Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

The corridors spread before me, wide enough for comfort but shrouded in shadows that the sparse torches lining the walls cannot fully dispel. Their flickering flames cast dancing shadows that play tricks on my vision, making the darkness seem alive. Every so often, I pass doors leading to rooms or branching corridors, each one a potential threat or opportunity.

I have not encountered any other people yet. The silence weighs on me, broken only by the occasional crackle of torch flame or the distant drip of water. The solitude gives me time to think, to process everything that has happened since I awoke in this strange place without memories.

A strange thirst tickles the back of my throat, unlike normal thirst for water. Something deeper, more primal. It reminds me of hunger but not for food—for something else entirely. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the sensation. It feels both foreign and familiar, like a part of me I should recognize but cannot place.

The relative peace shatters when I spot two small creatures ahead, wielding crude clubs and dressed in little more than brown shifts. They are perhaps the ugliest beings I have ever laid eyes on. Their skin is a sickening yellow-green that reminds me of fresh vomit on hot pavement. Jagged teeth jut from their mouths, yellow and sharp like broken glass. Their features appear twisted, as if someone had shoved puzzle pieces together that were never meant to fit. Beady yellow eyes glitter with malice in the torchlight.

I focus my attention on them, trying to gather any information that might help me, and a notification flashes in my mind:

You have learned the skill Analyze (Apprentice Level 1). These two are level 5 goblins of the Jagged Crown Clan.

The creatures—goblins, apparently—notice me standing there. They begin speaking to each other, and though I am certain they are not using my language, I understand them perfectly.

"Lookit, Dahg, there's one of them newbies the master brought in. We shoulds kills it like the masters said we shoulds."

The goblin on the left points directly at me with a crooked finger. Dahg, the one on the right, nods enthusiastically.

"Yous right, Lugs, we shoulds. Come on, let's dos it."

Their plan does not exactly thrill me. I swiftly consider my options: run and have them chase me, or fight and risk death. Either choice seems preferable to standing here passively while they end my life. My pulse quickens as I decide I would rather go down swinging.

A voice echoes in my memory: "Real power is knowing that you do not have to use it." The half-remembered words carry a woman's gentle tone—my mother? But these creatures have already decided my fate. Sometimes, self-defense is the only option.

I reach for my domain, brushing my consciousness against that inner space. The process feels more natural now, like flexing a muscle I have always had but never noticed. Threads of crimson light and pitch-black nothingness pour into me. I weave them together, and my blood katana materializes in the air before settling into my hand, its weight reassuring.

For a fleeting moment, the crimson seems to respond to that strange thirst I felt earlier, calling to me. The blood aspect of my Domain pulses with anticipation, as if hungering for what is to come. The sensation both disturbs and exhilarates me.

Instinctively, I take a stance—right foot forward, left foot back and slightly raised. I grip the katana with both hands, surprised by how natural it feels. Knowledge I should not possess flows through me, ingrained in my muscles despite having no memory of ever wielding a sword. Then again, I have no memory of using magic either, so that is not saying much.

The goblins pay little attention to my weapon. They simply charge forward, clubs raised high. When they come within range, I move. My footwork is practiced and precise, bringing me to the side of the goblin on the right. Time seems to slow as I raise my blade, the crimson edge gleaming with malevolent beauty in the torchlight. My overhead strike splits the creature down the middle with a wet, sickening sound.

You have delivered a fatal blow to a level 5 goblin.

His partner whirls to face me, seemingly unconcerned that his companion now lies in two halves on the stone floor, green blood pooling outward like a burst water hose. He simply steps over the corpse and swings his club at my head.

I move smoothly out of the way and slash sideways, my blade cutting through the air with the speed of a viper's strike. The goblin's head drops to the ground with a hollow thud that echoes through the corridor. The body remains standing for a heartbeat before crumpling lifelessly beside its head.

As the creature's blood spills across the stone floor, that strange thirst intensifies for a moment. My gaze lingers on the dark green fluid more than it should. Something within me recoils at the sight while another part leans toward it, drawn by some instinct I do not understand. The conflicting reactions leave me unsettled.

You have delivered a fatal blow to a level 5 goblin. Your Katana skill (Apprentice Level 1) has increased to (Apprentice Level 3). Your weave, Blood Katana (Apprentice Level 1), has increased to (Apprentice Level 4). You have gained a level. Congratulations! You are now at level 2.

I check the bodies but find nothing of value, which disappoints me more than I expected. As I stand there contemplating my next move, a faint, almost inaudible pop draws my attention. My head swivels toward the sound, and there, barely a foot away, sits a wooden chest that definitely was not there before.

Without hesitation, I open it, expecting some kind of useful item—maybe a potion or a piece of equipment. Inside lies a simple brown scroll tied loosely with string. I pick it up and unroll it, and immediately a notification appears in my mind:

You have been awarded a quest. Completing quests can lead to unique and often powerful rewards. The quest is as follows: Locate the hidden tomb of Lazarus. Lazarus's tomb is within these catacombs and can be found by locating the hidden portal on the catacomb's first floor. Look for the mark of the fang.

I frown, staring at the scroll in confusion. A quest? The term feels foreign yet somehow appropriate. Whatever this "Judge" entity is, it seems intent on giving me tasks to complete. Find a hidden tomb of someone named Lazarus. Look for the mark of the fang. I have no idea what that means or why I should care, but something in my gut tells me this is important.

The name Lazarus resonates within me, stirring something in the crimson depths of my Domain. A flicker of recognition, gone before I can grasp it. The mark of the fang sounds eerily significant too, though I cannot explain why.

I carefully roll the scroll back up and tuck it into my waistband. I dismiss my katana, watching as it unravels before me and vanishes like smoke in the wind. Leaving the corpses and chest behind, I continue my exploration.

It is not long before I come across what appears to be a goblin encampment. They have taken over an entire corridor that opens into a larger room beyond. I can see no other way forward. The sour smell of unwashed bodies and cooking meat wafts from their camp, making my nose wrinkle in disgust.

I pause, counting at least eight goblins milling about their primitive camp. Firelight gleams off crude weapons and burnished armor pieces. A strange intuition tells me there are more in the shadows, unseen. The blood katana might have served me well against two, but these odds are decidedly against me.

The best solution is probably to backtrack. I have been wandering aimlessly anyway, so there must be another path. I am almost certain I cannot defeat all those goblins with just my blood katana. Scowling with reluctance, I turn and walk away from the camp.

Eventually, I come to what looks like a door, but it is covered with three carved symbols: a rat, a monkey, and a serpent. To the right, against the wall, stand three pillars. Each pillar has three sides, and each side displays either a rat, monkey, or serpent symbol. The pillars are set into circular bases etched with arrows that point to the current image.

I rub my jaw as I consider the puzzle. The symbols seem to correspond to the ones on the door, suggesting some kind of combination lock. From the right, I rotate one pillar until its arrow points to the rat image. It takes a surprising amount of strength to turn. The moment it clicks into place, the pillar begins to shake violently, and a cold blue light emanates from it, flashing brightly and forcing me to look away.

A chittering sound draws my attention back down the corridor. Some distance away stands a giant rat, its pink tail whipping about like a vicious lash, cracking loudly when it strikes the stone. When I say giant, I mean it—the thing is larger than a wolf. Beady red eyes glitter with undisguised hunger as it stares at me. Its fur is the color of mold on cheese, and the stench of rot and filth rolls off it in waves, making my stomach turn.

My heart drums a panicked rhythm in my chest. I immediately begin weaving my katana, summoning it into existence. The crimson threads respond more readily this time, as if eager to be used. At the same time, the rat leaps for me, hissing, spittle flying from its mouth and hitting my cheek. The wetness makes me wince as I dive and roll underneath its attack. The rat slams into the wall behind me with a sickening thud, chittering angrily as it turns to glare at me.

I come up smoothly from the roll, facing it warily. There is a kind of twisted intelligence in those red eyes. It clearly recognizes the danger of the katana I wield, but approaches anyway, swiping at me with claws that gleam wickedly in the torchlight.

Quick and sure, I step to the side, ducking under the slashing claws. With a forward step, I slash downward with my blood katana, cutting deep into the beast's right shoulder. Blood gushes from the wound, and it cries out in pained fury. Disappointment wells up in my chest—I genuinely expected the blow to be fatal.

The creature is faster than its size suggests, and I realize my mistake too late. I pay for my overconfidence as the rat's uninjured paw slams into me like an oncoming truck. The force hurls me against the wall, and my head cracks against the unyielding stone. Pain explodes through my skull, blurring my vision. My lungs struggle to push out air, the tightness in my chest choking me as I slump to the ground.

My thoughts scatter like leaves in a storm. What was I supposed to be doing? Everything hurts so much. I shake my head, trying desperately to clear my vision and regain focus.

When my sight finally clears, the giant rat looms before me, opening its mouth wide. Saliva drips from jagged, sickly yellow teeth. Its breath smells of rotten meat and eggs, the stench so powerful it makes my eyes water. Those red eyes shine with triumph as its jaws snap shut on my head. All I can do is scream one final time.

You have died.

I wake in a different place. Blinking in confusion, I am surprised to find myself standing upright. I take stock of my body—I am wearing the same clothes I started with. Running my hands over the fabric, I touch my face, confirming I am alive. Is this the afterlife? No, I recognize the familiar old stone of the catacombs, though I am clearly in a different area.

For a moment, I could swear I feel flames licking at my skin, not burning but renewing, like I am being remade from ashes. The sensation fades quickly, leaving only the faintest warmth in my chest.

I stand on a massive golden rug etched with abstract black designs that seem to shift subtly when I do not look directly at them. Despite its size, I am the only person on it. Notifications blink in my mind, and I open them:

You have died. You have been respawned in the dungeon's safe zone. You have two lives remaining.

I groan aloud. The safe zone is two levels below the starting floor—exactly where I do not want to be. I need to get back up there, but I have no idea how to accomplish that. That strange thirst has vanished completely, at least for now.

"Huh, we were not expecting one of you yet. Did you die already, laddie?"

I turn toward the voice and find myself face-to-face with a massive orc. He is truly enormous, with rippling muscles that stretch the fabric of his tan shirt. Polished, sharp tusks jut from the bottom of his mouth, framing noble, strong features. Blue eyes glitter with merriment and intelligence as they study me. He wears blue pants, sturdy brown boots, and a white smock covered in what looks like black soot. A truly massive hammer hangs at his side.

The orc seems used to reactions like mine, smiling with amusement as I openly gape at him. He extends a hand that could easily crush mine.

"My name is Frederick, though most just call me Fred."

I shake his hand, acutely aware that to him, it must feel like shaking hands with a child.

"Jackson. Jackson Grey," I reply, my voice sounding small compared to his.

Fred eyes me appraisingly, taking in my appearance with a practiced glance. His gaze lingers briefly on my hands, then my face, as if searching for something specific. "From the looks of it, you have not faced many challenges yet. I am guessing you do not even have any EC yet, do you?"

I raise an eyebrow, my mouth twisting slightly. "Uh, what is EC?"

Frederick chuckles, the sound reminiscent of rolling thunder. He shakes his great head and gestures toward me with a massive hand.

"I can tell we have some things to speak about. Why not come to my tent?"

I shrug and follow as he leads the way. The bazaar spreads out before us—an open area surrounded by circular gray stone walls. A gate leads outward into the dungeon proper. Within this space stand tents and stalls of all varieties. Some are large and bright green, others small and yellow, and some barely qualify as tents at all.

The sounds of hammering echo against the walls, mingling with a hundred other noises to create a cacophony that fills the air like some discordant melody. I scan the faces of the other people, but do not recognize anyone from my starting group. Am I the only one to reach this area? The first to die? My face heats with embarrassment at the thought.

As we walk, I notice the occasional glance from other individuals. One man in particular watches me with an intensity that makes my skin crawl, his eyes lingering a moment too long. There is something calculating in his gaze, as though he is measuring my worth or potential. Fred seems to notice my discomfort and subtly positions himself between me and the watcher.

"The bazaar has all sorts," Fred murmurs quietly. "Some are just looking to profit off newcomers. Best stay close until you get your bearings, lad."

Fred's tent is blue and one of the larger ones, located on the outskirts of the circle, closer to the wall and farther from the gate. A small forge stands outside, smoke from a dying fire trailing upward in curling, almost merry circles. The scent of hot metal and coal reminds me of something pleasant, though I cannot place the memory. Fred holds the tent flap open for me, and I step through.

The interior is clearly a shop. Weapons and pieces of armor rest on mannequins, while miscellaneous items and dried foodstuffs occupy various shelves. A medium-sized counter made of polished dark brown wood sits neatly to the side, near the entrance—clearly the place to negotiate prices. A few items catch my eye—particularly a set of gems arranged in a locked glass case, glowing with faint inner light. One gem, a deep crimson stone the size of my thumb, seems to pulse in rhythm with my heartbeat. I look away, unsettled by my reaction to it.

Fred produces two chairs by the counter and gestures for me to sit.

I take a seat, surprised to see that Fred fits on the other chair, though to my eyes it looks as if he is practically sitting on the ground. He takes a deep breath before speaking.

"So, to answer your question, EC are Eden Coins, the currency in Eden. I take it you have not earned or found any."

I shake my head, looking around the well-stocked shop with newfound longing. "Which is a shame. I would not mind looking at some of these items." I offer a small, rueful laugh.

Fred returns the chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "So, how did it happen?"

I give him a questioning look.

"Dying, lad," he clarifies with a grin. "I do not see how else you would have gotten here otherwise."

I rub the back of my neck, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. "A giant rat bit my head off."

Fred chuckles again, though there is a sympathetic note in it this time. "Ah, not a great way to go. I suppose you will be wanting to head back out soon."

I nod firmly. "I need to get back up there, actually. There is just so much I do not know, though." I run a hand through my hair in frustration. "I am a fair hand with a katana, though clearly not fair enough, but I know nothing about this enchanting skill, and it is the only other skill I have!" I throw up my hands in exasperation.

Fred's eyes widen considerably. "Ahh, did I do something wrong?" I ask, suddenly concerned.

Fred shakes his head, somewhat mutely. Finally, he says, "You are an enchanter?"

I raise my hands and shoulders in a helpless shrug. "Maybe? It says I have the skill, but I do not have any idea how to use it."

Fred gives a great belly laugh that seems to shake the very walls of the tent. His eyes sparkle with newfound interest as he leans forward, and I notice that his gaze has changed. He is looking at me not just as a newcomer now, but as something rare and valuable.

"Well then, I shall tell you, lad. In fact, I think we can help each other.”