Ralph charged the enemy while it was still unaware it had been caught. The Dark Reaper whistled as it passed through the air, and the gnome’s head toppled from its shoulders.
More gnomes leaped from the sand dunes, almost materializing out of thin air. Ralph twisted away from their serrated knives and recalled the swordforms he’d practiced inside the stable. But he didn’t need to think; the Dark Reaper commanded his limbs as though it had taken full control of his body.
Ralph’s movements were fluid, like the wind flowing through the leaves of an elm tree. He was also fast, his mind having trouble keeping up with the speed of his limbs. It took a little getting used to, but within minutes, he was able to think as fast as his body moved. The Dark Reaper sliced through the gnome ranks, and their blood splattered against Ralph’s tattered tunic. He planted his foot on a gnome’s chest and kicked it backward before delivering an upward swing that tore the creature in half.
When the final gnome died, a cloud of black specks drifted from the corpses and siphoned into Ralph’s tattoo.
“You are growing in power,” Alaxon said. “You will one day rule the world, my boy. The potatoes in my stew foretold it!”
The old priest seemed unable to speak to Ralph without mentioning a great destiny or the things he’d seen in his stew. As much as Ralph wanted to believe he was chosen by Lilith, the theory was growing increasingly hard to swallow. The power he could wield with this sword, however, meant he didn’t care whether he was actually chosen by Lilith for great things. The sword alone was more than enough. It gave him direction, a purpose in life.
Power.
Ralph pilfered the gnome corpses for anything he could use, but none of the armor pieces were large enough for him, and the weapons were useless while he carried the Dark Reaper. After a little more searching, they found a cache where the sulfur gnomes stored their treasure, and Ralph took a leather breastplate, greaves, and segmented shoulder plates. They were the first pieces of armor he’d ever owned, and they only took a few minor adjustments of the straps and buckles until they fitted him perfectly.
When they began their journey again, Alaxon explained how to harness the magical energy gained from the kills. It was called Infernal Essence, and through his bond with the Dark Reaper, Ralph could turn it into powerful abilities. With the enchanted tattoo, he’d become an adventurer, dedicated to Lilith. Apparently, the dungeons and adventurers both served the dark goddess by their eternal conflict. For so many years, both parties had lain dormant, but Alaxon explained that a new age had come, and the eternal battle had begun against in earnest.
It was an interesting legend, and Ralph wasn’t sure he believed it, but it served him now. Much had changed since that morning when he’d attempted to hang himself, and it was only the beginning of his path as an adventurer.
Chapter Thirteen
I barely noticed Bertha’s eyes widen as I excitedly hooked into my new project. I could only consume so much essence at once, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t manipulate the raw essence inside me to improve how my dungeon looked and operated.
My gaming experience had always been fighting, leveling up, killing monsters, and raiding places. I’d never thought that building my own could be so exhilarating.
My gem hummed again as I blasted essence into the slope in the entrance tunnel. The reflective surface of obsidian looked darker and more foreboding, so I unloaded the juice I’d sapped from the mountain and formed a huge set of stairs. The staircase was impressively broad and would suit all kinds of feet—troll, human, elf, whatever.
I turned my attention to the tunnel’s entrance where I’d first begun my excavation process. Around the area where the small obsidian spire once rested, I drew the malleable edges of my dungeon upward, forming a simple archway with glossy obsidian. I wanted to fashion skulls into the stone, but my stone manipulation still wouldn’t allow for anything except simple geometric shapes. Would I be able to create more intricate and detailed masonry with more practice? I really hoped so because while my archway was a satisfactory entrance, it didn’t quite communicate the atmosphere of ‘doom and gloom’ I wanted adventurers to feel when they passed beneath.
My essence counter dropped significantly after I completed the artwork, and I guessed more detailed structures cost more resources.
Good to know.
I couldn’t tell how much time had passed, but I channeled every last atom of Physical Essence out of my jewel and emptied my reserves to create the best possible entrance tunnel. The walls started to gleam with the polished surface of obsidian, and I fashioned stalactites into the ceiling. I wasn’t sure I could make them plummet with a mental command and impale an adventurer or two, but at least they looked cool. I added the same spikes to the archway to give the effect of bleeding thorns jutting out from the glistening black stone. It was suitable detailing for what I could manage with my low skill level.
My dungeon wasn’t much, and I wanted something much grander and more imposing, but it was definitely more than a hole in the ground. An archway of glistening black stone.
I retracted my consciousness from the entrance but could still feel it at the back of my mind. The wind battered the mountaintop and caressed my new design. It almost tickled.
Now that my gem was depleted of Physical Essence, I turned my attention to the antechamber at the end of the tunnel. I needed cavernous spaces, traps, pools of boiling lava, gargoyles with glowing red eyes and blood dripping from demonic eye sockets, all set into the walls.
I felt
