Chapter 119

Pain was the first thing Nick noticed. It wasn’t a sharp or sudden agony but rather a dull, pervasive ache that felt remarkably like he had bruises covering every inch of his body. For several moments, he lay still with his eyes closed, not daring to move. He dimly recalled an explosion of flames that had consumed the dungeon core. After that, there was only darkness.The thought flickered across his mind with no small amount of wonder. Slowly, gingerly, he wriggled his toes and fingers one at a time. Nothing felt missing or ruined, though each tiny movement drew a wave of complaint from his aching flesh.

His eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t open them right away. He needed a moment to come to terms with being in one piece. A low groan crawled up his throat. It felt as though he had walked through a desert for days and emerged on the other side with a heatstroke. Every breath rattled slightly, inhaling air that smelled of ash, charcoal, and something oddly sweet that he really didn’t want to think about.

Then, strong hands slid gently behind his shoulders, lifting him to a sitting position. He hissed in discomfort, but the person supporting him did so carefully, mindful of his injuries.

“You’re alright, Nick,” a familiar voice said, gruff with fatigue.

He forced his eyes open. The daylight appeared muted and gray, as if all color had been washed away. Then he looked up and saw it was his father who was helping him. Eugene looked as if he had been chewed up and spat out; he had bandages covering part of his left arm, dried blood caked along the edges of several cuts on his face and likely on his body too, his clothes were full of suspicious stains, and his expression bordered on utter exhaustion. Yet his eyes shone with relief.

“We made it.”

“How long…” Nick tried to speak, but the words rasped in his throat.

“Not too long,” Eugene replied. “A couple of hours, maybe. Hard to measure time perfectly here. But we’re safe now—or as safe as we can be, all things considered.”

Nick glanced around, taking in the ravaged landscape. A vast expanse of ash stretched before him, dusting every surface with ghostly white. It reminded him of snowfall in mid-winter, only infinitely more haunting. In the distance, the greenery of the Green Ocean was likewise tinted an eerie gray as flakes drifted onto the leaves and branches.

The entire clearing was unnervingly calm. As far as Nick could see, pockets of survivors sat or slumped against the scorched remnants of trees, pressing bandages to wounds or rifling through discarded packs for what was left of their potions. There was no sign of the Daughter’s majestic form or the Guardian’s towering silhouette. Even the whimper of wounded men had grown quieter.

“What…what happened?” Nick managed. Again, he tried to recall the final moments. What he got was a deafening crack, unstoppable fire, and the dungeon core fracturing. His vision blurred for a second, but he willed himself to focus.

Eugene released a heavy sigh. “After the dungeon core cracked, Marthas used that massive surge of mana to strike the final blow against the Daughter. He said that she was destroyed—‘exorcised from all facets of reality’ were his words. Whatever that means.” He paused, running a hand through his grimy hair. “I don’t pretend to fully understand it, but from what we’ve confirmed, the entire enemy force is gone with her. Whatever she did to absorb the fae meant that when she died, so did the rest.”

Nick stared down at his own trembling hands. “He killed her?”

He found it nearly impossible to understand. The Daughter of Fate wielded powers that changed causality, resurrected armies, and manipulated the fabric of the dungeon. She had altered reality as if rewriting lines in a script. The idea that such a being could be defeated by brute force, even Marthas’ flame, seemed unbelievable. Yet, it was what happened.

“All I know,” Eugene continued, “is that Marthas said she’s gone. And that’s enough for me. Look around, Nick. None of them remain. Not even the ones who had kept away from the fighting.”

Indeed, not a single fae was visible. He saw no glimmer of silver armor or odd flicker of illusions. The only forms were the lumps of what looked like remains—bodies, possibly reduced to dust and scraps of charred bone. “What about the Guardian?” Nick asked, faintly recalling the repeated resurrections. “Did he…?”

“Killed for good, apparently,” Eugene confirmed grimly. “By the time I regained enough sense to look around, there was only a pile of melted slag. Marthas told me that his soul would never find an afterlife because of what she did to him. Apparently, her resurrections erode the soul of her target, which explains why they kept giving less experience when they died.”

Nick released a shaky breath.

His father nodded toward the center of the clearing. “Anyway, you should gather your strength and check your status once you feel up to it. You might be surprised. We’ll need a while to get the men back in order, but it’ll be hours before we can return. Marthas says we need to wait for the dungeon’s final collapse to settle.”

“Wait,” Nick croaked, “final collapse?”

Eugene offered a small shrug. “That’s what he called it. The core’s broken, but the remains of the dungeon mana apparently need time to dissipate or anchor themselves back to the leyline. If we left too soon, we’d risk something else taking over and trying to start another dungeon.” A humorless chuckle escaped him. “All this is a little beyond me, but I trust him on this.”

Nick swallowed, wincing at how raw his throat felt. “Alright,” he agreed, all the fight draining out of him as he realized just how completely spent he was. “I’ll…just…yeah. Take stock, I guess.” He tried for a weak grin, but it felt forced. Tipping his head back, Nick closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his strength.

When he opened them, Eugene had stood up, giving him space. “Go easy, Nick. I’ll be close. I’m just going to help Arthur gather what we can from what’s left of those tree-buildings.”

Nick frowned in confusion. “What?”

“Yeah,” Eugene said, gesturing vaguely behind him. “That patch of the battlefield we fought on was apparently the outskirts of a settlement. There are entire structures grown from living wood. We don’t know if it was illusions or pocket spaces that hid them, but Arthur thinks we might salvage something. I gotta say, I didn’t see them at all until we came out of that meltdown.”

Then he trudged away, leaving Nick to his thoughts.

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Nick’s eyes roamed around, trying to get a clear idea of what they were left with. A handful of survivors, battered and blackened with soot, sifted through piles of ash. Their faces, even from a distance, conveyed that they found little worth celebrating. Each piece of shattered fae gear or charred bone they found seemed to deepen their feelings of resignation.

. In typical hunts, this would be the time to gather the loot, but after witnessing how the Daughter of Fate consumed souls, Nick doubted there’d be many such crystals left. She had devoured life force so completely that not even their bones remained, let alone a glimmering stone.

. Nick took a moment to center himself, closed his eyes, and mentally reached for the System interface. Even though his body cried out with every subtle movement, the intangible presence of the System still came through crisply.

His senses collided with a barrage of notifications, and one overshadowed the rest:

FEAT ACCOMPLISHED:

Conquest of “Dungeon of the Deep Summer”

The participating party has successfully broken the dungeon. Significant threat to the Western Borderlands neutralized.

+250,000 Exp

+5 to all base stats

Nick’s mind nearly blanked at the massive influx of experience. A quarter of a million points was beyond anything he had gained previously from a single event, even counting the carnage he’d wrought with the stolen mana. His mental interface flickered, adjusting to the new totals.

LEVEL UP!

LEVEL UP!

NICK CROWLEY

LEVEL

MANA

STR

DEX

CON

INT

WIS

CHA

Occultist/Human

That was two full level-ups just off the top, even at his current position in the 30s, where each new level required exponentially more experience. And the System had given him an extra +5 to all base stats, effectively the equivalent of at least a couple more levels in raw attribute gains.

Nick thought, blinking rapidly to quell his astonishment. The dungeon had been a direct existential threat, not just for him but for the entire region. The System itself recognized its destruction as a heroic act despite its function being tied to it. The reward was correspondingly monumental.

He exhaled slowly, ignoring a flare of pain in his ribs.

Another notification blinked in the corner of his vision.

NEW SPELL:

(Novice)

Cost: High

Description: Compresses a large volume of air into a single sphere using complex wind manipulation. Upon impact, the sphere ruptures, releasing a sudden, devastating pressure wave. Effective range and destructive power scale with the caster’s mana and skill level.

+12,000 Exp

Skill Level up:

has reached the Proficient tier.

+10,000 Exp

Nick let out a soft chuckle that ended in a pained cough. He’d crafted that spell on the go to decimate entire squadrons of fae mages. He hadn’t been sure that using the stolen power would count towards the skill’s growth, but it was good to know he was in the clear. The two weren’t enough for another level, but it was a tidy bonus.

He took a moment to read the official description with some amusement: the System phrasing it as “complex wind manipulation” made him grin. That was basically how Ingrid described her better spells.

Eugene had been right—Nick did feel better, at least psychologically, after confirming his new status. Despite the horrors he had witnessed, the prospect of newfound growth lifted his spirits. He let his head lean back against a partially collapsed piece of stone or wood—he couldn’t tell which—and stared at the ash-choked sky, where faint sunlight filtered through.

NEW TRAIT:

Mana Channels (Unique): The pathways that your body uses to channel mana have been carved into your flesh. Greater efficiency in casting, greater speed, and faster growth.

Nick's thoughts were interrupted by a noise to his left. He turned slightly and saw a ragged figure limping toward him. With dusty blond hair and clothes that looked more like torn rags than functional gear, it was Jack. Despite the grime smeared across his face, a broad grin spread across his lips as he approached.

“Hey,” Jack said, voice cracking. “You look like you got run over by a thunderhoof herd.”

Nick couldn’t help but chuckle. “Back at you,” he replied, though it emerged hoarsely. “Glad to see you’re still in one piece.”

Jack nodded, wiping a streak of soot from his cheek. “I owe you a bunch, you know,” he said, lifting his flask and proffering it. “I think I’ll start paying you back by giving you one of your own potions.”

Nick eyed the container. Ruby red liquid sloshed gently inside.“Huh,” he managed, trying to hide his surprise. Most potions had been used up in the fighting. The fact that Jack still had an extra one felt like an improbable stroke of luck. More likely, he hadn’t drunk his own.

Still, Nick couldn’t deny that he did need it. He reached out with trembling fingers, and Jack guided the flask into his hand. “Drink up,” he urged. “I saw you earlier—your father was worried you might not last the day if you tried any more magic. But you’re still alive, so that’s something.” He said with a shaky laugh.

Nick pulled the stopper free. Immediately, a pungent herbal scent assaulted his nostrils. It was a basic healing brew, spiced up with some of Nick’s personal modifications and with mana-rich ingredients. Theoretically, it shouldn’t conflict with the chaotic residue of outside mana in his system, but he had no idea how his new mana channels would react.

“Thanks,” he said, raising it to his lips.

The cool, oddly effervescent liquid slid down his throat, counteracting the dryness that had plagued him. He winced as a mild burning ignited in his belly, but nothing worse happened.

Jack lowered himself to sit beside him in the ash, crossing his legs. For a minute, neither said anything, letting the relative quiet wash over them. Nick sipped the potion slowly, feeling each swallow travel through his battered insides. Gradually, a soothing warmth spread, easing the sharp edges of his pain. He focused on that sensation, grateful for even a little comfort.

“So,” Jack finally ventured, voice subdued. “I can’t believe we actually won.”

Nick pressed the cork back into the vial once it was empty, exhaling softly. “Crazy, yeah.” He paused, glancing at Jack’s shredded clothing. “How’d you end up like that?”

Jack gave a rueful grin, tugging at a wide tear across his shirt. “Got tossed around a few times by the knights, landed in brambles and vines, ran from that Guardian at one point…then an explosion from your duel blew me up.” He teased. “At least we made it out with minimal permanent damage—unlike some.”

He turned to the ragged men stumbling or lying prone, waiting for medical attention. The scale of the tragedy hit Nick once again. Dozens of lives were lost. Even the survivors might never truly recover from what they had witnessed, at least mentally.

He chose not to linger on it—exhausted souls found no advantage in revisiting their horrors. “Thanks for the potion,” he muttered, finally feeling a bit of warmth in his limbs. His body still hurt, but at least the throbbing in his head had eased.

Jack just shook his head. “Don’t mention it.”

“You were…pretty amazing out there, you know,” he ventured, cheeks reddening slightly under the layer of soot. “Those spheres you fired… I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Nick gave a short, dry laugh, glancing at the patch of ash in front of him. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I ever want to do that again.” Then he reconsidered. “But if push comes to shove, I guess I know I can.”

He was certain there would be other challenges before they got to Floria. But for now, seated on the ash with Jack, Nick found comfort in knowing they had survived this wild adventure. And that might just be enough.