Chapter Twenty-Six: Prelude

Dungeon?

Hearing Elise’s words, everyone was momentarily taken aback. Was there really a problem with that? As long as it was a city underground, wasn’t it a dungeon?

Elise sighed deeply within as she took in the expressions of those before her. The Black Onyx Stone City had only arrived in the shadowy depths less than a century ago. Strictly speaking, they were still “greenhorns” in the underworld. Since their arrival, they had been occupied with building their city and fighting off other factions, leaving no time to concern themselves with matters beyond survival. But Elise was different. As a learned mage, she was passionate about collecting all manner of knowledge and intelligence. She knew well that Black Onyx Stone City could not rely on force alone to survive; only with enough knowledge could they hope to endure. Without it, they would be utterly helpless in the underworld.

“The so-called ‘dungeon’ doesn’t just mean any city underground.”

Though the situation was tense, Elise unexpectedly felt a strange calm. Their escape was cut off, space itself sealed, and even their portals could not be activated. If this really was the place described in the records, then her odds of survival were less than one percent. Since that was the case, why waste the effort to panic or scream?

“Let me put it this way: among the denizens of the shadowy depths, ‘dungeon’ is a special term. It refers to only one thing, and one thing alone—that is…”

She paused, looking over those gathered before her, her lips curling into a bitter smile.

“…the Demon King’s palace.”

There was a moment of stunned silence. Then, as the meaning sank in, every face turned as pale as parchment, and the tieflings began to tremble in terror, nearly collapsing to the ground.

On the continent of Klein, all races who yearned for the light worshipped the Celestial Kingdom, while those of darkness were ruled by the Demon Realm. Just as humans worshipped their gods, the dark races revered the Demon Kings. Each of the three races who founded Black Onyx Stone City had their own Demon King: the serpentine folk venerated the Serpent of Wisdom, Drian; the dhampirs worshipped the Blood Queen, Lanathal; and the tieflings served the Lord of Darkness, Solen.

Yet just as not every god on the surface required constant devotion through ritual, so too did the Demon Kings of the underworld care little for empty praise. They preferred their followers to demonstrate their faith through action, not words or donations.

That, perhaps, was why heretics always seemed more effective than the temple’s priesthood—less talk, more action was the path to progress.

But enough digression.

Though the children of darkness did not spend their days singing hymns to their faith, they were innately fearful of the Demon Kings. Consider: if a mere mortal were to stumble into the palace of a true god, how would they react?

And the Demon Kings of the Abyss were far less approachable than the gods of the Celestial Kingdom. As those born to darkness, if they did not know what fate awaited those who trespassed in a Demon King’s palace, then their years had truly been wasted.

At first, Elise could hardly believe this was the fabled demonic domain. But after seeing the sculpture and the runes and engravings on the walls, she finally had to accept that this was indeed the infamous dungeon that so terrified the denizens of the underworld. The monster depicted in the sculpture was no ordinary beast, but a Death Guide of the Demon Realm—a being regarded as the equal of an angel sent by the gods. To display such a figure at the entrance as mere decoration—even the Holy Order’s cathedral would not dare such a thing!

Most importantly, after her investigation, Elise was certain the carvings on the walls were the most ancient and authentic Abyssal script—a language unique to the demons, never shared with outsiders. Indeed, anyone other than a demon who dared inscribe those runes would go mad and die. Even Elise, who had spent so long in the Scarlet Monastery, recognized only a few of those symbols, but that was more than enough to strike terror into her very soul.

A sculpture of a Death Guide, Abyssal runes—either one alone might make Elise suspect some Demon King’s altar. But both together? She would swear by her own name: if this was not the dungeon, she would gladly eat every book in the Scarlet Monastery’s great library.

Given the present circumstances, she almost wished she could do just that.

Boom!

At that moment, the trembling of the earth abruptly ceased. Then, with a roar, a massive stone wall plummeted from above, crashing down toward the group!

“Quick, dodge!”

Caught off guard by the sudden trap, the group scattered to the sides in panic. A thunderous impact shook the air as the great stone slab slammed into the ground, sending dust clouds billowing and shrouding the entire corridor in gloom.

And at that very instant, the slumbering beast finally bared its fangs.

The serpentine warrior twisted his body with lightning speed, pressing against the wall to avoid the flying debris. But before he could take his next action, a sudden, sharp click sounded behind him. In the next instant, dozens of razor-sharp spikes shot from hidden holes in the wall, skewering the hapless warrior before he could react—a gaping, bloody hole left in his chest.

A hissing gasp escaped the tiefling rogue nearby, who recoiled in horror, scrambling away from his arrow-riddled comrade. But he had barely retreated a few steps when a chill crept up from beneath his feet—thick ice forming in the blink of an eye, binding him fast.

“Damn it, damn it!”

He shouted in panic, pounding at the ice encasing his body. But the stone wall was already upon him; all he could do was raise his hands in despair, staring dully as the shadow of death engulfed him.

Crash!

Blood sprayed, flesh and bone were torn asunder, screams and roars blending into a chorus of agony—a living hell.

Whistling through the air, the dhampir darted like a specter, weaving through the hail of arrows from the walls. Sword in hand, he raced forward—his once-elegant attire now filthy and tattered. But he had no time for such concerns. This was a nightmare realm, where every step could be his last, each advance a gamble with death. Yet escaping was all that mattered.

With a tremendous clang, a massive stone block hurtled past him, scraping his body as it smashed into the wall, scattering rubble and dust. The dhampir stumbled, losing his footing and tumbling to the ground. The moment he hit the floor, his sharp ears caught a faint sound.

He did not hesitate. At the very instant he heard it, he rolled aside as best he could—and a spike shot up from the floor where he’d lain, stabbing skyward.

Panting hard, he wiped the cold sweat from his brow. Had his reflexes been any slower, he’d have been done for.

But just as he relaxed, a white blur shot from the rubble, pouncing on him. The dhampir, barely aware, was seized by the white worm, which latched onto his face. He grunted, collapsed, twitched a few times, and then moved no more.

“We must get out of here—now!”

Hearing the screams around her, Elise was frantic. But now, with the group scattered by the thick stone walls and her soldiers falling one by one to panic-induced traps, she had no choice but to fend for herself. Throwing up a protective barrier, she gathered the few soldiers close to her and dashed toward the far end of the corridor.

All of these scenes were displayed in the crystal orb before Zann and his companions.

“M-Master, our traps are… very… very effective…”

Staring at the images, Bix was pale with fright, but forced herself to smile as she looked at Zann.

It was no wonder. Although Zann had designed the traps himself, the entire construction and layout of the dungeon was all Bix’s handiwork. One had to admit, the little gnome had a unique architectural vision and no small measure of talent.

After all, the forces sent by Black Onyx Stone City were their elite. Even if they blundered into a trap, they should have been able to dodge or fight back. But here, they were felled one after another, utterly helpless. Something was clearly out of the ordinary.

The reason was simple: it was all Bix’s doing.

Of course, the little gnome was no villain. The gnome homeland was closer to the surface, and the gnomes were relatively kind-hearted compared to other underworld races. Bix herself, for all her years, had never harmed a soul, let alone killed a chicken.

It was all Zann’s plan. He had explained the effects of each trap to Bix and told her to arrange them in such a way that no enemy could possibly escape—no matter how skilled, once triggered, survival would require strength or luck alone.

Bix, a theorist by nature, didn’t think too deeply about the implications—she simply followed Zann’s instructions, delighted by the challenge. When she received the order, it had probably never occurred to her what the consequences might be.

Now, seeing people slaughtered before her eyes like livestock, all by her own designs, Bix’s face was ashen, her expression that of an inventor in a tragedy realizing too late that her creation had fallen into the hands of the villainous overlord.

While Bix was full of regret, Zann was quite satisfied. In the games he’d played, it took tremendous effort to design such deadly, interlocking traps. He’d only wanted to test Bix’s abilities and, to his surprise, had uncovered a hidden gem—a thought that pleased him greatly. Seeing her troubled look, he reached out and gently patted her on the head.

“All right, Bix, don’t blame yourself. These people clearly mean us harm—they came looking for trouble. If we hadn’t made preparations, they would have stormed right in. You’ve worked hard enough. Go and rest; it looks like you’ve done all you need.”

“Thank you, Master.”

At his words, Bix’s tense face relaxed somewhat. She was kind by nature, but kindness alone could not ensure survival in the underworld. She knew that even gnome cities were riddled with traps to guard against outsiders; their enemies’ fate would be much the same.

With that thought, her regret eased. Smiling, she nodded to Zann and turned to leave—though she had accepted her role, she still preferred not to watch such bloody scenes.

Even as she went, her heart was warmed by Zann’s kindness. He understood that she was ill at ease and sent her to rest. Back in the gnome city, whenever she returned from outside, her family would only scold her for mischief, fearing she’d bring trouble home—never a word about her well-being. Her master was better to her than her own kin.

She had quite forgotten that, had Zann not involved her in all this, she would never have experienced such things in her life.

“Hmph!”

Watching the little gnome skip away, Vilna gave a dissatisfied snort. If your master weren’t always out raiding caravans, would anyone come storming in for revenge?

Hearing Vilna’s snort, Zann merely glanced at her, then stood up.

“The appetizers are ready. Now, it’s time for us to make our entrance.”