Reborn as the First Boss, Chapter 52

Chapter 52 – Dungeon

It was just before noon the next day when we got to the cordon, and the shanty town that had grown up around it. There were some permanent structures, like the Adventurer’s Guild, a guard barracks, and a few shops, but most of the ‘structures’, if they could be called that, were hastily built things that were essentially open for whoever wanted to stay in them. They were little more than four walls, a roof, and a floor, but it beat sleeping on the ground, and most people only stayed a night or two, when entering or leaving the dungeon. I had no desire to stay in such places, so we continued on to the cordon itself, where a guard in Shadescar livery stopped us at the gate.

The guard frowned as he looked at us. “Oy, where are you lot off to? The Necropolis ain’t no place for young’ns or womenfolk. Specially not now. Something’s riled up the dungeon, making all the undead nastier. The men get killed, sure enough, but the dungeon likes to keep the women, you know!”

That wasn’t actually true, from what Kester had told me. Or, at least, there was no evidence that the dungeon was keeping women. There were more dead and missing, sure, but that was due to the dungeon’s undead pushing harder, respawning faster, and making it harder to get back out of the dungeon when you hit your limit. However, superstition and rumor blew things out of proportion, especially when people who were not exactly thinkers were involved.

However, the Adventurer’s Guild and the Baron were using those superstitions as a reason to restrict access to the Necropolis, only letting seasoned adventurers in, those who were already well-established in the barony. Supposedly, they were doing it to keep underqualified adventurers from adding to the problem by joining the Undead, while qualified adventurers scouted the dungeon and looked for any information about why the dungeon was acting up. Word around town, though, said that they were doing it to allow those ‘qualified’ adventurers to monopolize the gains of the dungeon, in return for suitable kickbacks.

Personally, I thought it likely that both stories were true. I had no doubt that, if one looked, the list of ‘approved’ adventurers would have made certain ‘pre-emptive tax payments’ to the Baron, or be connected to people that had. However, that didn’t mean that the idea of keeping adventurers without some qualifications out of the dungeon was a bad idea, or that there shouldn’t be some means of keeping them from becoming a problem.

Fortunately, Kester had already thought of that. Some of the ‘extras’ he’d provided us with while we were shopping included some camping equipment, a large supply of holy ammunition for our various ranged weapons, and, most importantly, a pass to get through the cordon. Sure, it may have been obtained through less than legal means, but I wasn’t one to care about the letter of the law.

“We have a pass,” I said, holding up the document for him to see.

The guard, a level 15 Fighter with the Guard profession, ironically enough, looked at the pass, and shrugged. “Your funeral, then. Don’t say I didna try an warn ya.”

The Cordon was more than just a wall. Oh, sure, it had a wall, completely encircling the entrance to the Necropolis, but it was only two meters tall, with a platform half that height running around the outside, wide enough for two people to walk side by side. Theoretically, it could be used to have archers and spearmen mount the wall and keep the undead back, but in truth it was primarily used by priests who would walk the circuit twice a day, using holy incense to bless the stone, making an effective ward against weaker undead. Because of that, any undead under level 10 seeking to escape the cordon had to go through the gate, which was where the guards were, or fly.

And this ward was needed, since the undead would emerge in groups of random size and random levels at random intervals throughout the day and night. Typically, these undead would be the weakest of the weak, level 5s at the strongest, with skeletons emerging during the day, and zombies at night. Before, the groups would be usually one to five undead, at the most. Not terribly threatening, even for low-level guards, which is why Shadescar used the cordon as a training ground for new recruits for their guards.

Flying undead weren’t considered a threat, because, so far, no one had found any sign of such creatures in the dungeon. Oh, there were some forms of incorporeal undead, like shadows, but those didn’t fly so much as levitate. They could pass through walls, floors, and ceilings with ease, but, in general, if they got more than a meter from the nearest wall or other such surface, they would slowly descend until they were within a meter of the ground. So, flying over the cordon wasn’t an option, and the ward sunk into the ground, keeping them from slipping underneath.

That was how things had been. Lately, however, things had begun to change. In the last month, the undead had emerged more often, and in larger numbers. More importantly, there had been an increase in their overall levels. Before, the average level of the ‘escapees’ was between 2 and 3. Now, the average level was 9.

Such a difference might seem small, but more than a few guards had been killed when they had gone in expecting a couple small fries, and instead found themselves facing ten or fifteen undead that were all level 8 or 9. More importantly, it set a worrying trend line. If the level of the undead testing the cordon improved much more, then the cordon would not hold them back, and they’d be forced to actually man the walls, day and night, to keep the undead in check.

This was not something that anyone wanted, and the reason why I believed that the Baron wasn’t just ignoring things. I did not know Baron Longchaser personally, but with Shadescar being the neighboring barony, some news had obviously spread to Windwater. Everyone agreed that he was a greedy bastard, but they also agreed that he, and his line, were smart enough to take the long view. Things would have to be very wrong in the barony for Longchaser not to recognize the potential threat to his business interest if the undead at the cordon continued increasing in numbers and levels. No doubt, he was looking for the way to address things with the lowest cost and highest possible gain.

But this wasn’t my barony, and so wasn’t my problem to deal with. My people in Windwater were already looking to the border, just in case things happened, so I could leave it in their hands. Instead, I turned my attention forward, to the entrance to the Necropolis, itself.

The entrance was a stone cave that had been shaped to resemble a human skull, with its mouth open. For what reason it was originally done, or by whom, no one knew. However, everyone agreed that it was a very appropriate look for the entrance to an undead dungeon.

Skeleton Warrior

Level 9 Fighter

We were only halfway to the dungeon’s entrance when eight skeletons emerged from the entrance, all carrying rusty swords and crumbling shields. They were mindless undead, as evidenced by the fact that [Appraise] only gave their designation and a class. If they’d been intelligent, then there would have been more information, or at least a profession. And they probably would have lasted more than a few seconds, but oh well.

Your party has defeated a level 9 Skeleton Warrior band!

You each gain 300 XP!

Loot:

Bone Dust x8

80 sp

The XP was… about as expected, for creatures so far below our level. The Voice of the World did not reward you for continuously fighting low-level foes, after all. As you leveled up, the distance between levels grew, and you gained less experience from creatures who were more than ten levels below you. Oh, you never went below 1 XP per kill, but that was hardly a good way to train.

As for the loot? Bone dust was a common ingredient in potions, so that would be useful for Angelina, especially since she now had a portable alchemy kit in her inventory. She’d still need time to do the crafting, obviously, but it was an option. I stored the dust in my inventory, before splitting the coins between us. After all, rewarding my pets was part of ensuring their loyalty. Even if they couldn’t betray me, keeping them happy was the difference between begrudging obedience and enthusiastic service.

That was a lesson from my old life, one Uncle Carl had been sure to teach me early on. Keeping your people happy took effort, sure, but putting in that effort meant that they were more likely to follow you, even when things got tough. Of course, there was a difference between keeping people happy, and being a doormat. You needed to show them that you could crack skulls if you had to, but shared the wealth when things went well.

I remembered one time, when there’d been a rough patch in business, and all the club members knew it was going to be a lean month, Uncle Carl made sure his cut was smaller than the others. Not by much, just by a few hundred dollars, but the members saw it, and appreciated it. A few hundred dollars bought him six months of support as he turned things around, and got business back on track, and he never had to worry about infighting or knives in the back. I learned a lot about leading people from Uncle Carl.

You have entered the Necropolis of Akkras Dungeon.

As we stepped through the skull’s open mouth, the Voice of the World made sure we knew we were in a dungeon. I was never much of a gamer in my old life, but even so, the idea of going into a dungeon gave me a bit of a thrill. Sure, Eztar’s curse meant the undead were more dangerous to me, but the creatures in the dungeon itself were supposed to scale up to level 25, so they should be do-able for me. And, if there really was a Boss in the dungeon, then I would be able to snag another Chaos Orb, and the bonuses that it offered.

The rough stone walls soon gave way to ones that were deliberately shaped and smoothed into a corridor, roughly two meters across, and three meters tall. I knew, from Kester’s information, that this was the standard hallway size in the dungeon, as well as the standard room height. If things changed from those dimensions, you knew there was trouble ahead, likely a big fight, or some puzzle to solve.

Instead of my normal loadout of weapons, I went with my spellshooter in my left hand, and my short sword, Pureheart’s Flameblade, in my off hand. There was a reason for that, of course. While my Mind Sorceress spells were going to be all but useless in the dungeon, my Spellshooter spells were definitely going to be effective. However, a gun wasn’t exactly great for keeping melee creatures at bay, and in tight quarters that could be a problem. So, main hand with the gun, and sword at the ready for nasties that got in too close, or surprised us by coming through the wall, or the floor.

I then reserved 1500 MP, casting [Profane Armor] on everyone, and sustaining it. This gave everyone a Profane bonus to their Armor equal to my CHA, which was very useful. Unfortunately, it came with the side effect of having a blood-red aura surrounding our bodies, which was a general red flag to anyone watching that we were ready for action. That made it something that I couldn’t really just keep up, like I did the [False Appraisal] and [Mind Shield II] spells, which didn’t have any visible tells.

Maybe if we were on the shadowed continent, that would be possible, but here, in Dascora? No, nothing good would come of that. The best possible outcome would be everyone confirming that I was a wicked soul, and then having to dodge assassins from the Theocracy, even if my people didn’t rise up against me, or the king decided to get rid of me. Either way, it would cause a lot of trouble I didn’t want, now that I’d decided to run with the whole ‘being Baroness’ thing.

A room opened up in front of us, ending my introspection. Ten level 8 zombies shambled towards us, causing me to grin. “Time to go to work.”