A new scene had been carved into the murals. The chaotic battle in the courtyard of the mortuary complex was now made eternal in stone.

  From their looming towers, skeletal mages rained destruction down on the battlefield. The terrain was broken by craters and choked with makeshift barricades, while Mandragora’s thorned vines crept everywhere, repelling the tomb guards’ relentless onslaught.

  And there were the duels: between Renee and Lahmia’s phoenix, between Sebekton and the hulking Easterner, between Khenemhotep and that enigmatic pyromancer from the South.

  Meanwhile, pushed into a corner like an afterthought, was the most important part of the operation: the Tengu’s ambush, where Dagnar was snatched away from Brynhildr before she could even react.

  [What do you think, Master?]

  “About what?” Viktor asked. “Your depiction? Or the battle itself?”

  [Well... both.]

  Viktor gave a shrug. “It’s good work. You’ve captured the big moments very well. Very dramatic. Very glorious. All the while leaving out the parts that were, well, less so.”

  Like how Brynhildr died screaming as the poison ate through her body, or how Dagnar fled from the dungeon, only to be squashed like the cockroach he was.

  “As for the battle,” Viktor continued. “It was a good fight. And the best part? We won. Many unexpected turns, sure, but I got what I wanted.”

  And the unexpected turns persisted even after the battle was over. That night, right after Brynhildr’s funeral, someone had dug up her grave and taken the whole corpse away.

  Viktor wondered what could have been the motive. Was someone trying to steal her Reliquary, the armor she was wearing? How did they even know? Maybe a new group of Lyndorian spies had just arrived. Curiously, Dagnar’s grave had been left untouched. Perhaps it was time for him to summon Orloth and ask how Yvonne was doing these days. Not to mention, he also had another reason to see the Acolyte of the Deep.

  Nevertheless, regardless of what had happened to Brynhildr in the end, the fact remained that she had died inside the dungeon, and her soul had yielded a satisfying bounty: 6,650 mana in total. Not bad at all, all things considered.

  But it hadn’t come without a price, of course. Scores of gnolls, goblins, and spiders had been cut down when they tried to stop the warrior woman from carving a path to the entrance. Even the Jorogomo—am I spelling this right?—and troglodytes had taken a beating in the great tomb thanks to Ekon’s merry little band. So in the end, Viktor had to spend more than four thousand points of mana just to replenish the losses.

  Still, a profit was a profit. For the past four weeks, he had been running the dungeon at a deficit, since he was forced to hold back from killing adventurers. There was nothing to harvest, yet he still had to restock minions and conjure shiny loot for the intruders, which was a constant drain on his resources. Thankfully, Dagnar had finally decided to drag his sorry ass into the dungeon, and he could at last stop pretending to play nice. The plan had worked, the ledger was green again, and the velvet gloves were no longer needed. Time to get back to business as usual.

  “Show me your stats.”

  [Yes, Master.]

  “Bestow Hex?” Viktor said. “Show me the details.”

  “Oh,” Viktor murmured. “This one.”

  He leaned back, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair as he studied the description of the skill, mulling over the implications.

  He remembered when he had been the one who trudged through the dark. Back then, the deeper he had gone, the nastier things had become. Not just new monsters, but also old ones turning up again with some new tricks. Their appearance could be altered due to mutation, or they might have learned to cast spells they had no business knowing. So this was what it was called.

  A hex, huh?

  If each casting had a chance to fail, then success came down to repetition and sheer volume. That was how archers had been used for centuries, after all. Volley after volley, they kept shooting until something finally stuck.

  One curse might fail, but ten might not. A hundred would not.

  In other words, it was all a numbers game.

  Which meant goblins were ideal for that purpose, for they were the cheapest and most numerous. He had already had squads of goblin suicide bombers, and now he was going to field squads of goblin hex specialists.

  Though if more hexes were unlocked later, he would want to stack several on a single creature. And for that, he might need something tougher, something with a better chance of surviving. But that was a problem for the future.

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  “We’ll start with twenty goblins,” he said. “Let’s use this skill on them. Then we see how they fare against the adventurers.”

  [Understood, Master.]

  That was one task ticked off the list. Now, what was next? He ran through many options in his head, but before he could reach a decision, Celeste spoke again.

  [Can I see your stats as well, Master?]

  “Mine?” he asked, raising a brow.

  Well, why not? It was not like he had anything to hide. She had been his partner, his confidante, his co-conspirator in this whole endeavor. She already knew about his Thaumaturgy, and she had been showing him her own numbers all the time, so it was only fair for him to reciprocate.

  “Alright,” he said at last.

  At his command, the familiar stat screen shimmered into existence before him: a pale, translucent rectangle covered with lines of text. With a flick of the wrist, he projected it outward for Celeste to see. A neat little trick, that. His old master had shown him how to do it on the very first day he had acquired this power. Well, how else did the old man teach him and monitor his progress anyway?

  “You can see it, right?”

  [Yes, Master.]

  As Celeste studied it, Viktor’s own eyes skimmed the screen, tracing every number.

  Level 1, huh? The starting line. The very beginning. The first square on the board. Nothing gained, nothing won yet. Only untapped potential.

  Well, not exactly.

  There was a difference this time. He already had “Rekindled Ember.” He could use it, and he had actually used it. Every morning after he woke up, when the Supreme Thauma was available again, he cast it to renew the effect, making sure he would always be under its protection. That way, he would be a little safer whenever he stepped into the shop of a certain blonde. Probably.

  The effect of this difference was even more pronounced than it first appeared, though. After all, Supreme Thauma were no trivial affairs. They were very expensive to craft, and unlike the normal Thauma, he couldn’t dismantle them later to get his Sigils back. So deciding on a Supreme Thauma was not something to take lightly. Which was why, in his past life, he had to wait until much later before daring to craft the first one, even though he already had the ability to do so at Level 10.

  Now, though, he inherited his old Supreme Thauma without having to spend a single Sigil to make them. And that meant, in theory at least, once he got all the Keys and regained full access to his “module,” whatever that meant, he would be twice as powerful as his old self. A full dozen instead of just six trump cards.

  [How do you gain Arcane Point, Master?]

  A simple question, but a good one. After all, Arcane Points were to him what Essence Points were to her. The currency of growth, the measure of progress. Celeste earned her points by harvesting the essence of those who perished in the dungeon, and he had to earn his, too, in his own way.

  “There are two methods,” he replied. “The first one is to kill stuff, which is why I became an adventurer in the first place. But not all creatures give Arcane Points, only the ones capable of using magic. Mermaids, for example. Or Acolytes of the Deep...”

  [So, mages?]

  “Not necessarily. Gorgons count, even though they are just animals, because their petrifying breath is considered a magical attack. Or goblins... Not normal goblins, of course. But the ones who have been granted the power to cast hexes.”

  [How about people with Reliquaries?]

  Viktor shook his head. “Reliquaries are tools, so warriors who rely on them don’t qualify. The abilities have to be their own, not something given by their equipment.”

  [So human mages do count, right, Master?]

  “Yes, of course.”

  [And the second method is?]

  Viktor hesitated. Did he really want to tell her this? Some things were better left unsaid, especially ones that could fracture a relationship. Still, she was his partner, and partners deserved the truth.

  “The second way is... to siphon power from a Dungeon Core.”

  [Intriguing. Can you elaborate, Master?]

  As always, Celeste showed no reaction, as if the matter had nothing to do with her at all. Her voice was still as emotionless as ever. There was no surprise, no judgment. Only curiosity.

  “It’s exactly as I said. Back when I was still an adventurer, I conquered countless dungeons. And by that I mean, I went all the way down to the lowest floor, entered the Core Room, and drained the Core dry.”

  [What happened to the Core afterward?]

  “It remained physically intact, but it had lost control of its own dungeon. The dungeon then slowly crumbled, diminishing into a hollow cave. I didn’t fully understand the mechanics at the time, but now, after seeing how you function, I guess I’d basically reduced it back to Level 1. Converted all its Essence Points into my Arcane Points.”

  Celeste made a noise, something that resembled a chuckle. Viktor was caught off guard, as this was only the second time he had ever heard that sound from her.

  [That makes you worse than any Dungeon Reaver, Master. People must have been very angry with you.]

  Viktor shrugged. “I covered my tracks well. It’s not a crime if you don’t get caught.”

  And really, no one did. He didn’t steal the Core itself, and nobody had the faintest clue about his power. From everyone’s perspective, it was just a strange phenomenon where a dungeon mysteriously collapsed on its own.

  [When you figured out that Dagnar came here to train, did you suspect him of trying to do the same with me?]

  “Only for a fleeting moment. Then that thought was quickly discarded and forgotten. Honestly, dragging his sorry ass to the second floor was hard enough as it was. Him targeting the Core Room? Nope, not going to happen.”

  [ I see.]

  “Anyway, you’re surprisingly relaxed about this. Don’t you feel even a little alert, knowing that I have the power to take everything from you in an instant? And right now, there is no one else here who could protect you. You’re completely defenseless.”

  [What is there to worry about, Master? We are partners. We will get what we want together. And defenseless? I am always defenseless around you when it is just us in this room, whether you have your power or not.]

  “You trust me far too easily.”

  [Who else can I trust? Anyway, there is one thing I want to check.]

  “What’s it?”

  [When you drain a Dungeon Core, does it have to be all of it, or can it be just a little bit?]

  “I’ve always done it all the way, but apparently, taking just a fraction is also possible. Never tried it, though.”

  [You can try it now.]

  “What?”

  [Give it a try, Master. Drain like... ten points from me.]

  “Are you sure about that?”

  [Why not? It is just an experiment, after all.]

  “Fine. If you insist.”

  As he laid his hand on Celeste’s crystalline form, a screen blinked into existence.

  “Ten.”

  There was a barely audible hum, and the numbers shifted. He quickly checked his own stats.

  Arcane Points: 10/100.

  And Celeste’s stats adjusted as well.

  Essence Points: 1/1455.

  So it was basically a one-to-one exchange, huh? Ten points from her translated directly into ten points for him.

  [I wondered what would happen if you took more. Say, twenty points?]

  “If I had to guess... you’d drop back to Level 12 and lose the ‘Bestow Hex’ skill.”

  He had no intention of doing that, of course. Losing a skill was bad enough, but there were even scarier outcomes. What would happen if the minion cap dropped below the number currently in his dungeon? Or even worse, what if the floor limit fell below what he had already built? The consequences could be catastrophic.

  [I am thinking... maybe I could keep giving you the points I earn. To help you level up faster. Sure, I would stay at Level 13 a bit longer, but it would push you forward.]

  “Why on earth would you want to do something like that?”

  [It is simple logic. I need 1,454 points to reach the next level, while the same amount should be enough to advance you five or six levels. Doesn’t it make sense to help the one behind first?]

  Ah yes. Logic. Of course a Dungeon Core would talk about logic. And she was not wrong. From an efficiency standpoint, it made perfect sense. Still...

  “Let’s not be hasty,” he said, waving his hand. “There’s no need to decide right this second. For now, just focus on gathering essence, to make up for what we’ve missed while playing the waiting game. Meanwhile, we’ll weigh the options, both pros and cons, before actually doing anything.”

  [Understood, Master.]