Castaway core a litrpg f.., p.64
Castaway Core: A LitRPG Fantasy Dungeon, page 64
Irrelevant.
In the end, he just sat there, his eyes red from crying. And, like a switch was flipped, he sprung up, glaring at the surrounding cameras.
“What are you looking at, huh? WHAT ARE YOU LOOKIN’ AT?” His red face and bared teeth seemed nearly… monstrous.
“Do you see this fist?” He screamed, punching out. “Do you see it? It’s steady! Courageous! And it will blow all you fuckers away! The humans will be the ones to rule the day!”
As he finished his rousing speech a small cough came from behind.
Silence slowly turned back, only to see a confused face of Knut.
“Hi there…” He muttered awkwardly.
Humans.
I wanted to sigh in disappointment.
Even during the greatest trial of their lives they can’t help but betray, plot, and turn insane. Ah, but that was why it was so entertaining now, that I wasn’t a part of their world.
A moment later I observed as Silence and his subordinate (Knut in tow) joined the rest of the criminals gathered before a large, carved door. The Family’s leader's demeanor changed completely. Twitchy and embarrassed as he was the non-syndicated members stared at him with a mix of disgust and pity. Only, under that shell of weakness and madness, a sliver of cold intelligence slithered unnoticed.
Shameless but effective - to use the rest of the party as meatshields and try to desperately survive. It was something I could understand.
“Now… who wants to open these?” Knut pointed at the stone halves.
I didn’t bother with any traps or special activation conditions - these gates were purely physical obstacles. Normal. They were normal. Then again - after their creation Sculptor went a bit crazy, adding various pieces of his knowledge to the stone. And by “knowledge” I mean a mumble of lore about Devils and Gods… inspired by video games I played in my past life, sprinkled with a big dose of mythology.
At least he tried to keep it thematic.
The face of a middle-aged man with curly hair was carved into the gates with great precision, his madness-addled eyes staring intensely at the newcomers. He sported a bright smile, and two iron tear-shaped clappers were attached to his cheeks.
Only I knew that it was supposed to be a depiction of Midas - a symbol of greed from Greek mythology. For the people of this world, it was only a creepy crying old man.
“Did you discover any traps?”
“None. But if they’re magical then we’re shit out of luck.”
“There is no need to hesitate.” Answered Mudan. “The descriptor doesn’t say anything about the traps, only a trial of combat, so… let’s believe in the System.”
He took a deep breath and stepped forward, his hands landing on the clappers. He grasped them tightly, then started to pull with a subdued grunt. A second later a way ahead started to open.
“Slow!” Big Jon stomped ahead impatiently, grabbing the rough inner surface of the door.
“What are you doing!” Knut screamed once again but in the end - nothing happened. No trap, poison, or lightning activated.
The gate opened and a large hallway - the Great Greed Hallway to be exact - appeared before the invaders, eleven more doors set on their left, and the biggest one - overlooked by a lonely arch - waited at the end.
“Well… that was anti-climactic.” Rasped the lanky thief, relaxing his grip on the weapon. The spear hung down, mimicking its wielder's mood.
“I wel-welcome this k-kind of trial.” Gasped Mudan, even sweatier than before.” Haaaaaa… j-just with fewer d-doors. P-pretty p-please.”
“Haha. Yes, yes. Let’s explore. Remember - do not touch anything if you value your fucking lives! My guess is that behind each of these doors is a Golem. We don’t want to face every single one of them because of someone's grubby fingers, eh?”
With a few affirmative nods, the rest of the party spread out, leaving only Silence and Mudan near the door. The former was trembling in fear, while the latter slowly regulated his breathing. It was clear now that the fat man opened the gates only to raise the group’s morale. Which, admittedly, worked well enough.
The place was pretty large, with a floor made from flat stones, exquisitely carved walls, and large amounts of Electrical Chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. It was bright, silent, and rather wide - a perfect arena for what was supposed to happen.
And then I took another look at the scenes depicted in the carvings.
Why?
Sculptor, why?
Why were you depicting the fucking God of War protagonist, Kratos, ripping his enemies apart?
What the fuck?
I mean, I remembered these scenes vividly, they left a lasting memory, their sheer brutality, and the innovative cruelty leaving a deep impression on a child like me… but to make them a focus of this whole colosseum?
“W-what is THAT?”
And here it comes…
“H-huh… is this a story of some demigod fighting against the monsters?”
“A temple, then?”
“In the dungeon? Does it show a long-forgotten legend? Maybe a hero of old?”
“B-but… they look so realistic! Here - you see how he rips out an eye from this cyclops?”
“Or how he cuts off their legs?”
“Or how these wings are getting pulled out by his sheer strength?”
“Marvellous!” The two usually silent brothers were laughing and constantly running from one scene to another, like people who saw comics or manga for the first time.
It was Knut who returned them to reality. “You know that this guy could be a Boss of the Trial, right?”
These words put a damper on their mood. “That’s true.”
“Ah, but the descriptor said something about the Golems? Unless he is a really advanced one?”
“It would be tough to survive, then.”
“Not to even mention being able to win against it.”
Their exchange was interrupted by Mudan’s loud clapping.
“Please return! We need to talk.”
A few moments later the whole team understood the gist of the challenge. How the rooms were decorated with various types of weapons and armor, and how they had to choose from at least one, beat its guardian, and then defeat the Boss.
So, of course, they started bickering, trying to pick the easiest opponent.
“I would say that Axes, Maces, Swords, and Spears are out of the question.”
“Why? A magical weapon like that would set us for life!”
“You do remember that in order to claim it we first need to beat its wielder, right?”
“We can do it!”
“Really…” Knut nursed his growing headache. “How many Golems did you encounter?”
“Ummmm. None?”
“Then what makes you so fucking sure that you can beat it?”
“We have numbers! And our training!”
“They’re not worth shit!”
“Hey, hey, what did you say?”
“You wanna go?”
“GENTLEMEN!” A loud voice interrupted the incoming scuffle. Too bad. It would be entertaining to see them beat each other senselessly in the depths of my dungeon. I could even let the winner go.
Just kidding.
“We should go for a Helmet or a Dagger.” Mudan finally took part in the discussion, after remaining silent for a long time.
“Why?” Whined one of the brothers.
“The idea is - what kind of weapon or armor would be the easiest to contend with.” His hard gaze wandered from face to face. “Not to bring back the best loot. Even with all of us present surviving the ordeal, we would still get a cut big enough to live comfortably for the rest of our lives.”
“And it’s not a certainty that all of us will survive.” These words silenced the malcontents.
“As to whether we saw a Golem before… Of course, we did!”
“Eh?”
“What?”
“When?”
Mudan sighed, combing his sweaty hair. “On the first floor, there is a Smith Golem, endlessly churning out weapons, armor, and various tools. Each of you was forced to observe him for a few hours.” He smiled. “How the fuck did you forget that? Every fucking single one of you bothered me about it for weeks. Weeks!”
The faces of the surrounding warriors grew paler as they averted their gazes. Only Silence and his minion stood in confused calmness.
“The past is the past, brother!”
“We remember now!”
Mudan’s face twisted in anger, quickly dimming, and then returning to his uninterested “default state”. “Whatever...” The collective sigh of relief nearly reignited his fury but the man somehow managed to keep it under wraps.
“Any----way. Assuming that they are the same type of monster, we can guess that they can wear armor, use weapons, are very strong, and are good at enduring enemy attacks but not very fast or agile. Their intelligence should also be questionable.”
“Why?”
“Don’t you remember?”
“Nu-uh.”
“Oh Gods, give me strength…” After drinking a small sip from his cantine, Mudan continued. ”Don’t you remember when one of the Helmet Grandpa people tried to do his dumb experiment?”
“The one about messing with the Golem?”
“Yes.” The fat man waited for them to finish up yet seeing the shifty expressions he raised his hands in surrender and continued the story. “They took some of his botched jobs from the finished pile back to the materials pile in order to find out how intelligent this thing was. And vice versa - a material was shuffled into the stuff ready to go.”
“The effect? Well, the dumb thing ignored the ingot and reforged the whole breastplate into a few swords…” His gaze wandered among the listeners.
“Ah, I remember the guy who had to donate the armor bitching about it!”
“Yeah!”
“So… they’re not very smart?
“It would seem so.”
“And… how do we use that knowledge?”
“I don’t know.”
“Ehhhhhh?” A collective sound of disappointment left the lungs of the party.
“Listen up, you dumb fucks!” Mudan was at the end of his patience. “I won’t make a strategy meeting about a foe we didn’t even encounter and we have no intel on!”
“We can only guess! That and I want to make you all aware of what risks are we taking and what can be done to mitigate them! If you don’t want to listen - fine! Let’s get on with it! Vote: Dagger or Helmet. Even you lot should understand the difference between attack and defense.”
“Helmet.”
“Also Helmet.”
“Dagger.”
“Helmet.” A moment of confusion. “D-dagger.” It was strange. For the first time, the brothers reacted differently.
“Dagger.”
“Helmet. The smaller chance to die, the better.” Silence mumbled under his nose, surprising not only his stogie but also the rest of the criminals.
“This means four for the Helmet and three for the Dagger. We’re set.”
“Get ready!” Knut bellowed, preparing a defense formation. A shield wall with spears poking out like needles of an ill hedgehog. Another order and the sharp ends turned mostly in one direction.
“Do it.” Mudan nodded and the lanky man sprinted towards the carved door, pressing a clearly marked button.
For a moment nothing happened.
Knut returned to the formation, lifting up his gear and breathing loudly with excitement.
Then the wall rumbled and a line appeared in the middle of a scene depicting Kratos slaughtering some of the Ares’s soldiers. A second later big, metal-clad hand smashed the crack open. With a scream of protesting stone, the Golem walked into the light, freed from its tomb.
Its look surprised both the invaders and me.
Unlike the Idiot-Smith (which I should probably check on, no matter how uncomfortable it will be) the new monster wasn’t covered in armor or flame-resistant “flesh”. No. Instead, it sported a large, three-meter tall skeleton, with barely humanoid proportions. Large, strong legs were supported with wide feet, while three-pronged hands looked more like claws used to tear and cut than the fingers of a sentient creature.
I would swallow the lack of armor, weapon, and even the obvious attempts to monsterify my design but one thing I couldn’t stand - WHY THE FUCK DOES IT HAVE A GLOWING WEAK POINT?
And. It’s. Right. In. The. Middle. Of. It’s. Fucking. Chest!
I get it! Dungeon Cores were bound to be trainers and game masters designing a fair challenge to the sentients.
I really, really get it.
But I would love some reason. Some boundaries.
As I seethed it was time to look at the second surprise - which wasn’t as nasty as the first one but still made me rethink this whole idea of a Trial being a type of punishment.
Trial of Greed random reward has been generated and set!
Trial of Greed - Helmet reward has been randomly generated.
Trial of Greed - Helmet reward has been set to:
Regenerating Helmet of Endless Hunger
[Analyze.] I mumbled, noticing that the Golem was wearing a small-ish piece of metal. Upon closer inspection, I noticed that it was similar to the medieval pot helmets, with an open front and flat upper part.
Regenerating Helmet of Endless Hunger
A magical helmet made from mundane iron and enchanted with the boon of regeneration and the curse of hunger. The boon and the curse are connected and will activate simultaneously.
Any biological entity wearing it will constantly regenerate damage, burns, destroyed organs or lost limbs back to the last remembered form of the user. During the process of regeneration, the user will have to endure constant hunger pains and a desire to feed. Be it flesh, plant, or even rotten matter - all will be consumed to fuel the enchantment.
This is a cursed item, thus its ownership can be only transferred after the current wielder has been killed or a sufficiently strong anti-curse magic has been used. Not wearable by dungeon creatures.
Now… that was interesting.
Chapter 64
Uno
I mused about the new item kindly created by the third-floor trial. It was certainly an interesting thing - a useful tool filled with insidious poison. I learned that regeneration seemed to be a big deal in the world of Yana. The reason was simple - there weren’t many reliable means of healing existing on this forsaken planet. Those available - like potions made by half-elves or rare light magic users, for example - were out of reach for a common man. This made starvation a small price to pay for keeping one’s life. Or so it seemed.
I chuckled. [I wonder if they’ll still consider it as such when the ravenous hunger forces them to devour their friends and loved ones.]
It was a perfect setup.
But - more importantly - it was readily usable.
[Hahahaha!]
Maybe these Trials weren’t so bad, after all? I wouldn’t mind spreading this “prize” around the globe, sowing chaos.
As I was wasting time thinking, the world kept going.
The Golem glowered over the invaders, its iron skeleton radiating a silent threat. Humans’ only response was to clutch their weapons even harder, gulping down the excess saliva.
This standstill continued for over a dozen seconds.
After that the iron golem moved violently - like it broke an invisible collar - it lowered its body menacingly, looking like a sprinter preparing for a run. One of its arms was kept in the air, on the same level as its face. It was using it both as a makeshift shield, defending the vulnerable core, and like a spear, prepared to pierce anything that stood in its path.
Then, with a horrible screech made by the metal striking the stone, it started to run. I could sense the hatred it stewed in, the outrage stemming from the knowledge that these dirty insects were invading its home.
*bang*
*bang*
*bang*
The noise echoed in the chamber as my monster came closer and closer.
The adventurers’ reaction was interesting. After the first moment of hesitation, instead of running away, they steeled their composure, even as their pitiful spears were clearly insufficient to deal with the danger. I could see their gritted teeth, a thick coating of sweat, and fearfully dilated eyes.
Their bodies trembled, sensing approaching demise.
And yet they stood against the giant comprised of metal and hatred.
In the end, however, their resolve ended up untested.
A loud order broke the stalemate. “Scatter! Now, for fuck’s sake!” Knut’s command immediately dispersed the formation turning it into a collection of fleeing individuals, each of them screaming and scrambling to avoid Golem’s attack.
They escaped, fueled by fear of death and adrenaline.
All of them, but one.
Big Jon was never fast or quick to react - his weight, slow thinking, and overall clumsiness only added to the equation. Still, in normal circumstances, he too would be able to run away, just like his companions did. Everybody forgot about one minor detail, though.
His leg.
It was still swollen, bandaged, and weak.
I observed his struggle with a strange sense of schadenfreude.
Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion.
The big man turned desperately, trying to sprint away from the danger only to grunt in pain instead. The barely closed wound split open, spilling red all over the ground. He crumbled to his knees, sounds of labored breathing filling the air. After a few curses spoken in a terse tone, Big Jon glanced at the damaged limb that betrayed him in the most important moment. Then, with teeth clenched so hard that they started bleeding, he rose again, using his spear as a crutch.
He faced the approaching enemy, his face hardening with resolve. Or was it a simple resignation? He lifted his spear, intent on defending to the last.
The few remaining seconds before the collision passed even slower, as I observed the animated monster clash with the large human. The result was easy to predict, as Big Jon’s body was flung in the air, accompanied by scattered pieces of his weapon. A while later he hit the nearby wall and then slid down, leaving a trail of blood on the stone. At the same time, I could hear a loud crack, suggesting that he didn’t come out of the fight unscathed. I predicted a few broken ribs at the very least.
