I floated over the corpse of a fallen orc.
Its breath had stopped but a second or two earlier, but the blood that had pooled under its corpse steamed in the frosty, red earth. Heavy and blackish-red. Not like the beasts of the lower levels. Not like anything I'd ever fought. This was not a bunny. This was not a joke. And this was just the start.
I gazed down the serrated road through a canyon of red earth, where skeletal trees stood like rusty blades. The wind vibrated with unstable magical energy. The wind smelled of smoke and rot.
The Bloodroot Ravine. My very first red-tier dungeon.
I was stumbling through bushes a year and half ago, getting kicked around by rabbits. Now, I have done all the green and orange dungeons of Syrelle's world. Over 100 complete runs. Hundreds of spells attempted. I mastered Magic formations. Battle endurance logged. My core had stabilized to a firm Mid-Rank 1 Magus, capable of surviving hours of casting of one good day. But when I looked further into this cursed ravine.
Something pestered in my gut. Was it fear? Maybe.
I moved forward cautiously and stealthily, my senses heightened. My magical sense hummed out in a wave fashion. There are two feeble signatures in front. Hidden and lurking.
I drew out my belt and summoned my magic-smithed short sword, and my hand flashed with glyph spells. One lingered for an instant before vanishing. I charged Frost Touch.
They came in a rush, bigger than the first orc, in rusted armor, with crude axes. They were not berserking like the others. They marched in sync and strategy.
Smart. But, I didn't let them outflank me.
Stone Fist exploded at my left, throwing one orc half-way through its charge and sending it back into a spike of red rock.
The other jumped, axe falling. Too slow.
I entered, shoved my short sword into its thigh, then followed up with a Gust Burst; not to do damage, simply to disrupt its balance.
The orc collapsed.
[Flame Spark]
The glyph spun on my wrist and launched the bolt into its exposed throat.
Gasping, I sat beside the bodies. Inspected the armor. Not random trash but crafted. Being kept and had been repaired.
That suggested blacksmiths.Blacksmiths suggested villages. And villages suggested an organization.
I moved deeper in.
---
After a good half hour, I saw higher ground. Behind a boulder of rock, I saw it.
A village. An actual, organized orc village.
Houses of stone. Chimney smoke. Orc children playing in the mud. Warriors training in the open.
At least two dozen in view. I blinked.
These weren't just monsters.This was society.
Even in the midst of peril, part of me….maybe the one that read books by candlelight in Aetherra wished to learn more.
Why were they here? Why build within a dungeon world like this?
And I saw it, a towering frame swathed in red bone-stitched robes. A black iron staff shaped into form. Long tusks. Eyes aglow.
A shaman. And his eyes fixed upon me at once.
His Sense. Naturally, I took a step back to retreat.
Too late.
The earth split beneath me. Roots erupted from the stone and wrapped around my legs.
"Damn it—!"
I slashed one free, hurled Shadow Coil to shatter the rest, and sprinted back down the path—
but fire blazed up behind me.
A fire sphere crashed into my side, and I staggered down the hill, armor plates glinting off stone.
I barely stood up.
The shaman appeared at the ridge, staring down at me. He lifted his staff.
I cast Frost Bloom, trying to pin the ground in place, then Static Shock but it faltered. Fizzled out in the air before it hit.
Did he neutralize it?
My core pulsed; unstable.
My heart sank.
Mid-Rank 1 energy reserve simply wasn't enough. So was my magic of High level Rank 1 spellcasting mastery.
Another red fireball slammed the ground next to me. I sidestepped, sword readied, gasping rasping. My body ached and my energy frayed.
I pressed on, short sword at the ready.
He didn't move.
At the last moment, his staff slammed into the ground. A glyph exploded; one I didn't recognize.
My legs went rigid. Gravity twisted and I fell.
Before I could scream, vines wrapped around me and pulled me to the ground. The last thing I remembered was seeing the shaman stroll slowly with a smile.