Chapter 16: What Lurks Below

  We swept the base of the ruined tower, checking corners, cracks, and under collapsed beams, anywhere something useful might’ve been overlooked. But it was bare. Stripped clean. If there was ever anything of value here, it was long gone.

  Bob snorted nearby, his snout buried in a collapsed pile of stone and moss. He pawed at the ground, rooting around for anything edible, or maybe just interesting, but even he seemed to come up empty. With a disappointed grunt, he gave the rubble one last shove and trotted back to our side.

  Elunara’s staff glowed with a steady green light, soft but penetrating, casting a faint shimmer across the stones as she approached the stairwell. It wasn’t bright, not like a torch, but it carried weight, a presence that pushed gently against the dark. The light clung to the moss-covered stone, revealing slick patches of moisture and long-forgotten cracks in the masonry. Shadows stretched and shifted as she moved, not fleeing but bending aside.

  One by one, we followed her down, our boots echoing faintly on the worn stone. Even Bob’s thudding steps softened. The air thickened, colder, wetter, and laced with the scent of forgotten places. Behind us, danger clawed at the rubble. Ahead, it waited in silence.

  I spoke up, voice low but sharp. “What the hell was that thing?”

  Veldrin flicked a bit of dirt from his sleeve, his expression distant.

  “It was an abomination,” he said. “A tangle of flesh and nature, brought sentient by foul mana. Corruption looms heavy in the Hollow…”

  As we passed the bend of the stone spiral staircase, the entrance above slipped out of sight. The descent had officially begun.

  Bromm drew his axe, letting Veldrin’s warning about corrupted mana hang in the air, unanswered.

  That was signal enough for me. I pulled free my sword and slipped my arm through the buckler’s straps, the quiet scrape of metal against leather sounding far too loud in the stillness.

  Bromm took the lead, moving ahead of Elunara now. He ran one hand along the stone wall, fingers brushing over patches of dry dirt and moss as if feeling for something.

  Then he froze.

  His wrist twisted, hand turning palm-up. In the soft glow of Elunara’s staff-light, I saw it…Something thin and taut caught across his skin. A rope, maybe a trapline? No more than an inch thick. It had been buried in the grime, nearly invisible until now.

  It was definitely not a trap, because after inspecting it for just a moment Bromm yanked the rope hard, shaking off dirt all along the wall as far as I could see, it also descended all the way down it looked like.

  “Scout line,” Bromm muttered, giving it a tug. then glanced back at me.

  “This means someone’s mapped this dungeon before. Been a while, though.”

  Elunara grinned. “Hopefully long enough for some monsters to hoard new treasure.”

  Looking at her, you wouldn't suspect she was even phased by any of the events leading up to where we find ourselves now.

  We’d descended at least fifty feet before the staircase finally leveled out, leading into a rounded corridor. Even with Elunara’s staff casting its faint green light, visibility was poor…Maybe ten feet ahead at best, and even that was hazy. The hall narrowed and curved, but whatever lay ahead was swallowed by shadow, the details too faint to make sense of..

  “What is this place?” I asked, my voice low.

  Bromm answered without looking back. “Old human watchtower. This here’s the storage level—goes back hundreds of years, back when all Selion knew was war.”

  He waved a hand toward the dark ahead. “This part? War cellar. Doubled as a barracks and armory. If there's anything left, it'll be supplies… or what’s left of ‘em…” He paused, then added with a grunt, “If we’re lucky.”

  “But do try not to forget why we’re here…” came Veldrin’s voice, far too close.

  I flinched. I hadn’t even heard him move, but there he was, suddenly at my shoulder, his breath practically brushing my ear.

  “Our goal, dear Arthur,” he whispered, tone dripping with condescension, “…isn’t scavenged trinkets or the rusted ghosts of forgotten wars. It’s you.”

  I threw my hands up, gesturing around wildly. “But why here? Couldn’t we just train back in the village?”

  Veldrin let out a pompous laugh, theatrical and far too pleased with himself.

  “Oh, I suppose you wouldn’t understand… Dungeons like this aren’t just filled with treasure and beasts…They’re steeped in wild, untamed mana. Chaotic. Old. Forgotten.”

  He stepped lightly through the gloom, gesturing as he spoke.

  “Mana, it turns out, is not so different from mortals… It is corruptible. Twisted by bloodshed and horror.”

  He paused, eyes scanning the darkness ahead.

  “During the great wars, where atrocities soaked Selion, the mana didn’t fade, it changed. Became unstable. It clings to places like this, festering beneath the surface… and when left to rot, it draws in monsters…And other, darker things.”

  As we moved deeper, the hallway widened slightly, and we came upon a jagged hole in the wall—what looked like the remains of a collapsed storage room.

  Elunara stepped forward, her staff held high. She lowered it toward the opening, and soft green light spilled inside, casting faint, rippling shadows over broken shelves and debris. At first glance, it looked empty.

  This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

  But then the light caught something.

  In the far wall, a large vertical crack split the stone, narrow but just wide enough to glimpse the room beyond, and something stared back.

  A single eye.

  Then—it blinked.

  A wet, gurgling shriek tore through the crack like a dying breath dragged through waterlogged lungs.

  I felt it before I saw it—movement, fast and furious, crashing through the ruin with murderous intent.

  And then it came into view.

  Just as Bromm had described—skin like slick, blue leather stretched over a bloated frame. Its swollen belly bounced with each step, pustules and warts rippling as it charged. Oozing sores wept down its sides, and its limbs jerked like something half-drowned and half-feral.

  This was a Boglin. And it was coming straight for me.

  In that moment, I was very thankful I had a sword and not my small bearded axe. I did not want this thing getting anywhere near me.

  With instinct kicking in, I raised my shield just in time. The Boglin slammed into it with a downward blow, snarling. It wasn’t tall, maybe chest height, five feet at most, but it hit like a battering ram. The impact nearly drove me to a knee, my boots scraping stone as I braced.

  I gritted my teeth and shoved back, regaining balance.

  I couldn’t take another hit like that standing still. I’d have to roll, keep moving, use its weight and momentum against it. Throw it off balance.

  I lashed out with a downward strike, burying the blade into its shoulder, it wailed another wet shriek, but this time.. It was met by many more..

  The Boglin, snarling through the pain, lunged forward in a final, desperate charge. It came straight for my center, but the wound had slowed it. Just enough.

  I sidestepped at the last second, raising my shield to deflect its swing as it stumbled past.

  It overcommitted, and I didn’t hesitate.

  I turned and drove my blade through its back, a fatal blow.

  For a moment, I breathed. Just a moment.

  A spark of light streaked past my face, Veldrin’s magic, hot and sharp. The glow lit up the darkness for the briefest second.

  And in that flash, I saw it.

  I had made a mistake.

  I’d let my guard down.

  Another Boglin was already in a dead sprint toward me, no more than a few feet away.

  The one behind it took Veldrin’s spell square to the face and dropped instantly—just gone in a burst of light and gore.

  It barreled into me with its full weight, slamming me to the ground. The impact knocked the air from my lungs.

  Before I could recover, it was on top of me.

  Claws like rusted knives tore into my arm as I raised it to shield myself, instinct, not strategy.

  Pain flared.

  It shrieked, foul breath blasting across my face as it snapped and clawed.

  “GET OFF OF ME!” I roared, shoving my feet up under its gut.

  With every ounce of strength, I kicked.

  The Boglin flew backward, crashing into the stone wall with a meaty slam.

  It stirred, still alive…But not fast enough.

  I was already on my feet, closing the gap. One hard thrust drove my blade through its chest, pinning it there.

  The blow sent it back into the wall again, stone cracking and caving with the force. Dust rained down.

  It didn’t get back up.

  I yanked my sword free and stepped back, refusing to drop my guard this time.

  Across the room, Bob was already mid-charge—two hundred pounds of armored pig barreling into another Boglin. The impact shattered its legs, sending it into a wild spiral through the air.

  It barely hit the ground before Bromm was there, axe coming down hard into the back of its head.

  Elunara appeared beside me, her presence a sudden wave of calm. I felt the warmth of her magic wrap around me, like sunlight through a storm. The pain in my arm dulled, numbed by her spell’s touch.

  Bromm and Bob cleared the last two, the gurgling screams gave way to silent darkness once again.

  As I caught my breath, a new thought settled in…

  I felt nothing.

  Veldrin spoke of dungeons like they were alive with wild, chaotic mana—dangerous, corrupt, pulsing with power. But here? I didn’t feel anything. No strange hum. No spark of recognition. No magic bubbling up inside me, begging to be unleashed.

  I guess I’d been hoping for something more. Something obvious. Prominent. Instant.

  But there was nothing. And at this rate, I was going to end up dead before I ever figured it out.

  Still… I wasn’t ready to give up.

  We searched the room where the Boglins had come from. It was bare. Dust clung to the walls. A single stone desk was carved directly into the wall, long abandoned. At the far end, a narrow window looked out into nothing…Just clay and compacted dirt pressed up against the outside like the world itself had moved on without this place.

  Bromm returned to the wall, the tether once again in his palm. He gave it a small tug, watching the slack shift.

  “Well,” he muttered, “guess that was it. Nothin’ here. Scout line just loops back—crosses the far wall and heads out again.”

  Veldrin let out a long, theatrical sigh… and Elunara echoed it with one of her own, though hers felt far less dramatic.

  We headed back out—no treasure, no manifestation, no miracle.

  Just danger.

  And nothing to show for it.

  I’d hoped for something dramatic—some wild awakening in the heat of battle, powers flaring to life at the last possible second.

  Instead?

  Just torn-up clothes and a sword now stained in gore.

  We started toward the stairs. “What’s the plan for getting out of—”

  I didn’t finish the sentence.

  As I stepped past the small crater left by the Boglin I’d flung into the wall, something caught my attention. A breeze—faint, but unmistakable—brushed against my skin.

  I stopped.

  “What’s that?” I asked instead, turning toward the collapsed stone.

  Elunara was already moving, staff in hand, inspecting the crater with glowing focus. “There’s something behind this wall,” she said, tapping the edge with the end of her staff.

  Bromm stepped up without hesitation and drove a heavy boot into the weakened stone. It gave way with a dull crash, crumbling inward and sending dust swirling through the air.

  Behind it, a tunnel stretched forward, narrow, uneven, and swallowed in shadow. It curved along the outer wall of the structure, rough stone lining its sides, untouched by time or torch. The air that drifted out was cooler, damper.

  Bromm squeezed his stocky frame partway into the passage with a few unhappy grunts, one hand steadying himself against the wall. He ran his palm along the stonework, inspecting the texture, the seams.

  “No scout line,” he muttered. “This hasn’t been mapped. Whatever’s down here, we’ll be the first to see it.”

  He backed out and turned, a glint in his eye.

  “You know what that means.”

  Elunara practically vibrated where she stood, her staff bouncing in her grip. She looked like she might sprint into the tunnel before the rest of us could blink.

  Then, with barely contained excitement, she grinned and said—

  “Treasure.”

  We entered the tunnel, falling into line behind Bromm, with Elunara close behind him, her staff casting soft light ahead. The passage sloped downward almost immediately, and I felt the shift in gravity tug at my legs, we were heading deep, fast.

  The stone floor beneath us gradually gave way to loose dirt and scattered pebbles. First just patches. Then more. Until the walls themselves changed…Less carved stone, more clay and compacted earth. Rough, natural. Untouched.

  The change was so gradual, it was almost unnoticeable. One step we were in the remnants of a ruined tower, the next… we weren’t.

  We had entered an underground cavern now, definitely not part of the original structure.

  Giant roots snaked along the walls and ceiling, weaving like tangled nerves, all of them unmistakably connected to the colossal trees above.

  We followed the path in silence. The deeper we went, the more the cave revealed itself, its natural formation becoming clearer. The walls were slick with moisture, and stalagmites jutted from the ground in growing numbers.

  Until—

  A deep, mucous-laced gurgle echoed through the cavern.

  Louder… Heavier… Different then any we heard so far.

  Then came the shrieks—wet, guttural, and familiar.

  Bromm stopped and turned, his face grim.

  In a low, serious tone, he muttered., “Brood-Queen.”