Chương 9: Cave Dungeon

After finishing his morning breakfast, Nero peeked through his window. Outside, the whole alleyway had turned white. The ground below were completely covered as the kids played in them like they were in a beach. Normally, he would've felt happy seeing that, but right now all he felt was bubbling anger.

"For fuck's sake!" He stomped his feet, sending much of the snow on his roof sliding forward.

"The snow's thick, and the wind outside is cold enough to freeze me right through my blanket." In fact, he'd barely managed to sleep, thanks to the cold. If his house hadn't been made of styrofoam, he'd have frozen to death! Outside, he heard a few adults talking—mainly the landlords of the houses flanking his own.

"Seriously, is this even the season for snowfall?" It was Savan, the landlord of the house to his right. He held a stick and drove it deep into the layer of snow.

"Fifteen inches?" He showed the mark to his fellow landlord, Hiddan.

"This is definitely an unnatural amount of snow…" Hiddan said, grim-faced. Inside the styrofoam house, Nero's face was even grimmer.

"Fifteen inches of snow…" he repeated.

"That would make walking through this—especially through the forest, which is bound to have just as much, if not more—nearly impossible." Just the other day, he'd walked nearly twenty kilometers to reach the dungeon. Walking that far through a sheet of ice this thick would drain the soul right out of him.

"I'd need not just a set of snowshoes, but a jacket too…" That meant more expenses. He checked his coin pouch—it held only a few coppers. It would be enough to buy a snowshoe, but not a jacket, and he'd be left with no money as backup. After mulling over the expenses and risks, Nero finally sighed and conceded. He picked up his backpack and headed for the old man's shop. The moment he stepped outside, his foot sank in almost immediately, the snow reaching nearly up to his knees.

He yanked his right foot free, took a step forward, and as that one sank too, pulled out his left foot and repeated the process. Usually, it never took him more than five minutes to reach the night bazaar. But thanks to God's gracious blessings and mercy, it took him nearly ten minutes to cover the same distance. By the time he reached Grandpa Iniesta's store, he was out of breath.

"Haa… haa," he breathed heavily, dragging air deep into his lungs to catch his breath. Over the counter, he saw several other people, each holding a snowshoe, haggling intensely with the old man.

"How can you charge ten coppers for a simple wooden snowshoe? Old man, have you gone senile?" shouted a guy with ruffled black hair, his eyes almost unfocused. The old man didn't even bother looking at him, too busy dealing with the others, who seemed more than happy to pay the price. Honestly, Nero agreed with the messy-haired guy. Still, he needed a snowshoe—otherwise he'd have to abandon the trip to the dungeon altogether, and that would cost him even more. So he went inside and picked out a pair.

"This thing usually goes for no more than three copper…" Nero sighed. But to be fair, the old man's store didn't normally do this well, so the guy was bound to capitalize on the chance.

"Now I need a blanket." A jacket would be too expensive. With two blankets, he could manage the cold well enough. Not that he had the money for a jacket anyway. From around the corner of the leatherwork section, he picked one of the ten brown blankets on display, then walked back to the counter. He slid the money over to the old man, who looked up and took the coins. With that, he was officially broke—his pouch held nothing but air.

"Heh, at least I won't have to worry about someone stealing my money," he laughed to himself, binding the snowshoes to his boots and stuffing his usual slippers into the bag. He stood up and wrapped himself in two layers of blanket.

"Nowhere to go but up, I suppose." He began his trek back toward the dungeon. … On the way to the dungeon, he caught the weather news. District seven—or even the seventh circle as a whole—didn't have the technology to produce its own news, so it came directly from the City of Silver itself, same as their food. Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

"Apparently, the snowfall's going to continue for seven more days, and it's expected to get worse toward the end," one passerby said, having heard it from the city's official soldiers, the Silverine Knights. Nero mulled that over as he walked through the snow, following the glow of his blue lantern.

"Normally, the knights never interact with common folk, so this must have been let out on purpose." What didn't sit well with him was the lack of any explanation.

"Winter was supposed to still be months away…" The knights usually explained anomalous weather events like this. It wasn't the first time such drastic shifts had occurred. According to Sister Sofia, heavy rain had once fallen during winter, flooding several villages near the rivers. Back then, the Knights had promptly informed everyone of the cause—the aftershock of an A-rank dungeon forming beneath the lakes. Nero stopped and looked up at the heavy, dark clouds overhead, suspicious.

"Don't tell me a dungeon formed up in those clouds… nah, that doesn't make any sense." He'd never heard of a sky dungeon. Underwater dungeons were rare enough—sky dungeons were pure fantasy. After a few more minutes of walking, Nero finally reached the dungeon's entrance. Interestingly, he'd spotted a few grey rat footprints along the way, but nothing had attacked him. He also hadn't heard any of the usual skittering sounds from last time.

"Maybe they froze to death. Hopefully." He didn't want them ambushing him on the way out, after all. The dungeon ahead was a cave dug straight into a large mountain slope, its gate walls thick with moss and other vegetation that were now covered in snow.

"That's a good sign." Good, in that no one had visited in a while—which generally meant a healthy spawn population. He needed there to be plenty of them; he had a lot of investment to recoup. Of course, there were downsides too, ones he hadn't known about before reading the guidebook. If a dungeon was left unattended too long, its spawn would start venturing out to hunt other beasts and drag their carcasses back inside.

Given a decade of that, a dungeon could accumulate a significant surplus of energy and use it to expand. He took a deep breath and began his preparations. First, he packed the blankets back into his bag—he was already wearing the leather boots, but made sure to detach the snowshoes and stow them too. Then he used the blade of his dagger to cut down a thick branch, shaping it into a makeshift staff while keeping an eye out for threats from behind.

Once it was shaped, he carved a few notches into the center of the pole, wedged the dagger in, and bound it tight with rope from his bag. After a few more minutes of refinement, his short spear was ready. It stood just about level with his solar plexus—perfect for maneuvering and stabbing. His body shivered harder with every gust of cold wind and the still-falling snow. He quickly strapped his lantern to the back of his pack before hauling it onto his shoulders.

"I'm ready," he told himself, took one last cold breath, and stepped inside. The cave was slightly warmer than outside, though a strange, almost acidic smell hit him at once. The walls were frozen solid, and he could hear screeching rats echoing up from the depths.

"This cave was probably wet and humid before winter froze it all over," he reasoned, treading deeper. About ten steps in, the surroundings opened up, doubling in size. Nero finally began hearing movement. He raised his spear and held his ground, because ahead lay a maze of stalactites and stalagmites. They were spaced far enough apart to allow basic movement, but he still didn't want to walk right into the middle of them and risk an ambush.

Instead, he edged closer to the cave wall, planting his feet carefully to avoid slipping—the ground had turned slick with meltwater seeping down from above. Once he reached the wall and confirmed nothing could sneak up behind him, Nero turned his focus forward, toward the stalagmites. The skittering grew sharper as his lantern's light spread out ahead of him, until he couldn't help but second-guess whether soloing this dungeon had been a good idea after all. Well, too late for regrets now.

Just then, three shadows shot out from behind a stalagmite to his left, startling a cluster of bats into flight from the stalactites above. The shadows charged him in a straight line. Nero pulled his spear back, angling the blade forward. When the first rat—larger than a normal grey rat—lunged at him, Nero swung his spear sideways. With a dull, pillowy thump, the spear sent the creature sprawling to the ground.

He wanted to press forward and finish it off right there, but the other two were already closing in, their eyes glowing with a crazed black light. Resisting the urge to finish the first, he thrust forward instead at the second rat. The blade of the dagger sank into its heavy, meaty body as Nero ducked to dodge the third rat's charge. That one slammed into the wall behind him, while Nero stumbled forward, losing his balance.

Unfortunately, before he could scramble back to his feet, the first rat crashed into his face, blinding him as its claws dug in around his ears.

"Ugh!!" he yelped as the claws sank deeper. In a desperate panic, he threw his spear aside and grabbed the rat's legs, its claws threatening to pierce through to his skull. He twisted the limb with all his strength until he heard bone crack, followed by a shrill screech. He hurled the rat off his face and behind him—then felt a vibration at his ankles. Turning, he found the rat that had slammed into the wall now trying to gnaw through his leather boots.

He smirked and kicked it, sending it barreling back into the wall. In front of him lay his spear, the second rat still skewered on it, writhing in agony. Nero picked the spear up with his left hand and swung it sharply toward the back wall. The already half-dead rat splattered against the stone, painting it red. Ahead, he saw the rat whose leg he'd twisted, dragging itself back toward the stalagmites.

"Not so easy, buddy," he said, his voice hoarse. Beyond the stalagmites, he could make out several sharp glints of neon closing in fast. He ignored them and drove his spear through the limping rat's skull, then swung its body back against the wall—right on top of the one he'd kicked earlier. Before either could recover, he sprinted forward across the slick floor, skidding slightly, then leapt and stabbed both through their necks in one motion, a wet squelch following each strike.

"Three down," he counted, turning toward the approaching wave of poisonous neon rats.

"Five more to go."