Saddark Dungeon: Keyek! Slash.
Keyek! Slash.
The zombie spider charging with a scream split in half, spewing yellow bodily fluids. It twitched a few times before going limp, never to move again. Amon shook off his sword—just in case any fluid had splashed on it—before sheathing it.
"Watch your step around the fluids."
Those using magic tattoos crossed the corridor carefully avoiding the spider's fluids, while the others just trampled right through them.
The dungeon raids centered on Amon had begun the day after his Confession of Faith. Specialized mobs had one overwhelming advantage: absolute dominance against their specific class. The downside? They were pathetically weak against anything else. Thanks to that, Amon's raids progressed smoothly. Undead specialized against divine power simply couldn't exist in the first place.
Slash. Amon carved through the undead like a hot knife through butter. His party members watched his one-man rampage with awkward expressions.
"Do we even need to be here?"
The others couldn't argue with the water buffalo tank and mute sniper's point.
Of course, they weren't just standing around idle. They handled their share against the undead they could affect. But when a specialized mob showed up, those members suddenly had nothing to do, leaving them feeling useless.
Every time enemies immune to bullets appeared, the mute sniper grew sullen. But ammo was expendable, so during those fights, she and the ogre heavy gunner sat out. A selfish party might have cheered at the saved ammo costs, but this good-hearted group didn't.
After each battle, the party members glanced at Amon, treating him like a lord.
"Thirsty? I have water."
"Ah, thank you."
"Hungry?"
"A bit peckish... but no need for the ration blocks."
He gratefully declined the androgynous utility mage's offer. Sure, the mage could conjure drinking water, but mana was a resource too—and ration blocks? Well, that went without saying.
Amid the fawning atmosphere, as if he were some exalted master, Amon spoke up awkwardly.
"Ease up, everyone. You're all doing great."
But Kashi, who had been surplus again, wasn't convinced by his reassurance.
"Still, you're carrying the whole load."
"It's not like that—cut it out. Vox just backed me up on that spider."
Vox jumped into the conversation.
"I was useless in the fight before last!"
"Vox. I'm defending you here—don't undermine me."
"I've got ogre pride! Kashi's right—I'm useless."
"No, you're not—stop saying that. I'd be dead ages ago without you guys."
As Amon said, even he couldn't handle endless waves alone. Without his comrades' support, he'd probably have been crushed screaming. And deeper down, specialized undead started mixing in. The dungeon demanded everyone pull their weight.
"Alright! Enough self-pity—let's head down again!"
Amon urged them on, joking that bickering over this was the funniest thing. The party dove back in.
They encountered countless specialized undead after that. Each member handled their assigned foes adeptly, while Amon swept the rest with his anti-undead supremacy. When hunger hit, they fueled up on ration blocks; when fatigue built, they surfaced. Before long, they'd reached the officially reported deepest cleared floor.
"This must be El Dorado."
Exploring the uncharted layer, the water buffalo tank marveled at untouched tech. True to a magic tech firm, unreported engravings turned up. Not full super-regeneration, but ones that healed near-fatal wounds mid-battle. Their unique engraving and circuit designs qualified for patents.
Selling this would mean instant riches; applying it could make one a named mercenary. Normally, such finds sparked distribution fights that splintered parties. But Amon's group stayed calm.
"Party leader decides."
The water buffalo tank and sniper weren't alone—everyone agreed. But Amon tabled distribution for now.
"They won't know we're in the lead up top. Better not tip off corps and get targeted—secure the lich first."
The party nodded, shelving talk of the magic tattoos. They found more tech later. By the utility mage's estimate, worth roughly eight million dollars. Yet no discord arose.
"Our party leader contributed most. We've got standards."
Even the utility mage, who best knew the tattoos' value, said as much. The party was that harmonious.
Of course, they were human. Priceless loot stirred greed and possessiveness. But strong bonds—and the raid not being over—kept temptation at bay. Antagonizing Amon now would be killing the golden goose mid-lay. They balanced loyalty and logic on their shoulders to suppress desire.
Dungeon Conquest Month 2, with the Twisted Nether Energy Bar.
Raiding another uncharted layer, Amon voiced a doubt.
"But are these techs safe?"
This was a company with a history of turning people into undead via magic engravings. The finds could be contaminated.
"Sell to a megacorp and have 'em check."
The utility mage's practical reply. Logical—if the corp was honest.
"What if they murder us, swallow the zombie tech, and use it themselves?"
"Ah..."
The mage fell silent at Amon's point. The party chuckled. It wasn't serious discussion anyway—they hadn't decided on selling or using. Half-joking Q&A.
Trading such banter, they pressed on, slaying familiar specialized undead endlessly until the lich. But that day felt different.
At a dead-end corridor—empty otherwise—pudgy Kashi prodded a solid wall with her spear tip.
"Hey, this door's weird."
Everyone blinked. Even Amon sensed nothing off.
"Door? Isn't it just a wall?"
Kashi grinned triumphantly.
"Nah. Megacorp labs use this tech—push here like so—"
Screeech. The wall slid inward, revealing a card-key panel on a steel door opposite.
"Ta-da~"
She spread her arms dramatically. But the reaction was lukewarm.
"Wooow."
"Good job."
Claps from the party. They knew she'd done well, but her smugness begged pranks.
"Tch."
Only after she pouted did proper praise flow.
"Kashi, you're the best."
"Way better than Vox!"
"Kashi, impressive."
Bathed in acclaim, Kashi regained confidence. Meanwhile, Amon inspected the door.
"So, Kashi—how do we open it?"
"Duh, card key."
"Don't have one?"
"Like I'd carry one."
"Finding the hidden wall made me hope."
"I just lucked into knowing. Doors need the straight method."
But Amon shook his head.
Thud thud. He tapped the door, nodding.
"Doable."
"?"
"Vox. You know thermite, right?"
"Recipe memorized."
"Stuff it here and here."
Now the party caught on. The firepower fanatic ogre grinned, lips curling.
"How much?"
"More the better."
As a soldier from Amon's past life said: Force is light and wisdom. The ogre agreed eagerly, jamming every explosive into the hinges.
Setup done, they retreated.
"Breach!"
Sizzle—BOOM!
The bunker door flew off. As the party prepped entry, Amon's mood shifted—he charged in screaming.
"Emaaaaaan!!!"
No one understood his sudden frenzy.
***
The dungeon's depths. In the ruined company's bunker, the lich tilted his teacup.
Slurp. Thick blood wet his lips. His withered throat and chest bobbed with gulps.
Lichs needed no food, but he indulged to savor human sensations. Plus, storing blood and organs in his gut aided black magic later.
"Hmm..."
He leisurely stockpiled while eyeing the CCTV. Most were busted. In a bullet-and-blast hellhole like this, they never lasted—undead trashed them anyway. Only one remained, watching the bunker door. For any "headquarters" exec knocking periodically. But the last had come recently—no need to check.
Still, he stared—this was all he had down here.
"So bored."
Early days were busy: staging "proof" of a dungeon boss outside his room, setting traps and monsters, churning undead from HQ corpses.
Decades ago, I was swamped.
Once stabilized, idleness set in. Adventurers supplied bodies; auto-undead circuits everywhere meant no need to roam. He only emerged for HQ execs.
Maybe some adventurers will visit...
Boredom sparked the thought, but he dismissed it. HQ and he had engineered this dungeon meticulously. Upper floors: standard undead. Deeper: near-impossible, plastered with counters, dropping one adventurer per floor minimum.
HQ sims confirmed: no adventurer party could pass. A ninja squad might force it—with heavy losses—and such elites wouldn't merc dungeons anyway.
Even reaching the final floor was hell. Hidden bunker behind a secret wall—only insiders would spot it.
Still, if adventurers dropped by... Nah, what am I thinking?
Built not to be cleared. Better undiscovered forever—for him and HQ. Besides—
If caught, I'm dead.
Frankly, the prepared lower undead outmatched him. A well-oiled group trumped any solo powerhouse. If anyone breached to him, he'd be no match.
Then—a group appeared on CCTV.
Huh?
Speak of the devil. Adventurers. The lich wiped nonexistent sweat, contacting HQ—keeping the party in view.
As their woman shoved the wall open, his fingers flew. Just before transmission—
Sizzle—BOOM!
The bunker door exploded. A roar echoed instantly.
"Emaaaaaan!!!"
A dagger sliced the lich's wrist.
"Aaaagh!"
No pain in this body—yet burning agony tore a scream from him.
Meanwhile, Amon burst in, stabbing the seated lich's shoulders and thighs, stomping his solar plexus.
"Yeah. Missed ya, corpse freak."
First meeting, yet Amon's eyes blazed murderously. His divine-power-charged foot seared like a branding iron as he growled.
"Undead marching in formation pissed me off from the start. Been waiting for this."
"Guh... guhuk! Wh-who—"
"The Mother commands: Hang the defilers of rest upside down in the square, throats slit."
"E—aaaagh!!"
Amon cauterized limbs before words formed. Watching from behind, Kashi muttered.
"Wow, how'd he hide that temper the whole way down."
She knew this side of him; the others didn't.
"Kwaaaagh!"
The bunker filled with the lich's screams.
"Let's avoid 'mystic power' from now on, yeah?"
An unspoken pact formed among Amon's party.