“Have you found a suitable target for the experiment?” Viktor asked.
[Yes, Master. There is a party of three on the first floor, sufficiently isolated from the other adventurers. We can conduct our test without external interference.]
Three, huh? A standard adventuring party usually had four members. Fewer than that meant one of two things: either they were exceptionally competent, or spectacularly stupid. And he was going to find out which one soon enough.
“Good. Let’s do it, then.”
As Celeste guided him, Viktor sent his vision to that part of the dungeon. Before long, three figures appeared before his eyes.
The first one was a hulking man, clad in an old, battered suit of armor, though it still looked sturdy enough to do its job. Gripping a double-edged battle axe, he strode forward, leading the way.
Just a step behind him was another man, the perfect image of a dandy adventurer, who had a face every bit as handsome and punchable as the one belonging to the late Manfred. His clothes were pristine, polished, clearly expensive, but offered little protection. A rapier and a short sword hung at his belt, while his left hand bore a silver gauntlet adorned with red gems that glinted even in the dim dungeon light.
And finally, a woman.
She had lustrous, honey-blonde hair arranged in a labyrinthine series of curls and braids, so intricate it was obvious hours had been spent crafting it. Her features were delicate and perfectly proportioned, yet her expression was one of bored disdain, as if the dungeon itself had insulted her personally by merely existing. She wore a spotless white silk gown, embroidered with gold along the hem and sleeves, perfect for a ball, utterly impractical for dungeon exploration. Not that it mattered much, since she floated. Literally floated.
Another aeromancer, obviously.
Viktor recalled the conversation he had with Renee the other day. Considering that the woman’s monstrous gown was not flipped up, she was clearly keeping her wind tightly focused under her feet. Which meant she possessed a level of control much better than that of the bun-haired girl. And she had found the most practical use of that talent was to keep the dirty ground from soiling her pretty dress.
Well, definitely not the exceptionally competent ones, then.
“Mind your step, my lady,” the man in armor said. “The footing is treacherous here.”
“Are you blind, Borin?” said the other man. “She’s not touching the ground at all. Not to mention, it’s flat. This is the first floor, not the second.”
“And when,” the woman cut in, waving a dismissive hand, fingers adorned with rings that gleamed far too brightly for a dungeon crawl, “are we getting to the second?” Her nose wrinkled in open disgust. “This place reeks. I want that Cyclops dealt with as soon as possible. Then we’ll take its head back to the Guild and show those fools how things are properly handled. Pimm, you are certain this is the correct route?”
The man in fine clothes, whose shirt alone was probably worth more than Borin’s entire kit, flashed a smile. “Absolutely, my sweet Audrey. Please bear with me for a little longer. It’s a trivial price for a treasure worthy of your radiance.”
Ugh. Who the hell are these idiots?
It had been a long time since Manfred’s lot that Viktor had seen a group so profoundly offensive.
Then—
As the trio reached an intersection, goblins swarmed from the other corridors, chittering and brandishing their crude weapons.
“By the Wind, look at them!” Audrey frowned. “They’re hideous. Borin, do something.”
“At once, my lady!” Borin bellowed, hefting his axe. “Stay behind me! They’ll break on my steel!”
Pimm stepped forward, placing a dramatic hand on his chest. “Allow me, dearest Audrey. A single fireball will scatter this rabble and illuminate this dreary place for your eyes.”
Fireball?
“Your cheap parlor tricks again, Pimm?” Borin scoffed. “A true man handles such vermin with steel and strength, not some glittering toy.”
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“Silence, you oaf! The very concept of artistry escapes you—”
Audrey cut them off, “Oh, just hurry up. I don’t care who does it or how. Just make them go away already.”
Borin roared as he slammed into the group of goblins on the left. His axe was a blur of weathered steel, and it connected not with a clang, but a sickening sound of flesh giving way. Three goblins were hewn apart in a single, sweeping arc, blood and viscera spraying across the stone.
The remaining minions faltered, but once Celeste’s new instructions reached them, they immediately spread out, circled the warrior, and kept him at a distance.
Meanwhile, Pimm raised his silver gauntlet toward the group on the right. “Behold!” he cried, and red light coalesced in his palm, swelling into a churning sphere of heat. A fireball shot forward, exploding on impact in a furious blaze. The shrieks that followed were cut short by the nauseating smells of burnt hair and cooked meat. Four goblins had been reduced to blackened, smoking shapes on the ground.
Is he a pyromancer? Viktor wondered.
No, that didn’t seem right. He must have relied on that gauntlet to do his fire tricks. Was it a Reliquary? No, wait. Those red gems. Could they be the products of the Mourning Woman, the very same stones Alycia had used to make her special explosives?
She had told him she got those gems through Manfred, and with him dead, new supplies were impossible. Yet here stood Pimm, casually sporting a handful of them. Who exactly was this clown?
“Celeste, capture the man with the gauntlet alive. I have some questions that need answers.”
[Understood, Master.]
It was time for the hex specialists to show their worth. They had been hiding in the rear, behind the regular goblins. Now, their crooked fingers wove through the gaps, directing their newfound power at the two adventurers.
Clang.
Borin’s eyes went wide as his axe suddenly slipped from his grasp. He must be utterly confused now, unable to understand what had happened to his body. But thinking about the situation was a luxury he didn’t have. As he dropped to one knee, the goblins immediately swarmed over him, their blades seeking the weak spots on his armor: the neck, the armpits, the groin. They found them. The warrior’s cries of pain choked off into a wet gurgle.
“What the hell?”
Pimm’s voice cracked as he saw his rival meet an unceremonious end, but he quickly turned his gaze to the goblins, now charging straight at him.
“Back! Filth!” he screeched, raising the gauntlet again. But then, the invisible fatigue struck. His hand sagged, and the fireball meant for his enemy detonated pathetically on the floor right before him.
The resulting blast slammed back into the man, throwing him off his feet, and he landed hard on the ground. For a moment, he could only lie there, stunned and exposed.
The minions did not hesitate. They were on him in an instant, their claws and teeth sinking into his expensive clothing. He tried to draw his rapier, only to have the dull edge of a blade smash into his wrist. A goblin kicked him in the stomach, another yanked at his hair, while a dozen dirty little hands pinned him down.
“Audrey! Help!”
But the woman must have realized that there was something seriously wrong with these goblins. The color had drained from her perfect face, leaving it a mask of porcelain horror. Her silk gown twirled around her as she pivoted, already preparing to flee.
The hex found her first, however.
She dropped like a stone. Her cheek hit the cold floor, her beautiful dress instantly smeared by dust and dirt. She yelped, more in disgust than pain, scrambling to rise.
The goblins surged toward her, eyes glinting with murderous intent.
She turned to face them, and a gust of wind erupted. Half a dozen goblins were flung backward, crashing into their own kin in a tangled heap.
Ah, Viktor thought, this must be what Orloth has talked about. A Rote. A spell a mage could cast instantly with a single thought. No gestures, no incantation needed.
The momentary halt in the assault gave Audrey a chance to retreat. She crawled, sobbing openly now, tears cutting tracks through the grime on her face. She dragged herself through the ground, her once-pristine gown now shredded and filthy.
But she didn’t make it more than ten paces.
Something thin but unbelievably strong hit her ankle, yanking tight and gluing her leg to the floor. The woman twisted, a sound clawing its way out of her throat as she looked back. More strands shot out of the darkness. They crossed her body, forcing her arms to her sides, binding her legs together. She thrashed, but the silk was unyielding. Within seconds, she was wrapped tight, cocooned, immobilized. Only her head was left exposed, hair matted with dust, eyes wild with fear.
From the shadows came the Dread Spiders. They emerged slowly, their spinnerets twitching, their bulbous bodies held low to the ground. They scuttled closer, looming over her face. Each one extended a sharp, glistening, needle-thin proboscis from its fanged mouth.
Audrey’s screams broke into a shrill, incoherent pitch as the first proboscis pressed firmly against the silk stretched over her stomach. There was a wet click, and the digestive brew flowed in.
The screams now died to whimpers, then to shallow, frantic breaths. The internal liquefaction had begun inside her body. Soon, she would be nothing but soup in a silk-wrapped gourd, ready to be consumed.
Of course, the creatures didn’t need to eat. Mana from the dungeon sustained them just as well. But eating was a privilege, an indulgence, and Viktor had never been one to deny his minions a small pleasure when it came at no cost. The test was a success, so there was no reason to withhold the reward.
He opened his eyes, pulling his vision back to the Core Room. Celeste was hovering beside him, patient as ever.
“Take that man to the interrogation room on the second floor. And get Orloth there.” Viktor chuckled. The Acolyte of the Deep had become his chief interrogator, responsible for all questioning. “I’m not watching. Just ask the captive the questions I give you, then report back to me when it’s over.”
[Understood, Master.]
