Chương 8: Gene Hierarchy

On the first page of the beginner's guide, Nero found a section explaining genes and gene source adaptation. He read through it.

"The bodies of the sapient races hold a deficit in strength that was once taken from them by the scourge that is the dungeons and their spawn. Through the assimilation of genes, the sapient races reclaim what was originally theirs. Each species of dungeon beast holds fragments of the sapient races' traits and attributes. Gene source adaptation is thus merely the event that occurs once a sapient being reclaims its share of strength from its usurper."

Nero finished the section and, taking a breath, contemplated its implications. By sapient races, it probably meant the dwarves, elves, humans, harpies, and spirits. And it spoke of their original strength, supposedly taken from them by dungeons? He didn't quite understand. As far as he knew, dungeons tended to absorb the materials, and even the bodies, of those who died in them, using that energy to grow and expand. So was that being considered a theft of their original strength?

"But I'm alive." Without killing him, how could it have taken his original strength?

"Maybe it was from my ancestors and forefathers?" That made a strange kind of sense, but he didn't see much point in dwelling on the subject further. It was probably something meant to be studied and researched over the course of a decade.

"Either way, I got my answer." He noted this, and moved on to the next page.

"Purity fees, and why they're deducted." This one was simpler. Beast cores contained mana that powered a beast to a level of strength beyond that of a simple animal. But as the guide explained, this mana wasn't something the beast generated on its own.

"Self-mana generation is a trait possessed only by beasts at or above the 'Desolate' level. All dungeon spawn below this level draw their energy—their mana—mainly from the herbs and elemental ores that the dungeon itself produces." Nero continued to the next page.

"And since a dungeon holds multiple types of creatures with different mana needs and specializations, it's forced to produce a variety of elemental ores. These are then consumed by the lesser spawn of the dungeon, who lack the intelligence to avoid eating elements they aren't aligned with. This, in turn, leaves their cores with more than one type of mana."

Beyond that, it also explained how cores were often used to produce spirit stones—stones commonly used by cultivators to elevate their beast core stages—and how removing the residual elemental mana from those stones cost labor, chemicals, equipment, and time. The partial cost of this process was deducted from the gem's value at purchase.

"Spirit stones. Haven't heard of those before," Nero noted. This part of the guide gave him information he'd had no idea of before. In fact, he'd never once seen red rats excavating elemental ores from the dungeons. As it turned out, the next page explained why, in a section titled "Hierarchy of Dungeons and Genes."

"Dungeons are divided into six ranks, with a seventh, extra rank at the very top." Right in the middle of that line, Nero found an author's note signed by someone named Serie.

"The six ranks are E, D, C, B, A, and S. You needn't worry about the seventh rank," she wrote. Nero read on, noticing her voice leaking further into the writing the deeper he went.

"E-rank dungeons, being small—bathroom-sized, really—don't have enough excess energy to pour into crystallized elemental cores. Whatever small amount they do produce is instantly consumed by their spawn, which is why elemental ores are rarely found there." Okay, that's a pretty strong shift in tone, am I even reading the same author's book? He flipped back several pages, and found the answer was a firm no.

"The beginning sections are written by an author named James, and the rest by Serie…" James's writing felt more neutral, almost like the textbooks he'd read back at the church.

"But Serie—""Hers reads like a diary, doesn't it?" Nero snapped back to find Sunny standing behind him, reading over his shoulder.

"Sir, do you need something?" Nero asked, careful to keep to his manners. The words, though, seemed to provoke a different reaction—Sunny looked amused instead.

"Well, not in particular," he said, taking the seat across the table with a different book of his own.

"Continue your reading. Don't mind me." Easier said than done, buddy. He scoffed internally, then sighed and turned back to his book. He'd paid a good sum for this one—might as well get his money's worth. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. He stopped reading aloud, for obvious reasons, and switched to reading silently instead. The part about the creature's intelligence tied directly into its hierarchy and genes.

Genes were also divided into six levels: primitive, prehistoric, desolate, ancient, genesis, and primeval. They loosely corresponded to their dungeon counterparts. For example, prehistoric genes were far more common among the spawn of D-rank dungeons than E-rank ones. That didn't mean prehistoric genes couldn't be found in E-rank beasts — they were just much rarer. They were more common in D-rank dungeons because of the greater intelligence of D-rank spawn.

They ate less of the mismatched elemental ores and kept their cores purer, which in turn amplified their genetic strength over time and allowed for mutations, even evolution. Nero spent the next several hours there, reading, until he'd finished the whole book. By then, it was already midday again. He stood to leave, which finally made Sunny look up from his own book.

"Done?" he asked.

"Yeah. Sorry for all the trouble I've caused you, sir. Do forgive me." He bowed.

"Drop the act, Nero," Sunny said, in that same bored voice.

"Speak normally, or I'll have you confined to that." Nero looked up to see what Sunny was pointing at. It was the chandelier above, which held a tiny cage in the middle, for whatever reason. Confined to that? What kind of sicko does that?

"Don't look at me like that. I was only joking," Sunny said, deadpan.

"You don't sound like you're joking," Nero replied. Since it was Sunny who'd asked him to speak normally, he'd oblige.

"Now, can I take my leave?" He was itching already—the only thing that had kept him from getting away from this guy sooner was his investment in the book. Now that he was done, he didn't want to spend another second here. Thankfully, Sunny didn't seem to mind.

"You're free to," he said, touching his own face for some reason… This guy really is an odd one. Nero didn't wait. He picked up his backpack, considerably lighter now that he'd sold off the loot inside, turned, and started to leave. But before he was fully out the door, he caught Sunny, from the corner of his eye, still fiddling with his own expression, lost in thought. He's really an interesting guy. … The night outside had deepened again, cold winds drifting across the roads.

Bad as it looked, Nero pulled out his blanket to blunt the wind's bite as he left the library. There were a few things he needed to take care of before heading home. Mainly, a set of tough leather boots—he planned to enter the den of rats again after some rest, and he didn't want his legs bitten up like last time. Looking down at his own feet, he currently wore simple, painfully exposed slippers.

"These won't do," he decided. He headed back to the night bazaar. It was midday, so there were barely many people walking about, since most people were either home or at work. The scent of various foods drifted from the eateries around the corner as Nero slipped back into the alley. The addicts were absent from the alley this time, with only scattered papers and cigarette butts left behind. Nero pushed the curtain aside and entered the shop. Inside, the old man was busy slurping down noodles.

Nero greeted him and got a grunt in reply. He walked further into the building of old wood and tin, arriving in front of the wall where the leather footwear was kept. Below it, on the floor, sat an assortment of shoes of every kind—from the fashionable to the purely functional. The old man had it all. He picked out a pair of high-ankled boots, specifically ones made of high-grain leather and nylon with rubber soles. Removing his current pair, he pulled them on.

They didn't fit immediately, until he tightened the laces. He gave a little hop in place to test them for comfort, and to his surprise, they didn't feel harsh on his skin at all. Usually, new shoes hurt to wear for the first few days, sometimes even cutting into his skin—but not these.

"Old man, you really keep the good stuff, huh," he said admiringly, earning another grunt in reply. He walked over to the counter.

"How much for these?" He pointed at his feet. The old man didn't answer right away. Instead, he slurped up the last of his noodles, then downed the broth in one go. Watching him, Nero felt his own stomach growl slightly. After finishing his meal, the old man stood and leaned over the desk to inspect the shoes.

"Those will cost you twenty-three coppers. No haggling. And brat, I have a name," he said, scowling.

"It's Grandpa Iniesta to you—better start using it." Nero smirked.

"Okay, Grandpa Iniesta, how about a little discount, to celebrate me finally learning your name?"

"You–""Nineteen coppers, c'mon, old man, I'm a regular!" He leaned in, grabbing the man's hand.

"Please!"

"Tsk. Fine. Now get off me," the old man growled. After thanking him and getting his lantern refueled, Nero paid and promptly left the shop. But before leaving the bazaar entirely, he stopped by his usual eatery for more bread and chicken jerky—about four days' worth of food. He planned to clear the whole dungeon on his next trip, and besides, he still had to eat today, sleep, and eat again after waking.

"The apothecary's next…" He glanced down at his pouch, noticeably lighter after all these purchases. He had just a few coins remaining after all.

"Ah well—you spend, you earn." At the apothecary, he bought three more bottles of healing potion and two bottles of general antidote, along with some food preservatives to keep his supplies fresh for the long trip ahead. The jerky wasn't at risk of spoiling, but the bread would be.

"These should keep it soft and fluffy," he said, patting the preservatives against their container. Back home, he ate like a starved man, guzzling down bread alongside the single portion of gruel he'd bought, washing it all down with water. Once his stomach was full, Nero packed all his valuables back into the adventurer's bag, turned off the lantern, hugged the bag like a pillow, and drifted straight off to sleep. Outside, the wind rolled in thick, carrying with it the first milky snowflakes.