through back alleyways and through gardens.

  The boy ran ahead.

  His shoes kicked rocks as he ran and he waved and smiled to all the new locals: Miss B just opened a bakery, Mrs. T finally achieved her dream of opening an apparel shop, and Mr. S had been grinding in his smithy for upwards of three days now.

  Meanwhile, the girl followed.

  She stumbled her way through town like a wrecking ball; in just two weeks she had become famous — or perhaps infamous — as both the adventurers and the locals knew of her growing reputation.

  She crashed into the cabbage wagon yesterday.

  Stumbled into a bushel of apples the day before that.

  She even managed to lock herself in a pig pen — not for too long, thankfully — as the butcher’s apprentice discovered her and released her back into the wild.

  But today — today she could not afford to be late or lost or distracted.

  Today was the big day, after all.

  “Hurry up!” Her brother shouted from the shoreline.

  He raced across the sand past stalls and booths that had been set up overnight.

  Performers lined the streets; there were men swallowing swords and women breathing fire — tricks to entertain the laymen.

  The children’s focus, however, persevered past such things.

  They were interested in real magic, not the cheap and finicky performances reserved for the cobble streets.

  “Hey!” She heard her brother shout.

  “I see it! I see it! Amanda, I see it!”

  Amanda squeezed her small frame through the crowd.

  She couldn’t see anything; not the sky or the clouds nor the sea or the sands. She saw people’s waists. She saw their dangling swords and their tightly bound daggers.

  She saw repeaters and crossbows, satchels stuffed to the brim with potions and sharpening stones alongside preserved rations for the delves to the come: dried fruits, meats, grains, and legumes all encompassing.

  She pushed through the crowd to the front of the line where she assumed her brother would be; he was a real attention hog — through and through.

  And like she thought, when Amanda breached the crowd’s suffocating enclosure, she saw her brother at the forefront of it all. Even worse — he was clung to a noble man’s silk robes.

  “Are you an adventurer???”

  “Do you know magic???”

  “Are you gonna kill all the monsters in there???”

  “Are you —”

  “Jeremy!!!” Amanda roared.

  The boy was damn near kneeled over on top of the noble man’s robes. Behind the young noble, a teenage girl with white hair glared at her brother — but the old man beside her restrained her.

  At the same time, the young noble himself entertained her brother.

  “I’m not an adventurer but I certainly know a little magic.”

  The noble reached into his robes and retrieved something tiny — no larger than a thumbtack.

  “Would you like to see?” The noble asked with a warm smile that clashed with his pale appearance.

  “YES!!” Jeremy screamed.

  The noble chuckled.

  He ruffled Jeremy’s uncut brown hair and reached behind his ear.

  “Book of Willow: Bloom.” The noble recited.

  From behind Jeremy’s ear, a vibrant red rose grew into shape. It pushed through the strands of his hair and parted his bangs.

  When the noble was done, a crown of roses sat atop Jeremy’s little head.

  Within the boy’s eyes — stars sparkled.

  Suddenly, the rambunctious crowd quieted.

  The adventurer’s parted and a procession led by the Viscount and his wife arrived in front of the dungeon’s entrance.

  Adjacent to the dungeon’s cavern, the city constructed a goblet of stone. Etched into the stone, the words ‘Oakroot Catacombs’ were bare for all to see.

  Hyzen was part of the procession. He stood just behind the Viscount’s wife. Beside him, Martha tugged on her hat.

  A few other Guild workers stood behind them, but the vast majority of the procession was made up of knights adorned in silver armor; the sound of their steel-tipped boots resonated off the cobble path that led up the mountainside.

  In the center of the procession, a knight larger than the rest carried a burning torch.

  The procession stilled.

  The air quieted.

  Eyes shifted unto Hyzen.

  He stepped out of the procession and stood beside the goblet.

  He cleared his throat.

  Hyzen delivered a speech written by Martha. No one noticed, of course, but if anyone paid any attention — Martha lip synced along to the speech better than Hyzen delivered it.

  “On behalf of the Guild of Adventurers, in tandem with the Empire, I — Guild Master Hyzen — officially declare the Oakroot Catacombs open for subjugation, exploration, and innovation; may your lives find its weight in gold and may your hearts be filled with glory!”