[Chapter 75. A Warning for Others]
Searanox materialized onto the expansive, stone-paved roof of the spire, the cool night air imdiately pressing against his skin and offering a montary reprieve from the humidity below. His mind, always racing with tactical data, imdiately began calculating the most efficient route for the following morning. It was a familiar yet unwelco task—the grim necessity of clearing the sa local dungeons repeatedly to maintain his dominance and resource pool. The sheer monotony of this survival loop brought a small, wry smile to his lips, a flicker of dark amusent at how his life had shifted from high-tech corporate interests to primitive monster culling. With an amused puff of air that was half-sigh and half-chuckle, he summoned a cargo drone. The tallic, utilitarian cube materialized silently in the dim moonlight beside him, its status lights blinking a steady, rhythmic blue.
`Bring the headboard of the bed from the abandoned farmhouse.` He commanded ntally, his link with the tower's network seamless. Before the thought had even fully settled, the drone tilted its chassis and vanished into the darkness, soaring toward the old campsite where the prefab house stood as a silent relic of a dead world.
He stepped away from the ledge and retreated into the spire, heading directly for the bathing chamber. The hot water was incredibly welcoming as it enveloped his tired, aching body, the temperature hovering just at the edge of scalding. Steam rose in thick, swirling clouds around him, quickly fogging the high windows of the bathroom and blurring the sharp lines of the architecture. As he soaked, his eyes closed, he heard the heavy, distinctive hum of the cargo drone returning. There was a distant, heavy thud as the drone released the large wooden headboard of the bedfra into the foyer. The sound was muffled by the thick stone walls and the splashing of water, but it signaled the completion of his errand.
After a long, restorative soak that finally eased the tension in his shoulders, he erged from the bath. His skin was flushed a deep pink from the heat, and his mind felt clearer, more focused. He reached for one of the plush, oversized towels from the heated rack, drying himself with thodical, deliberate movents. Once dry, he donned a set of new armor he had recently procured from the System Shop, costing him a re four silver coins—a pittance for the protection it offered. He grimaced slightly as he realized the System Shop's glaring lack of basic comforts; there was no option for underwear or socks, leaving him to wear the cold tal and leather directly against his skin. Still, he dressed regardless, the various plates and buckles clinking softly with each movent. He walked out to the foyer, found the heavy wooden headboard, and picked it up with practiced ease, his enhanced strength making the bulky object feel light.
He carried the wood into the war room, pushing the two large canvases he had prepared earlier to the side and storing the remaining fras in his storage ring to clear his workspace. Then, with the Mycelial Fang gripped firmly in his hand, he began to carve. The dagger's enchanted edge bit deep into the solid wood with minimal effort, curling away shavings that slled of old pine and dust. As he finished the final stroke of the carving, he glanced at the digital tir floating in his peripheral vision. A flicker of genuine annoyance crossed his face. He had lost track of ti; there were only six hours left before the next scheduled round of dungeon resets.
He swept the wood shavings into a pile, stored the newly carved sign and his tools into his storage ring, and headed to his sleeping quarters. Sleep ca almost instantly, a welco escape from the relentless, grinding cycle of tasks that now defined his existence.
In the morning, Searanox woke alone, the silence of the room exactly as it had been when he fell asleep. No one had dared to disturb his rest. He sat up slowly, the pale morning light filtering through the high windows and casting long shadows across the stone floor. As he pulled on his coat and checked the system tir, he hissed a curse under his breath. He was half an hour late. The efficiency he demanded of others had failed him in his own slumber.
His movents imdiately beca frantic. He barely had his heavy coat settled over his broad shoulders when he stepped onto the balcony and the travel drone lifted off. The drone surged forward, carrying him into the sky with a jolt of acceleration. The morning wind whipped violently around him, tugging at his hair and clothes as they sped toward the first of the local dungeons.
After roughly an hour of combat, he had successfully cleared the three dungeons located nearest to his tower. The familiar routine had beco second nature to him—the patterns of the monsters, the layout of the rooms were all etched into his muscle mory. He returned to the tower grounds with a handful of silver coins in his pocket. The travel drone descended gracefully, landing just outside the tower's periter where the remains of the previous night's fire still smoldered on the foundations dark grey stone of the outer ring.
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
He dismissed the drone with a wave of his hand and leaned down to pick a few choice chunks of charcoal from the cooling white ash. Before summoning another cargo drone to clean the area, he ordered it to take the ssy remains of the bonfire and dump them deep within the forest, far from the tower's entrance. The drone flew off, gathering the ash and charred wood with chanical precision. He didn't watch it for long, instead turning and entering the Grand Atrium through the main archway.
"Good morning, Iris. Did you sleep well?" he asked, his voice echoing in the vast space as he placed the gathered charcoal into his storage ring.
Iris was standing in the center of the Atrium, positioned perfectly next to the pulsing Land Node. She gave him a small, respectful nod. "I did, Searanox," she replied, her silver eyes holding a steady, unwavering focus that seed to pierce through the morning gloom. "The four are currently in their designated rooms, preparing themselves for your arrival as instructed."
He gave a curt nod in response, stepped over to the center stone of the transport system, and vanished in a flicker of light. He reappeared on the third floor, the residential level. As he was halfway through the central chamber, the doors to the private quarters opened. The four won—Vanessa, Carn, Lana, and Sarah—erged one after another. Their faces were a complex mixture of lingering fear and grim resignation. He stopped in his tracks, his gaze sweeping over them like a commander inspecting a line of fresh recruits.
"Good. I don't have to go in and get you after all," he said, his tone flat and unamused, highlighting his lingering irritation at his own tardiness.
Without another word or a mont for them to speak, he turned around and tapped the center stone again, reappearing instantly on the ground floor. Iris was waiting exactly where he had left her.
"You could have told that they were already on their way down," he said as he passed her, his voice clipped and tight with irritation.
Iris t his gaze calmly but offered no verbal explanation. Her silver eyes remained impassive, watching with predatory stillness.
As the four won finally appeared in the Atrium, their footsteps echoing softly and hesitantly on the stone floor, Searanox summoned three travel drones. The tallic cubes materialized with a soft, harmonic hum, their polished surfaces gleaming even in the dim, indirect light of the tower.
"Just as before. Two people on each drone. Move."
Sarah was the first to approach, boarding one of the drones. Her movents were still a bit hesitant, but there was a noticeable increase in her confidence compared to the previous day. Her petite fra seed strangely out of place against the drone's cold, starkly functional surface. Vanessa followed her, her face a rigid mask of stoic indifference. However, as she gripped the drone's surface, her knuckles turned a stark white, betraying the anxiety she was trying so hard to hide. Lana was the last to board, her face still pale from the previous night's trauma. Her movents were slow and clumsy, hampered by the weight of her equipnt and her own fear. Carn stepped in to help her onto the drone, her own expression remaining calm and analytical, her touch steady and reassuring as she braced her companion.
Iris was the last to board the final drone, her movents fluid, silent, and incredibly graceful. She positioned herself directly behind Searanox, her body pressing firmly into his back to maintain balance. The scent of her dark fur—wild, earthy, and distinctly animalistic—filled his nostrils.
He didn't have to give the formal command; the system recognized the destination. The drones rose smoothly into the air, banking sharply as they flew toward the nearest un-cleared dungeon entrance. Iris's head rested lightly on his shoulder, her warm breath ghosting against his neck. Suddenly, her teeth grazed his skin—a gentle, almost playful nip that sent an unexpected shiver down his spine.
Searanox rolled his eyes beneath his shades but said nothing, his focus already shifting to the tactical requirents of the task ahead.
He scanned the terrain below as they flew, the dense canopy of trees passing by as a blur of shadowed green and deep brown. He could spot the occasional movent of a mutated beast in the undergrowth, but none of them posed a threat to their flight. The drones were simply too fast and maintained too much altitude for any terrestrial predator to reach. From this height, the world below seed distant and almost unreal—a vast landscape of potential dangers and raw resources just waiting to be exploited.
As they approached the gaping entrance of the Fungal Caverns, the drones began their descent, settling into the soft, loam-rich earth with a muted thud. The four won dismounted, their boots sinking slightly into the damp, mossy soil. Iris was the last to dismount, her movents remaining fluid and graceful. She landed lightly on the earth, her claws retracted and making no audible sound.
The dungeon entrance was a massive, hollowed-out tree trunk, the ancient bark almost entirely obscured by layers of glowing, multi-colored fungi. The air in the clearing was thick and heavy, saturated with the scent of damp earth and decaying vegetable matter—a sll that clung uncomfortably to the back of the throat.
As his travel drones vanished in a flurry of blue sparks, Searanox reached into his storage ring. He withdrew the large piece of wood he had carved the night before and slamd it into the soft ground right next to the shimring portal entrance. The wood, bearing the jagged, aggressive marks of the Mycelial Fang, stood out sharply against the dark soil.
The sign was clear and unmistakable:
WARNING
Waves of beasts inside, numbering in the hundreds.
Not recomnded for groups of fewer than six or Awakened under level 10.
Searanox looked at the sign for a mont, then gave a sharp nod of satisfaction. He turned back to the gathered group, his expression hardening as he prepared to lead them into the depths.
"Let's go," he said simply.
Reviews
All reviews (0)