Arik kicked the remains of the pig-man, its bloated body deflating like a burst wineskin. The last of the creatures had finally fallen, leaving behind a disgusting mix of swamp water and entrails. The stench was enough to make even Arik’s battle-hardened stomach churn.
“I’m getting too old for this,” Baldor crouched to pry a mana crystal from the remains of a pig-man's grotesque helm. His back cracked as he straightened, wincing. “First silver in our beards was the warning sign. Now, I think it's the universe telling us to retire.”
Arik snorted, shaking his head. “Speak for yourself, brother. That’s not silver—it’s just a trick of the light.” His gaze flicked toward Baldor’s grin, a tired one, but genuine. “Besides, the only thing worse than your complaining is the smell around here.”
“Enough to put me off bacon for life.”
He cast a glance at the rest of the men, nodding too quickly—yes men, every last one.
Arik spat into the murky water. They followed without question, never challenging, never pushing back. That’s why Baldor stood out—the only one who dared to call Arik on his relentless pursuit, the only one with the guts to push back when everyone else was content with their loot and their lives.
“Not like you’ll ever stop,” Baldor continued, still shaking the muck from his hands. “You’ll be chasing the next dungeon ‘til your bones turn to dust.”
Arik cast a glance over the party, at the men gathering what they could carry in their inventories. They didn’t see it—didn’t see how time would eventually snatch everything from them. But Baldor had a way of seeing things others missed. He lacked the physical strength Arik once relied on in war, but the man had conviction, a sharp mind, and—despite his constant complaints—a loyalty Arik couldn’t shake.
Qualities rarer than phoenix feathers, though Arik would never tell Baldor that. Instead, he kept his focus on the loot, his muscles still humming with the thrill of battle, even as his mind raced toward the next dungeon, the next relic, the next step on his path to immortality. He wasn’t like Baldor, content to age with grace.
No, Arik wanted to outrun time itself.
“Done with the self-pity?” A half-smile crept onto Arik’s face. “We’ve got more loot to haul before this swamp swallows us whole.”
Baldor snorted, shaking muck from his boots. “It’s not the years, Arik. It’s the mileage. And my bones are telling me we’re far past our prime.”
Arik chuckled, low and rough. “Prime? I’ve yet to see my best years. Old age is just another foe to conquer, and I’ll beat it like all the rest.” He cast a glance at the last pig-man corpse, its bloated form slowly sinking into the swamp.
Baldor let out a tired laugh, shaking his head. "Lead the way out, then, you stubborn bastard. We’ll see who time favors in the end."
Arik hefted his hammer, the weight a familiar comfort as they trudged on. He still had unfinished business with this dungeon.
His boots splashed through shallow muck, each step bringing them closer to the dungeon’s core. Baldor trailed behind, the quiet hum of his mana blade lighting the overgrown swamp threatening to close in around them. Arik felt the weight of Baldor’s eyes on him—measuring, always calculating.
Ahead, the glow of the dungeon core flickered like a dying star, casting eerie red light on the shroud of wet, glistening vines. Baldor parted the vines with his blade to reveal a crystalline mass. Tendrils of mana curled and snapped around it, pulsing like a heart.
“Fragile-looking thing.” Baldor wiped sweat from his brow. “But we both know that's a lie.”
Arik grunted in agreement, his fingers flexing on the handle of his hammer. He could feel the core's malevolent pull, like a predator testing the waters before the kill.
He raised his hammer.
Baldor narrowed his eyes. “You’re not seriously thinking of destroying it, are you? We’ve never—”
“We never had the guts before,” Arik cut in, stepping forward.
Baldor’s voice softened with disbelief. “It’s… sentient. The guilds will be in uproar.”
There was a code of honor among dungeon delvers—claim the loot but leave the dungeon core to reset so it could be harvested again when it regrew. It’s what they’d always done, what every adventurer did. But Arik, his eyes hardened with purpose, saw a different path.
“This isn’t about loot anymore.” Arik raised his hammer. “The titans—they built this world to control us, keep us crawling through their dungeons like rats. You think their descendants won’t take everything from us eventually?”
Baldor growled. “Those prophecies are nothing but man-made lies.”
Arik met Baldor’s gaze, unwavering against his challenge. “I’ll not live under their thumb. Sacrifices have to be made.”
Before Baldor could protest, Arik swung.
The core exploded in a burst of sickly light, its fragments raining down in a shower of shattered mana. Baldor stumbled back, watching as the dungeon groaned, its walls trembling as its magic peeled away like torn flesh, revealing the true, rotten carcass beneath.
For the first time, they weren’t just clearing a dungeon. They were breaking it.
[SYSTEM NOTIFICATION: Dungeon Core Destroyed. Rewards per adventurer as follows…
Total Loot Earned: 4 Mana Crystals, 2 Rare Pig-hide Skins, and 1 "Cursed Bacon" (Debuff: -10% HP regen for 24 hours)]
The younger adventurers stood frozen, eyes wide. Murmurs echoed: “He… he broke it.”
"Time to leave!" Baldor snapped, waving the others toward the exit. “Move now before this place collapses.”
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“Well what are you waiting for?” Arik’s booming voice brought them to their senses.
The young men bolted, slipping and sliding through the thickening swamp muck, their breaths coming in short gasps—not from physical strain, but from the shock of what Arik had done.
Outside, the adventurers collapsed to their knees, heaving for air, staring back at the dungeon as though it might still swallow them whole. No one spoke. No one could look Arik in the eye.
All except Baldor.
He stared at Arik, his disbelief giving way to anger. “You’ve damned us all, brother. The guilds will have our heads once they find out. All for what? A few crystals and cursed bacon?”
“If they find out, which they won’t—unless anyone here dares spill their guts. The wrath of the guilds will be the least of their worries.”
The adventurers shuffled back from Arik, their faces turning pale.
Baldor’s eyes burned with fury. “You dare threaten us? I fear you’ve changed, brother. Grown greedy. Now dungeon spoils aren’t enough—you want to cheat the system.”
Arik wiped the muck from his hammer. “You’re right, Baldor. We cannot keep playing these games forever. We differ on many things, but your arcane sight is blinding you and your clan to the truth. Titans built this world, Baldor. Their flesh is in the soil we stand on, their blood parasites feed off those dungeons where they slumber.”
Baldor’s laugh was bitter. “You think you’re going to outrun time? Beat the beast gods of this world? We’re too old to believe in those bedtime stories, Arik!”
The adventurers kept their distance as well as their silence. Arik could see it in their eyes—fear, doubt. He couldn’t stand it.
“Set up camp,” he barked, his voice sharp. They scattered like ants, moving quickly to obey, but their unease hung in the air like a storm cloud.
Baldor stepped away, shaking his head. “I’ll set up the protection array, but after that, I’m done.” He turned to leave, anger etched into every movement.
“Baldor, wait—” Arik’s voice was hard, but there was an edge of desperation he couldn’t hide. He let Baldor storm off. They both needed time.
Arik stood alone with the ruins of the dungeon behind him, confident Baldor would eventually see sense.
Once the final formation flag was in place, Arik approached Baldor, who side-eyed him from a crouched position. The air cracked like a whip as Baldor snapped his fingers to activate the array.
Rising to his feet, Baldor glared at Arik. “When you fall, don’t expect me to catch you.”
“I’m… I’m sorry, Baldor.” Arik bowed his head but kept his eyes on his brother.
“No, you’re not.” Baldor gestured to the ruins. “Not about any of this.”
“You’re wrong, brother. I am sorry—sorry I destroyed the core without telling you first.”
“I would never have entered if I’d known. You know me well enough to know that. You used me.”
Arik straightened. Those words stung like a slap. “I didn’t—that wasn’t my intention. If you’d only believe we can defy the gods—”
“There are no gods…” Baldor’s voice was as cold as the ground they stood upon. “Only foolish men who believe they deserve to be worshiped like one. We fought against such tyranny in the last war. Our time here is sacred—one life. Everything we do, good or bad, matters. We’re supposed to be on the side of the righteous, but you... you’re losing sight of that.”
Arik’s jaw clenched. “Never. You’re too narrow in your thinking, Baldor. Everything I do is for our people—for both our clans. The legends of the titans, the ones who created this world—they’re real, and I’ll prove it to everyone who doubted. In time, your people will see that truth.”
Baldor arched a skeptical brow, crossing his arms. “And how exactly do you plan to prove that, brother? Prove these stories aren’t just tales passed down to scare children?”
Arik reached into his inventory, feeling the warmth of the smooth stone in his hand before pulling it free. “With this.” He held it up, the pearly white surface gleaming even in the dim light of the swamp. “This is a sacred beast translation stone, passed down through our clan for generations. It’s said to hold the blood and tears of a titan, allowing the holder to communicate with the titan’s descendants.”
Baldor’s other eyebrow shot up as he leaned in, inspecting the stone with a cautious hand. “It’s infused with raw mana… but there are plenty of those mana stones around if your clan’s wealthy enough.” He gestured to his formation flags. “Non-magic wielders in my clan use them to power their arrays, so they don’t have to rely on people like me.”
“Give me the span of a fortnight, brother. That is all I ask of you.”
Baldor’s face twisted in doubt, his brows furrowing as he glanced at the men setting up camp, lighting fires in the growing gloom.
“Fine. It may take longer to reach the northern plains, but I wager no more than a full turn of the moon.” Arik pressed. “If you cast Haste on us both, we’ll be well out of reach from the city guilds by the time news of the swamp dungeon’s destruction spreads.”
Baldor’s eyes flickered toward the adventurers, nodding toward the ones busy with their tasks. “And what about the others?”
“They have been well compensated and know better than to whisper a word of what transpired.” Baldor nodded gravely. They both understood the harsh world they lived in—a world where strength and cunning ruled, and loyalty was often bought. The guilds were stretched thin, their resources spread across countless dungeons. They wouldn’t waste their precious forces investigating the destruction of a swamp dungeon, but they might guard their most prized vaults and entryways. Plenty of rogue mercenaries stood ready for hire.
“That may be so.” Baldor’s voice softened, and he rolled up his blood-encrusted sleeve, casting a low-grade healing spell on the wounds trailing up his forearm. The faint glow reflected in his eyes as he worked. “Thousands of men owe you their lives after the Battle of Zerphen, including me.”
Arik watched with grim fascination, giving his warhammer a final swing, as though still feeling the rush of single-handedly felling the monster in that battle. “Two thousand one hundred men, to be exact.” The words were sharp, like steel on stone.
Baldor’s sleeve fell back, loose and flecked with drying blood. “Oh yes, 2,100—how could I forget, since you remind me every damn time.”
Arik grinned, but Baldor’s gaze lingered on him, intense, searching. Arik's smile faded.
“Come with me.” Arik’s tone came out less commanding, more pleading. “It won’t be a waste of time. We’ll find evidence of the titan’s descendents existence together.”
Baldor sighed deeply, his shoulders sagging as he handed back the smooth, pearly white mana stone. “Not this time, Arik. I’m tired,” he confessed, holding his arm as if it still pained him.
Arik’s mouth went dry. Some wounds, he knew, went far deeper than flesh—some scars even the greatest healers could not mend.
“I have a family, responsibilities. Where you wish to go, I cannot follow. It is too far.”
Arik nodded, resignation setting in his bones. “I understand, brother.”
Baldor gave him a long look, his voice quiet. “Aren’t you tired? Don’t you want to settle down?”
Arik let out a bitter laugh. “Rest is for the dead, Baldor.” He placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder, squeezing it with the strength of years spent in battle. “May good fortune follow you, until we meet again. And meet again we will, once the dust from this broken dungeon has settled. We’ll share the spoils, like old times.”
They walked back in silence, the warmth of the campfire welcoming them. The adventurers murmured quietly among themselves, their eyes darting toward Arik with lingering unease.
Arik didn’t voice his final thoughts, keeping them locked away. But behind his back, he clenched his fists. He would not stop. He couldn’t stop. The titans were real—the key to immortality. Like dragons hoarding gold, they kept their secrets close, feeding off the myths and the ignorance of men.
Arik would prove it.
Even if it meant breaking everything in his path.
