The delivery man pulled on the horse’s reins, slowing as he approached the invisible barrier.
This time, I’m staying on the horse, he thought, gripping the reins tightly. At the first sign of trouble, I’m gone.
He had protested. Oh, how he had protested that morning.
“You’re sending me to my death!” he had shouted at his supervisor. “If I don’t come back alive, it’ll be on your conscience!”
The supervisor had looked at him with all the empathy of a gravestone.
“Very well. Noted. Now go do your job.”
No one else had even looked up. Not a single sympathetic glance. Not a word of encouragement.
They don’t give a damn, he realized bitterly. No one cares about me.
He crossed the barrier, his horse snorting nervously.
At least this time he had prepared. A knife in his right boot. A dagger at his belt. And—his secret weapon—a bottle of concentrated pepper spray in his pocket. If some monstrous creature appeared, he’d blast it right in the eyes.
Not sure it would do much good, he admitted inwardly. But at least I’ll die fighting.
His gaze settled on the manor.
He froze.
The food. The one he had left two days ago.
It was gone.
Someone had taken it.
The manor was really inhabited.
Someone—or something—actually lived here. And ate. Regularly.
“Okay,” he murmured, carefully dismounting. “Deliver. Leave. Survive. In that order.”
He grabbed the package—heavy provisions, a lot of them—and approached slowly.
Every step sounded too loud in his ears.
Calm down. Breathe. Just drop this off and…
The door opened.
---
Cassian was traumatized.
Not just tired. Not just irritated.
Traumatized.
She knew the mosquito would come back. Of course it would come back. Monsters always came back.
So she had taken drastic measures.
All the previous evening, she had cooled her room. Gradually. Methodically. Until her breath formed white clouds of vapor. Until the window was covered in frost.
No mosquito can survive in this cold, she had told herself with satisfaction.
She had been wrong.
The mosquito had come anyway.
And it was… it was…
Cassian shivered at the memory.
It was huge. The size of her hand. Easily. Its wings vibrated with a deep buzz that resonated in her bones.
“WHAT THE HELL?!”
She had panicked. Completely panicked.
The mosquito had rushed at her like a guided missile.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
Cassian had run toward the door, tripping over the rug, slipping on the icy floor.
The furniture. Shit, THE FURNITURE!
Every night she blocked the door with a heavy dresser. To protect herself.
Now it was trapping her.
She pushed frantically, her hands sliding against the frozen wood.
Bzzzzzzzz.
Too late.
The mosquito landed on her back. She felt the sting—brief, sharp, violent.
Then it drank.
Ten seconds. Twenty. Thirty.
A full minute of pure horror while the thing sucked her blood.
Then it was gone. Vanished out the window as if nothing had happened.
---
Now, standing in front of her mirror, she observed herself.
A water orb hovered beside her.
She raised her hand.
The water surged, but not violently. It spread over her body like a second liquid skin. Sliding through her blonde hair. Seeping into the fibers of her black clothes. Cleaning every inch.
But the water didn’t drip. It didn’t fall to the floor.
She controlled it perfectly, guiding it, warming it slightly for comfort.
Thirty seconds later, she was perfectly clean.
And completely dry.
“This is really convenient,” she admitted out loud.
But her reflection in the mirror showed an elf with dark circles under her eyes, exhausted, nerves raw.
I have to do something about that mosquito.
Tonight it would come back. Bigger? Hungrier?
The manor was supposed to be a refuge. Not a horror paradise.
She turned away from the mirror and headed for the door.
“I’ve got skeletons to destroy.”
---
The door opened.
The delivery man froze.
His face cycled through several expressions in a single second.
Pure terror → Confusion → Recognition → Stupefaction.
Then he straightened abruptly, pulling a small comb from his pocket with the fluidity of a magician.
“Ah!” He ran the comb through his hair, slicking it back elegantly. “I didn’t think the manor was inhabited by such a charming young lady.”
Cassian stared at him.
Seriously?
“The delivery,” she said flatly. “You come every two days?”
The delivery man plunged his hand into another pocket—how many pockets does this guy even have?—and pulled out a small bottle of perfume.
He sprayed it generously on his neck. On his wrists. A little too generously.
“For you, beautiful lady,” he said in a voice he probably thought was charming, “I’ll come every day.”
Cassian sighed deeply.
Another problem added to my list.
“Just leave the package,” she said, rubbing her temples. “And go.”
“But…”
“GO.”
The delivery man backed away, still smiling despite the icy tone.
“I’ll be back tomorrow! Same time!”
He mounted his horse with a move he hoped looked elegant but mostly looked like someone trying to climb a wall.
Cassian watched him leave.
“Why,” she murmured, “why do I have to deal with this?”
---
The first floor of the dungeon was strangely quiet.
Too quiet.
Cassian advanced cautiously, the mace she had left at the entrance now firmly in her hands.
Yesterday this floor had been swarming with skeletons. Today?
She had encountered three. Three.
Suspicious.
She carefully avoided the visible pressure plates on the floor. Technically, she could walk on air—just a few centimeters above the ground to bypass any trap.
But it consumed too much mana. And the concentration required was exhausting.
The second floor opened before her. Torches burned weakly along the stone walls. Corridors stretched in several directions.
Cassian chose the left one, moving silently.
A skeleton appeared around a corner.
Alone.
But equipped. Longsword. Round shield.
Interesting.
Cassian approached from behind, raising her mace for a fatal blow.
FWOOSH. FWOOSH. FWOOSH.
Arrows shot from the walls.
“Huh?!”
Cassian threw herself to the ground, rolling out of the firing zone. The arrows embedded themselves in the stone behind her.
The skeleton spun, spotting her immediately.
It charged.
Its movements were basic. Predictable. Horizontal swing, vertical swing, shield bash.
Cassian dodged easily, parrying with her mace when necessary.
WHAM.
She crushed its skull, bones exploding into fragments.
But before she could catch her breath, a door on her left burst open violently.
Five skeleton archers emerged, already nocking arrows.
Cassian immediately dropped low, grabbing the shield from the skeleton she had just killed.
THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.
Arrows slammed into the shield.
Even at five meters, half their shots missed.
Cassian charged into the room they had come from, her mace sweeping.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
Three skeletons fell instantly. The other two tried to reload while retreating inside.
WHAM. WHAM.
They didn’t make it.
Cassian stopped, observing the room.
Holes in the walls. Just wide enough for a skeleton archer to shoot through.
An ambush.
A bait skeleton in the corridor. Hidden archers firing from the walls. Then rushing out to finish off the destabilized target.
“This is… strategic.”
She looked at the skeletons on the ground.
None of them had the brains for that. Literally. They didn’t even have brains.
The dungeon is intelligent.
It wasn’t just a static labyrinth. It learned. It adapted.
The structure stayed the same—the same corridors, the same rooms.
But the traps changed. The formations changed. The tactics evolved.
---
She crossed a narrow corridor, barely wide enough for her shoulders.
Five skeletons charged from the far end.
Cassian smiled.
Confined space. They can’t surround me.
She raised her hand.
Mana exploded, forming an ice spear that shot through the corridor.
The skeletons were instantly destroyed.
“In a space like this,” she said as she stepped past the shattered skeletons, “I don’t even need to aim.”
---
The last door on the second floor stood before her.
Cassian pushed it open.
SLAM.
It slammed shut behind her.
All the torches ignited at once.
And Cassian understood she was in deep shit.
Ten skeletons equipped with various weapons formed a defensive line.
Five archers at the back, already drawing their bows.
And in the center, a different skeleton.
It wore reinforced leather armor—not heavy, but effective. A sword in its right hand. A shield in its left. Its stance was balanced, professional.
The floor boss.
The formation was perfect. Archers protected. Warriors in the vanguard. The boss in the center to coordinate.
The archers fired.
She dodged—barely.
These archers were better. Much better.
If I had relied on previous fights…
The warrior skeletons charged.
Cassian swung her mace, shattering the first one’s skull.
Then she slid between the legs of another, rolling toward the archers.
An arrow whistled centimeters from her ear.
Too close.
She crushed an archer’s skull.
Immediately, the boss skeleton positioned itself between her and the remaining archers, shield raised.
Cassian struck.
CLANG.
Its sword parried the mace with unsettling precision.
It knows how to fight.
Not like a master. But not like an amateur either.
The problem with weak opponents, Cassian thought as she retreated, is that you get complacent. And when the difficulty rises even slightly…
She calmed herself, breathing deeply.
Reduce their numbers first.
Ice spears erupted from the floor.
CRACK. CRACK.
Two skeletons collapsed.
Cassian pushed off the wall, leaping high.
Spears descended from the ceiling.
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
Three more fell.
She landed, immediately pivoting to strike the nearest skeleton.
It dodged.
Cassian froze.
It… dodged?
Normal skeletons never dodged. They blocked or took the hit.
She observed it more closely.
It wasn’t charging blindly. It watched. Waited for an opening. Moved with purpose.
Just like the mace skeleton yesterday.
Is there a connection?
---
Deep in the dungeon, hidden in a secret chamber, a crystalline orb floated above a stone structure.
The Dungeon Core.
It emitted a blood-red light.
And through the eyes of the skeleton it directly controlled, it watched Cassian with interest.
