Silence descended on the 4th floor of the Tomb of the Guardian dungeon. For a while, the only sound that could be heard was the odd gust of wind as it made its way through the cracks in the ceiling, shifting the soft sand. It was serene. Calm. Cathartic.

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  And yet, that was not how Matt felt. Not even close.

  As he stood there, on the floating platform, frozen, dumbfounded, confused, a laugh escaped his lips.

  He let it.

  The laugh, meeting no resistance, grew louder and louder as it echoed through the empty cave, resonating against the walls, amplified by the compressed sand. It had turned maniacal, almost to a deafening degree, but Matt simply kept laughing, unaware of what it had turned into.

  His scepter had slipped from his grasp a while ago, hitting the stone surface of the platform, the mana orb that had been armed and ready fizzling as it did.

  Anyone seeing him right now would think that he had lost it, and in all honestly, it was hard to argue against that conclusion, at least based on what he had just seen, something that could only be described as a hallucination.

  Was it the heat? The solitude? The lack of nourishment? A combination of all three?

  He didn’t know, but there had to be a logical answer to all of this. One that didn’t suggest that Matt was losing his mind.

  It was also possible that he was simply dreaming. Matt had spent almost two weeks in the dungeon so far, of which he had been asleep for no less than ten days, making it possible that he still hadn’t woken up after his fight with the huntress. Dreaming of a better tomorrow, oblivious to his current state.

  It was hard to believe. Everything around him felt real. Too real. And yet, it couldn’t be, because what other explanation was there? If it wasn’t a dream, then why did a damn fish dive out of the sand and gobble up his shoe?

  Matt stared at the, once again, unmoving sand in a state of utter disbelief. Someone had been fucking with him since day one.

  First, rejecting him from the tutorial. An act of war if he had ever seen one.

  Second, leaving a dungeon out in the open, one he couldn’t escape from and where he had to fight enemies 8 levels higher than him if he wanted to get out. Yes, he had entered the dungeon of his own volition, but the desert had just gone on and on endlessly, leaving him with no alternative. It was like being stranded in the middle of the ocean with no land in sight, only for an off-grid prison ship to cross your path, offering you a way out. Yes, it was a shitty alternative, but given enough time even shit would smell like roses.

  Third was the attempt at making his life even more miserable by forcing him into becoming a healer. A healer on an empty. Fucking. Planet.

  The irony of it all wasn’t lost on him, and yet all he could do was keep going, and that’s what he had done, at least until the final nail in the coffin, this sick, twisted joke of a floor. Because that’s what this was, there were no two ways about it.

  “Where the fuck is my sandworm!” Matt yelled at the top of his lungs, shaking his fist at the stone ceiling, and whoever was behind this moronic floor at the evident blasphemous behavior he was witnessing. “You don’t name a dungeon ‘dune desert’ fucking whatever, then give me a sandpit arena, only to put a fucking fish in it. If I wanted fish I’d visit the ocean you sorry excuse for a dungeon master!” he continued his crash out, clearly not handling the grand reveal all that well.

  “Ruined. My dungeon experience is simply ruined. Even becoming a healer was tolerable, but this? This was simply too much.”

  Matt was visibly stressed out. His arms were crossed, foot tapping impatiently on the stone platform as he alternated between biting his lip and nails. It wasn’t that this new development had thrown a wrench in his plans, he didn’t really have any to begin with, the whole situation was just… wrong.

  And not only was it wrong, it was straight out disrespectful to authors, movies, mythology, and the people doing this dungeon. “I bet even the desert feels disrespected by this sorry excuse for a sandpit floor,” he ranted, still struggling to accept the reality of things. “I forgot to identify the stupid fish! Or blast it with mana straight to its stupid fish face. Stupid dune desert sandpit with a fish in it.”

  Matt was too hung up on the fish, that much was obvious. Whether it was for the betrayal of there being no sandworm, or that it was simply the straw that broke the camel’s back, was anyone’s guess, but one thing was for sure. “This isn’t over,” he let his words linger, feeling some of the tension finally leave his body

  He took a deep breath in an attempt to reign in the flurry of invading emotions. It was… unfortunate, and while it did slightly annoy him, his job wasn’t to like it, it was to kill the damn thing.

  Shifting his gaze towards the scepter by his feat, his eyes widened with both horror and alarm as he saw his only weapon, balancing on a knife’s edge, a hair’s breadth away from a new sandy grave.

  Matt froze in his place, becoming utterly still, but this time in panic. His mind raced as it tried to find a way to save the scepter. He couldn’t afford to lose it, he simply couldn’t. Mana orb was his only offensive power. Mana wave was neither fast nor reliable enough in a fight, especially against an opponent he couldn’t see. Other than that, he had nothing else. He had to save the scepter.

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  He slowly crouched, his hand inching closer and closer towards his precious weapon. “Come on… don’t do this to me. I was kidding about the fish. I like fish!” he muttered in a hushed whisper, as he tried his best to be as unassuming as possible, and he was almost there, only inches separating him from his prized possession.

  Sometimes in life, things worked out perfectly, delivering a harmonious result that made you feel as if everything was right with the world. And sometimes, a slight breeze coming through a crack in the ceiling shattered those hopes and dreams and threw you into a spiraling abyss.

  “Nooooo!” Matt yelled as he dove towards the now falling scepter, failing to grab it as his fingers brushed against its woody exterior, forcing him to watch with horror and shock as it slowly descended into its new resting place. A grave of sand beneath the platform.

  Panic gripped him as he started scanning the room, hoping that whatever lurked in the sand had failed to notice the disturbance. The scepter was incredibly light, and after all that had happened, he wasn’t asking for much.

  And yet, the cruelty of life was endless.

  The desert monster dove out of the sand and onto his scepter, disappearing with it in a mere breath, and instantly dashing all of Matt’s hopes.

  As he lay there, prone on the cold hard stone of the platform, mouth agape, arm extended, hand grasping at air, the only thing he could say was, “Fuck me.”

  The entire series of events so far had been nothing short of disastrous, and somehow, it only kept on getting worse.

  His head slumped in defeat, leaning against the cold hard stone as he realized that in his shock and panic he had forgotten to identify the fish monster… again.

  He sighed, turning over onto his back with the lower half of his body dangling off of the edge of the platform. “Life really has a way of kicking you when you’re down, huh?” he asked sardonically.

  Right now, he had no weapon, no skills, no items, and no idea what he was up against. The only silver lining preventing this situation from being a full-blown catastrophe was that he wasn’t on a timer. Yes, his grade was determined by how long he took to finish a floor, but that was more of an incentive to be quicker about it. In reality, he could take as long as he wanted, even if it meant losing out on some potential loot.

  And yet, none of that mattered if he couldn’t come up with a solution. The main issue was how restricted he had become. He wouldn’t call mana wave an offensive skill, and punching things didn’t work when you couldn’t really see, nor locate, what you’re supposed to punch.

  He wanted to slap himself for getting too hung up on the monster not being a sandworm, but he knew it wouldn’t solve anything. Right now, he needed a plan. Not a good one, just any plan. He could then play it by ear and see how it goes, but as of this moment, all he had was a whole lot of nothing.

  Well… not nothing. He did have an idea, it just sucked. Like really sucked. The kind you have when you’re hammered beyond the ability of god or modern medicine to do anything about it, and in a stroke of genius, you decide you want to try something.

  Yes… the ‘what was I thinking?’ kind of plan.

  It always sounded dumb when the story was retold, and somehow as time went on it only became dumber. It involved something you probably shouldn’t be doing, and nine times out of ten, it ended in disaster.

  He groaned, already regretting what he was about to do.

  He took his shoe off before getting up on his now shoeless feet. His plan was a two-parter: throw the shoe to lure the… fish out, and then perform a dive of his own, timing it so that he could land a nice punch to its ugly mug.

  What followed would vary, depending on how part one of the plan went. If the punch landed, hopefully it would give him enough of an advantage to make up for what he lacked, which was everything. If it missed, then shit.

  Anything else was unlikely to need a part two, since he would either be too injured to do it, too dead to care, or too dumbstruck to react in time.

  Was it a good plan?

  Nope, it most definitely wasn’t. As far as plans went, this one would be classified as a questionable one… at best.

  Was he at least confident in nailing the timing of the dive?

  Ehhh, ‘confident’ was a strong word. He’d give himself a 50/50 odds of not punching sand.

  He took another look at the twenty foot drop.

  Make that 40/60, he thought, a slight grin on his face. That was the odd thing about this mess of a situation, he was actually… excited.

  With a final thought, he tossed the other shoe. This should be fun.

  It fell, rotating in mid-air as it inched closer and closer to the yellowed desert sand, Matt’s eyes not leaving it for a second. He lowered himself, one foot behind him and one on the edge of the platform, as he grabbed the stony edge with both hands, tightening his fists around it. His muscles were tense, heart hammering, yet all he felt was a strange sense of calmness. There were no do-overs, no retakes, no restarts, and definitely no second chances. This was his only attempt, so he might as well make the best of it.

  *THUD*

  The shoe hit the sand, and Matt immediately spotted a shift only a couple dozen feet from him, as it made its way in his direction.

  There was no time to think or alter the plan in any way, it was too close and too fast. Matt took a deep breath to steady his mind, then pushed himself off of the platform, trusting his timing, fist cocked and ready to unleash hell.

  He could’ve jumped feet first, attempting a kick or a dropkick of sorts, but missing from that position was much more dangerous and threatened to leave him crippled for the remainder of the fight. Besides… diving punch sounds way cooler, Matt thought as he felt the rush of air against his falling body.

  The desert monster jumped out of the sand, maw wide open as it aimed at where Matt’s shoe had fallen.

  Matt smiled. His timing was impeccable. Now, all he needed was to survive the crash.

  *CRACK*

  Bones cracked as Matt’s punch landed with devastating power, almost tearing a hole through the monster’s side, knocking it out of its dive and sending it sliding across the sandy terrain.

  Matt used the momentum from both jump and punch to send himself onto his shoulder and into a side roll, creating some distance between the two, and giving him time to get back to his feet.

  His landing wasn’t perfect though, as something in his shoulder had popped as soon as he hit the sand, leaving it out of commission. He hovered a hand over his recent injury and started casting [Mend], not taking his eyes off of the fish monster that was no longer lying on its side, and a quick identify was all it took for Matt’s smile to reach his ears.

  Guardian of the Dunes (level 18)

  “Sorry to disturb your tomb, Mr. Guardian, but you owe me a scepter, and a shoe, and I’d like them back,” Matt said with a grin on his face, excited to finally meet the namesake of the dungeon.