Viktor had thought that the world beyond the tomb was nothing but sand. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

  Shielding his eyes against the artificial sun with one hand, he scanned the vast complex id out before him, his gaze sweeping over the sheer scale of the pce. To his right loomed the tomb, the very one he had been teleported into multiple times to speak with Khenemhotep. But now, standing on the outside, he saw for the first time the thing for what it truly was. Enormous didn’t quite cover it. The structure was a behemoth, its four triangur walls climbing upward, converging at one single point at the top. And even though it dominated the skyline, the building was only the heart of a much rger body.

  A high perimeter wall encased the entire compound, an unbroken ring of stone with a single grand entrance to his left, a colonnaded corridor lined with towering pilrs. The ground inside was either paved or simply leveled, probably determined by the significance of each area. The raised ptform beneath him was a sb of fine white limestone that reflected sunlight like polished marble, so it must have been the most important part of the complex other than the great tomb itself.

  “What are those structures?” Viktor asked, gesturing toward the buildings scattered around the complex.

  “Behold,” Khenemhotep replied, raising a hand slowly, “these are mere replicas, Sovereign of the Dungeon, stone likenesses of buildings that truly exist. They mimic temples and paces that appear functional, but they are carved from solid rock and never intended for actual use. In the tombs of my homend, where great kings were id to rest, such buildings were crafted to mirror the principal structures of the kingdom they once ruled. The entire realm was recreated in miniature, so that the king could continue his rule beyond the grave, just as he did in life.”

  In other words, the kings in Khenemhotep’s world had spent a great amount of their people’s bor to build massive necropolises that mirrored their own kingdoms, so that they could have a pce to reign even in death. And, according to the undead priest himself, it was completely pointless. After all, they were going to live in the Garden of Peace, where they were no longer kings, but just one soul among many. And that was only if they managed to pass their god’s judgment and weren’t cast into the void with the rest of the screaming failures. Still, Viktor supposed that was just how vanity worked. They couldn’t take their wealth with them to the afterlife anyway, so they might as well spend it here on a prettier grave.

  “And what’s the ptform we’re standing on? What’s its purpose?”

  “Behold, this is the Festival Court. In this pce, every thirty years, following the death of the king, we performed the royal ritual of resurrection. On the day of this sacred rite, the soul of the king would return to the world of the living, and his body would rise from the tomb. And the people, his faithful subjects, would gather here to honor him, to celebrate him. But when the day came to an end, his body would rest once more, and his soul would depart, returning to the Garden of Peace.”

  So, after thirty years of suffering being a nobody in the paradise, the dead guy got to be king again for one day? For one fleeting moment, he was alive again, surrounded by his people. To be adored. To be worshipped. He must have been ecstatic, then.

  “I guess during the ritual, he would be sitting on that throne?” Viktor asked, pointing at the marble seat positioned at the center of the ptform. A wide sunshade was suspended above, casting a rectangur shadow over the throne and the people standing next to it.

  And he should head back there to join them as well, since he had been out in the sun long enough. He might have been wrong about how the outside looked, but he was absolutely right about how it felt. This temperature was unbearable.

  Above him, the artificial sky stretched endlessly across the ceiling of the second floor. An illusion created by Celeste, sustained by the mana that pulsed through the walls of the dungeon. But even though the sun over there was a fabrication, the burning heat it unleashed was anything but. Then, the stone beneath his feet reflected the sun’s fury, and the air shimmered with waves of heat so thick they seemed to distort reality itself. A completely authentic desert environment, down to every scorching detail. Any intruder who made it to this floor would be worn down, slowly and mercilessly, by the punishing climate as they tried to reach the great tomb.

  “Verily,” Khenemhotep said as he followed Viktor back to the sunshade. “For the throne was the very heart of the rite. From there, the king would speak to his people, receive their offerings, and deliver judgment upon the nd. It was a day of remembrance, a day when power was made new. On that day, the dead sat among the living once more.”

  As Viktor approached the shaded throne, Sebekton turned his head slightly.

  “Master.”

  “Are you ready for the battle?”

  “I’m always ready,” the Crocodilian replied, fshing a grin full of sharp teeth.

  Things had quieted down in the dungeon tely, as Viktor had told Celeste to hold back from killing adventurers and to offer bigger rewards, all to lure Brynhildr and Dagnar in by making them feel safe. But that also meant Sebekton hadn’t seen any real action for a while, so clearly, he was itching for this brawl.

  Viktor sank into the marble throne, gazing at the vast courtyard spreading out below the raised ptform. That was the arena for the upcoming combat test, where the Crocodilian would csh with Khenemhotep’s tomb guards.

  As he settled in, the two spider-women fnking the throne stepped closer. Each raised a rge ceremonial fan and waved it in his direction. The wind alone wouldn’t help much in a furnace like this, as it simply moved hot air from one pce to another. But he had brought what he needed. At either side of the throne stood two cauldrons, filled to the brim with chunks of ice, created from the water on the third floor using his Reliquary, the bracelet on his wrist. He wished there were a way to stop the ice from shattering at the end, though, as a single block would have sted longer than thousands of shards like this. But, well, he had to work with what he had. Chilled air emitted from the cauldrons was now fanned toward him by his two attendants, and that was how he avoided being baked alive on this floor.

  The spider-women didn’t seem to mind their task. In fact, they might have even welcomed such a job. After all, their thick, multi-yered robes were clearly not designed for this heat, so standing next to the ice was probably the closest they could get to comfort.

  “It’s going to be very hot out there,” Viktor said, eyeing the sun-drenched courtyard.

  “I know,” Sebekton replied with a shrug. “Guess this won’t just be a test for them, but also for me.”

  There was no compint in his voice, merely a simple acceptance of the challenge. The Crocodilian would fight, no matter the conditions. That was what he was made for. Clearly, heat was not the only thing that was unrelenting here.

  Viktor turned to Khenemhotep. “High Priest, if your skeletons get crushed to bits, can you restore them afterward?”

  “Verily. Even if their bones are broken and scattered, I could still call them back and make them whole. For death holds no power where my craft endures.”

  “What about the surroundings? What if Sebekton accidentally topples a pilr or brings down one of the buildings?”

  “Fear not, Sovereign of the Dungeon, for there is no trouble here. Even if harm befalls this pce, I could still mend everything with ease.”

  Viktor’s grin widened as he looked over at Sebekton. “You hear him. No need to hold back. Give them everything you’ve got.”

  “Understood, Master,” the Crocodilian replied, his slit-pupiled eyes glinting with something primal at the command. Then, without any further word, he strode forward, his massive tail swishing behind him as he walked away from the shaded throne.

  “All right,” Viktor said as he leaned back, letting the cold air sweep across his skin. “Let’s get this started.”

  He hoped the fight wouldn’t end too quickly. While the environment might not favor Sebekton, he was still a powerful warrior, and with two Reliquaries equipped, he was a force to be reckoned with. Viktor couldn’t see how some frail skeletons could provide much of a challenge. They might outnumber the Sebekton, and they could restore themselves after defeat, but could they truly trade blows with the Crocodilian? Would their skeletal forms withstand the might of his raw power?

  Sebekton had stepped into the open arena and made his way to the center, where he came to a halt. The Guardian was ready, as were his Reliquaries. In his cwed grip was the great axe, an instrument of destruction that could cleave through any foe no matter the distance, and pressed against his chest was the breastpte, unyielding as a mountain, impervious to any strike. He waited. Yet, his opponents were nowhere to be found.

  Viktor asked, “High Priest, where are your—”

  The words died in his throat as he saw them rise. Yes, rise. The tomb guards didn’t walk in from outside the arena, but instead they emerged from the ground beneath.

  At first gnce, it might appear they had burrowed underground, but that was not the case. The earth didn’t crack open to let them through, and there were no signs of their arrival. One moment, Sebekton stood alone in the arena, and the next, the undead soldiers were there, surrounding him. They left no trace on the ground, no sign of any disturbance. It was as if the soil had turned to liquid, and the tomb guards had passed through effortlessly. But that was not the only thing unusual about them.

  They were huge.

  Viktor had seen them before, back when they were little more than ordinary human skeletons, so their current appearance caught him off guard. Now, they were monstrous, nearly as tall as Sebekton himself. Their bones were not brittle, but thick and sturdy, reinforced with some strange magic. And they were armed with massive swords, axes, and shields, rivaling the Crocodilian’s own weapon.

  His lips curled into a smile. Maybe this fight would not be as one-sided as he had thought.