Later, Karl spent the time instinctively, almost compulsively, untangling the mana threads again and again. He was speedrunning it, his mental form a blur within the dark void, his frustration a cold, burning fuel. As he twisted and pulled at the glowing blue lines, his mind kept circling back to the challenge's core instruction: "reform your mana flow." Flow, flow, flow… The word echoed in his non-existent skull. What connects with the word 'flow'? Water. Yes, water.
He began to visualize the mana threads as hoses, and the mana itself as water flowing through them. What mana flow is the most efficient? He recalled memories from Earth, images of water draining, forming natural vortexes. Nature always follows the most efficient route: a vortex. But that was only possible if the mana was affected by the planet's gravity. What if it has no properties like water, but rather a form of electrical energy? In fusion reaction research, most forms would look like a donut or a torus shape, surrounding the plasma with a magnetic field. He sighed, a dry, rasping sound. "But how would I know a mana's properties?"
He paused, a sudden clarity. Only one way to find out. "First, let's make a vortex," he muttered, his mental resolve hardening. He pressed "Yes" on the "Try Again" prompt.
He sped through the initial untangling, his movements expert, the glowing threads separating with effortless precision. In just four seconds, he had found the end and untangled the initial chaos. He stopped halfway, holding the long mana thread, and began to envision a vortex. He pulled the end, guiding the long mana thread to follow, coiling it, shaping it, until it began to form a perfect, spiraling vortex flow. He let go of the mana thread in the middle, watching it stabilize.
The panel appeared, not with a "Failed" message this time, but with a triumphant green glow.
[ You completed the challenge in 24 seconds! ]
[ You earned 45 NP ]
[ You completed the trial! ]
[ Observe ] [ Try Again ] [ Exit Trial ]
"YYYEEEESSS!!!" Karl screamed, a raw, triumphant cry that bordered on tears, echoing through the dark void. He had done it. He had actually done it.
"Of course, observe!" he snarled, his voice thick with emotion. "I worked so hard in making this flow!" He watched as the System displayed his creation. He saw the mana threads, glowing brighter now, tracing the intricate, spiraling path of his vortex, until it smoothly flowed to the ends. "I-I do admit it's kind of odd," he muttered, a flicker of confusion. "So many uneven paths, yet it works."
Then, a new message appeared on the panel.
[ You created a ..something.. if that's even called a mana flow. ]
[ Rating: -G ]
Karl stared at the rating, his triumphant grin slowly fading, replaced by a look of utter disbelief. "Even if my mana flow is a whack job, don't you think a G rating is a bit too much?" he muttered, his voice flat. He had expected a perfect score, or at least something positive. A negative rating? After all that effort?
He sighed, a deep, weary sound. Let's just end it here. Who knows how much time has passed already in the real world? He pressed "Exit Trial."
His vision darkened for a quick second, then the familiar stone walls of the dungeon core room snapped back into focus. He was back in the room. everything exactly as it should be. It was like he had just passed out for a quick second and then woke up again, the entire ordeal compressed into an instant. He smiled, a dry, tired stretch of bone. "At least, I learned and earned something from that. I'm gonna rest my mind from that tiring puzzle." He leaned back, the phantom exhaustion of his mental ordeal settling over him.
Two days later, the caravan arrived. Orkesh, Manicia, Mina, Rook, and their new, silent companion—the thin orc—had finally reached the dungeon. The journey back had been long, punctuated by Manicia's simmering resentment and Mina's quiet concern for their captive. But nothing could have prepared them for the sight that greeted them.
Orkesh, perched on the driver's seat, pulled the horse to a halt. His jaw dropped. "By the Five Gods…" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Gone were the dense, wild trees that had once blocked their path, forcing them to navigate a winding, overgrown trail. Instead, a wide, meticulously cleared dirt path, surprisingly smooth, welcomed them. It stretched straight towards the dungeon, flanked by the forest on either side, but this was no ordinary forest. The nearby trees, their trunks thick and ancient, had carved figures embedded into their bark, intricate designs and all sorts of artistry worked directly into the wood. They showcased a breathtaking level of craftsmanship, turning the natural landscape into an open-air gallery.
Manicia, who had been walking beside the wagon, stumbled to a halt, her eyes wide. "What… what happened here?" she breathed, her earlier anger momentarily forgotten, replaced by sheer astonishment.
Mina, from inside the wagon, peered out, her small face pressed against the opening. "It's… it's beautiful," she murmured, a soft, reverent sound.
The thin orc, still slung over Rook's shoulder, stirred. He had been feigning unconsciousness, listening to the kobolds' chatter, but the sudden silence and their gasps drew his attention. He opened a sliver of an eye, then his other, and his own jaw, despite his feigned state, dropped. His grey skin seemed to pale further. What- what is this?.
As the wagon moved on, a massive stone stele, easily twice the height of Rook, rose majestically from the earth near the dungeon entrance. Its surface, smoothly polished, bore an inscription in a language none of them recognized, but below it, a universal symbol: a stylized inn sign—a tankard beside a bed—and clear, bold lettering that read: "Welcome to Necro Market. Spaces available for rent."
"Necro Market?" Orkesh mumbled, shaking his head in disbelief. "Since when did this place get a name? And a market?"
The road, though still dirt, felt different. It was packed down, almost like a proper road, and the air, usually thick with the scent of damp earth and wild growth, now carried faint traces of freshly cut wood and something else… something clean, almost sterile.
Finally, the wagon arrived into the main courtyard outside the dungeon. Orkesh was utterly stunned. The day he had left, there had been nothing but a rugged mountain face, a hidden entrance, and wild, untamed land. Now, the entire section of the mountain wall, where the hidden entrance had been, had been transformed into a beautiful, imposing stone wall. Carved into its surface, in elegant, sweeping script, were the words: "Necro Market."
Small stone fences, meticulously crafted, surrounded the courtyard, enclosing lush gardens with winding stone pathways. Two skeleton gardeners, their movements surprisingly delicate, tended to vibrant, unfamiliar flora. A large, intricately forged metal gate, its dark iron gleaming, stood at the entrance to the dungeon proper.
Standing guard on either side were armored skeletons, as big as Rook, their forms imposing. They wore helmets with weird, red hairings at the top, like ancient warriors, and bore tower shields emblazoned with the symbol of an eagle.
"Guards?" Manicia whispered, her hand instinctively going to her dagger, then realizing they were not hostile. "And… gardens? What in the world happened here?"
Mina, her eyes wide, pointed. "And look! Skeleton gardeners!"
Even their new "friend," the thin orc, who had been trying to maintain his unconscious facade, couldn't help but gawk. His green eye, still slightly open, darted from the eagle-crested guards to the impossibly intricate gate, then to the flourishing gardens. This… this isn't a dungeon. This is… a fortress. A kingdom Who exactly lives in this place?. The cold dread from Rook's presence was now compounded by a profound, unsettling awe.
The stone stairs leading towards the main door were also carved, their surfaces smooth and elegant, and had sturdy metal railings. Stone pots, overflowing with brightly colored flowers, lined the steps. Though most of the skeletons they saw were still undressed, lacking any uniform beyond their basic bone, Orkesh had a feeling that would change anytime soon.
As the wagon parked just in front of the stairs, four skeletons with push wagons rushed down from the doors towards them, moving with an almost frantic efficiency. They began unloading the goods with astonishing speed. Even Orkesh, who had seen these haulers running fast all around the dungeon before, couldn't help but be surprised by the skeletons' renewed initiative. They moved with a purpose, a synchronized rhythm that spoke of a guiding intelligence.
Rook, still holding the thin orc over his shoulder, stepped forward. "Come," he intoned, his deep, synthesized voice cutting through Orkesh's astonishment. "The Lord is waiting." He pulled the thin orc, who still gawked at the impossible surroundings, towards the newly carved entrance. The orc, despite his predicament, found his mind reeling. What kind of power does the owner of this place wield? To transform a cursed dungeon into… this? His grandfather's pendant, usually his sole focus, felt suddenly insignificant against the overwhelming reality.