The great tomb loomed before the adventurers.

  There, across the paved courtyard where Sebekton had clashed with the tomb guards, now completely restored, looking pristine as if that battle had never happened, stood the monolithic beast of a structure, its four triangular faces rising upward to meet at one sharp point that pierced the false sky. Around it was a forest of mock temples and miniature palaces, each a solid block of stone that might have been a monument in its own right, yet here they looked humbled and submissive, like a retinue of vassals bowing to their lord.

  “It’s... unbelievable!” Brynhildr and Renee blurted in near unison.

  “I can’t believe structures this massive exist underground,” Brynhildr added, breathless.

  “It’s like there’s half of Daelin right here,” Renee said, eyes wide.

  Ekon let out a soft laugh. “You’re only realizing that now? What about the desert we’d just gone through to get here? The whole place is bigger than Daelin, including both the settlement and all the farmland.”

  “How is it even possible?” Brynhildr asked.

  “Let’s set aside how vast it is for a moment,” Ekon said. “Think about the height. You still remember the staircase we took to the second floor, right? Now look at the ‘sky’ overhead. It’s an illusion, yes, there’s a ceiling above us. But that ceiling is high. Very, very high.”

  Renee looked up, and her mouth dropped open as realization dawned on her. “No way. It... it should be above the ground.”

  “How is it even possible?” Brynhildr asked again.

  “Spatial manipulation magic,” Mandragora said. “Basically, once you’re inside, you realize that it’s much bigger than it appears from the outside.”

  Well, yes, the power to bend space to its will was the foundation of most abilities a Dungeon Core possessed. If one really stopped to think about it, then that fact should become obvious. Celeste could teleport Viktor and his minions around, and she could summon creatures from the other worlds. What else could it be, if not space manipulation?

  “So,” Renee asked, “it’s like what the Riftwalkers do?”

  “Yes,” Ekon replied. “But the power of the Dungeon Cores is vastly superior to anything wielded by a human mage. Each floor in a dungeon seems to exist in its own separate dimension. And because of it, you can only move around the way the dungeons let you. Whether entering from outside or moving between floors, you must pass through specific entrances the Cores have designated. You can’t, for example, dig a hole on the second floor to get to the third.”

  “But what if... what if the Dungeon Core seals all entrances? Blocks them all off?”

  Ekon chuckled. “It can’t. There must always be a path to the Core. Don’t ask me why. That’s just how it works.”

  That was true. A Dungeon Core couldn’t simply surround itself with an endless mass of earth and wait out eternity. There had to be a path that led from the outside to the heart of the dungeon, no matter how long or dangerous it was. It might be choked with deadly traps, nightmarish monsters, treacherous environments, or arcane obstructions, but the path must exist. A determined invader must be able to reach the Core.

  And there were more. While the Core could teleport its minions across the dungeon, it couldn’t teleport itself. While it could move, the speed was painfully slow, making escape practically impossible once the invaders got to the Core Room. In other words, the Core had no choice but to fight. Running or hiding was not an option.

  It was said that the Forgotten Gods were the ones who made the dungeons. If that were true, then they were clearly trying to create a game, a brutal contest between the Cores and those daring enough to storm their dungeons. And the rules were established to make sure that the game would be played as intended. To make sure it would be “fair.” No, entertaining. Bloody confrontations were unavoidable, as both sides were forbidden from using any “boring” shortcut to win.

  “What are those?” Brynhildr asked, pointing at the grand facades that sprawled across the complex like oversized garden ornaments. “Has anyone gone inside? What’s in them?”

  Ekon smiled, shaking his head. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  “There’s nothing inside,” the bald man said. Though he appeared as calm and composed as ever, it was evident he had quickened his pace, as if he was hurrying to cross the sun-drenched courtyard and reach the entrance of the tomb as quickly as possible. “There’s no way in. No doors, no windows. Just solid blocks of stone. All of them.”

  “Then why? What’s the point?”

  “Decoration, I guess,” Mandragora muttered, dragging her sleeve across her glistening forehead. Unlike Ekon, she was visibly more uncomfortable than before.

  In Khenemhotep’s original world, those fake buildings had been built for vanity’s sake. Old kings who feared obscurity more than death had constructed facsimiles of their worldly domains around their tombs so that they could continue to rule in the afterlife. Here, they were even more pointless. Replicas of replicas. So yes, the Druidess was right: they were little more than decoration. But to be fair, without them, the mortuary complex would have looked embarrassingly empty.

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  The adventurers stopped before the entrance of the great tomb, its gaping maw open wide like a beast ready to devour its next victim.

  “Is everyone ready?” Ekon asked, his gaze slowly sweeping across his companions.

  He skipped over Mandragora, as though he already knew the answer. Renee gave a bright, fearless “Yes” when their eyes met, while Ba’atar offered nothing but a grunt and a half-nod. Brynhildr answered with a warrior’s acknowledgment. Sharp, firm, and full of conviction. And then there was her nephew.

  “I... I...”

  “Are you ready, Dagnar?” Ekon asked again.

  The pale, thin man didn’t reply. He looked down, lips pressed together, sunken eyes fixed on the dust at his feet, fingers twitching at his sides.

  Viktor chuckled. I see. This pathetic fool had jumped on this expedition in an ill-advised attempt to impress Renee, but courage born of infatuation was always short-lived. He must have deeply regretted his decision. Throughout the journey, he had probably thought about turning back, but he couldn’t, not without making himself a laughing stock for the whole Guild. But now, with reality looming in the form of a pitch-black tunnel into gods-knew-what, there was no pretense left. Not even his obsessive affection for the young woman was enough to drive him into that darkness.

  Mandragora shot Ekon the “I told you so” look. The bald man sighed, then forced a smile.

  “Alright, then. You two stay here. The rest of us will handle the tomb.”

  “That won’t do,” Brynhildr said. “We’ve agreed to help you. What’s the point of coming here if we just wait outside?”

  “Well, just knowing you’re right here, watching our backs, is reassuring enough. It gives us the courage we need to go forward,” Ekon said, politely and diplomatically. But everyone present could tell he was exactly that: being polite and diplomatic.

  He was halfway through turning around, ready to lead the others into the tomb, when he paused, as if a thought had just struck him.

  “Since we’re splitting up... Mandra, give them some of your potions.”

  Now the Druidess was giving him the “Are you serious?” look. Not only would these two not provide any help whatsoever, they were even going to eat up their resources. But she reached into her bag anyway. Biting down hard on her lips as she did, of course.

  “You don’t have to...” said Brynhildr.

  “Just take it,” Mandragora said, flapping a hand like she was swatting a fly. “It’s better safe than sorry. Also, I’m only giving you the stuff that’s easy to use and won’t have any side effects. So don’t worry.”

  She dug through her satchel for a while, before pulling out three small vials, all filled with liquid of the same translucent blue.

  “These are healing potions,” she said. “Just drink when you’re wounded.”

  Didn’t that mean everything else in that bag was either dangerously complicated or came with side effects she didn’t feel like explaining?

  Brynhildr reluctantly took the potions. Then, one by one, Ekon’s party stepped through the threshold of the great tomb. Renee was the last. She turned to give a cheerful wave to the ones who stayed behind. “Don’t worry! We’ll be fine!” she said, before disappearing into the darkness herself.

  It’s time to act.

  Viktor opened his eyes and found himself back in the Core Room. Kazyk stood at his side, grinning.

  “What’s the situation, Master?”

  “They’ve been separated.”

  And the best part was, he didn’t even need to lift a finger for that to happen. Dagnar had played his part beautifully. Viktor might have considered rewarding the man if he weren’t the one on the kill list.

  “Celeste. Tell the minions in the tomb not to interfere with Ekon’s party. Let them explore. Let them go as deep as they want. Attack them only when they attempt to leave. The spider-women and the troglodytes will handle this. They don’t have to win, just keep the intruders inside for as long as they can.”

  Then he stood up and walked toward the exit.

  “Let’s go, Kazyk.”

  “Yes, Master.”

  Viktor opened the door, and the vast chamber beyond unfolded before his eyes. Not the water realm, of course. That was the third floor. This was the fourth.

  It was practically empty, save for the ballista standing proudly by the entrance, the rotator already integrated via an array of interlocking gears. Surrounding it was a motley crew of gremlins, goblins, and gnolls, ready to operate the siege weapon. And in the distance, he could make out a forest of bolts embedded in the far wall. The result of Kazyk’s testing, no doubt.

  “Is it ready to fire?” Viktor asked.

  “Yes. Arms have been drawn. Bolt has been loaded. Just pull the lever, Master.”

  So he did. The ballista’s arms sprang forward, and the massive bolt tore through the air with a savage shriek. He closed his eyes and sent his vision to fly with the projectile. He guided it toward an opening in the ceiling. A secret tunnel, carved precisely for this purpose. It allowed the bolt to reach the upper levels directly, avoiding the twists and turns of narrow corridors and spiraling staircases.

  The bolt pierced the third floor, bursting up through a camouflaged hatch that, normally, was buried under sand and dirt. Not today. His minions had already cleared the way on his orders. So the bolt screamed into the artificial sky of the water realm.

  Then, another opening, another tunnel, and another opened hatch. The bolt had arrived at the second floor.

  Technically, this meant there was another route to reach the third floor, one that didn’t involve stepping into the Chamber of the Dead. However, the entrance lay at the far edge of the desert, an area so thoroughly ignored by the adventurers. After all, the great tomb had attracted everyone’s attention. And unlike the side before the tomb, this side was completely empty, without any ruins to serve as resting spots. Getting here meant being baked by the merciless sun while crossing half the desert. Small wonder no one even bothered.

  The bolt flew across the false sky of the second floor, Viktor’s vision riding with it. As he reached the mortuary complex, he spotted two figures in the shade of a doorless temple. Brynhildr leaned against the stone, keeping a watchful gaze on the courtyard and the tomb’s entrance, while Dagnar sat slumped beside her, lowering his head in silence.

  Perfect.

  If her attention was in that direction, then the bolt simply had to come from the opposite. He adjusted the trajectory accordingly, then ordered the projectile to begin its terrifying descent. His target would never see it coming, not until the very last moment.

  The bolt struck true.

  Its barbed head slammed into Dagnar’s back, tearing through flesh and bone with ruthless efficiency, the force of the blow propelling him forward. It plunged deep into the ground, fixing the man in place like a grotesque trophy. His body dangled, swaying as the bolt vibrated from the impact.

  Brynhildr vomited blood, collapsing to the ground as the agony of the transferred damage consumed her. When she looked up, her jaw dropped, her eyes frozen in disbelief as she saw her nephew being skewered like a fish.

  Good shot. But of course, that was not enough to kill.

  “Next bolt!” Viktor barked.