Chapter 4: Soul Stealer

Ryland’s steps echoed in the empty tunnels of the dungeon. His Glyph of Questing led the way. It provided a strong source of light too, since it glowed with the same white and pearlescent power as most of his other Glyphs. But illumination was far from its primary function.

Instead, the Glyph swayed just a bit as it corrected Ryland’s course, the spur at its tip unerringly pointing the way forward to what he sought.

He would have tried to simply rift to his destination. But rifts needed the destination to be normally accessible.

The core of a dungeon really wasn’t.

That didn’t mean they were unreachable entirely, of course. There were myriad ways one could gain access to the secret heart of mana that ran all dungeons.

Forcing dungeon cores to emerge by assaulting the dungeon’s structural integrity was commonly employed by those possessing sufficient firepower. Others possessed special Relics etched with Inscribed Glyphs built specifically to pervade through a dungeon’s metaphysical defences that protected their most important parts. Yet others performed complicated Rituals.

Ryland even knew one enterprising adventurer on Realm 70 who had contracted the assistance of another dungeon to crack open a different dungeon like an egg, scooping up its core like runny yolk.

In Ryland’s case, he just needed to reach the physical location that the metaphysical core was closest to. And then he could pull it out.

The problem was that this location could shift. Even now, he was forced to backtrack out of one tunnel he had taken because his Glyph of Questing suddenly performed a one-eighty-degree turn before leading him down a different passage.

Wily dungeon, this one.

At least he got to see just how this dungeon was supposed to be devoted to him. Every bit of it seemed to be carved to show a scene etched with something close to his history.

He felt a tiny bit desultory at seeing what exactly it considered significant history from him.

There were too many depictions of Calamities, especially in the style common in the Accorded Realms. A style that emphasized the vast threat that the legendary beings represented, with the heroes of the various Realms fighting desperately against them shown as nothing more than insignificant underdogs.

And while the essence of that sort of depiction was undoubtedly true, especially from the perspective of the Realms, they didn’t really capture the nuance of the Calamities themselves.

The sad part was that the dungeon that was supposed to be about him was only about a certain part of him. And alright, if Ryland was really pressed about it, he’d have to admit the calamitous part of his history might be the most significant thing about his impact on the broader universe at large.

And yet, that was like reducing an inventor to their invention or an artist to their art. It removed the fact that there was a person behind it all.

But maybe it was silly to expect a lifeform such as this to engage with such nuance.

A tremor shivered through the dungeon. A significant one. It made Ryland pause momentarily.

That wasn’t the tiny trembling he had noted when he had started moving. This was a miniature earthquake. Dust fell from the ceiling, the rumbling of the land lasting for a brief but easily audible moment.

At the same instant, the atmosphere shifted considerably. Earlier, he had noted how everything was still and muted, how the world within the dungeon appeared to be holding its breath as though afflicted with anxiety about what would happen next. Now, that tension had broken.

Mechanisms trapped within walls clinked and grinded to life. Distant growls and hoots were evidence of monsters coming to life. The air moved.

The tightrope had snapped. It was time to see where things fell.

Ryland stepped forward faster. His Inscribed Glyph of Alacrity burned the distance. Every step took him through multiple passageways.

A small part of him recognized the sounds of the dungeon trying something or other to impede him. Monsters, traps gates, who knew. Trivialities that Ryland didn’t need to pay attention to. Instinctive reactions of a being who wasn’t capable of higher thought save for devotion and self-preservation.

Ryland was hurrying due to only a single consideration. The boy had stated the dungeon was supposed to be Gold-ranked. And yet, he had only been Iron. In other words, he was potentially around two hundred ranks weaker than the threats he’d face here.

The Glyph of Questing wasn’t changing its direction anymore. He was targeting the boy.

Momentousness called to Ryland. A chamber appeared far ahead of him, one that made his floating Glyph glimmer in anticipation. The dungeon slammed down a gate, but Ryland just cracked open another rift through spacetime, stepping into and appearing on the other side.

Only to find Viren about to be attacked by a monstrosity—a denizen of the dungeon—that was surely well beyond his capabilities to handle.

“[Mindscape],” Ryland incanted.

Reality froze as his Soul Glyph of Time branded itself into the air with irrepressible iridescence. Now, he could take in what was going on without letting the situation deteriorate any further. For about two minutes, at least.

At Ryland’s command, the air had practically stilled again and the dungeon had petrified. Colours leached out to turn everything monochrome. The spell circle slowed time for everything to an infinitesimal crawl for two minutes. Everything, except for Ryland’s mind. In the last half a minute of that allotted time, they would all rapidly accelerate back to their regular timestream.

But a minute and a half was more than enough time for Ryland.

He took in the way Viren was cradling something near his chest. A small bleeding creature with mangled fur and a terrible wound. Was that the kitten he had been looking for all this time? Time might have turned gelatinous, but that didn’t stop Ryland’s emotions from sinking into his stomach. It was a negative mire, laced with sadness and regret.

But hope wasn’t lost. Not with Ryland now present. Not even for the cat.

The dungeon denizen was looming over Viren, about to strike him down next, but frozen thanks to Ryland’s spell. He couldn’t tell what exactly had triggered the dungeon’s resurgent activity, but whatever the case, it had chosen to act.

A moment of deliberation consumed Ryland in the brief bit of time still left in [Mindscape]. He had to act. Of course he did.

But acting without care or concern, without true thought, was partly why he was chasing after pieces of himself. It was why this dungeon had been born in the first place. It was why a young boy’s cat now lay broken and bleeding in his arms, a victim of a monster born from a dungeon which was in turn born from him. A piece of his original body, at least.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

In a very convoluted way, Ryland was culpable for the apparent tragedy.

The thought didn’t particularly jar him. He had long since left behind the ghastly influences of notions like guilt and regret. It wasn’t that he was incapable of feeling them. Even now, even in the half-minute he still had left before time sped back up, a pang claimed his still heart at seeing the boy and his pet. He had hurried here, after all.

Yet, allowing such emotions to drive his actions was… not appropriate. In fact, he’d go so far as to say it was selfish. Choices resulting from such feelings were born of the need to relieve one’s own conscience. They were self-absorbed, at the very least.

For if Ryland was to do something, then he would do so because it was the right thing to do. That was it.

But all choices had consequences. Consequences that had to be dealt with. That was the other side of the coin. In fact, the other perspective of his current situation was that he was already dealing with consequences.

There would, naturally, be future consequences when he acted here as well. Ones that were possibly as dire as the fragments of his body becoming Calamities. Maybe more.

Not that it would stop him, of course.

Because what was the point of the power Ryland had accrued if he wasn’t capable of handling every consequence?

Time reverted back to normal. Sounds reached Ryland’s ears—the harshness of Viren’s breaths, the grinding of the monster’s joints as it unfroze, the crack of the rift that placed him in between the dungeon denizen and the boy. The creature petrified again at Ryland’s appearance.

He raised his hand and cast another spell, his Soul Glyph of Rift shining to life. “[Moon Eater].”

Thunderous cracks rent through reality to open a dozen, gold-edged spatial fractures around the monster. It moved, crystalline insectoid maw yawning wide, a multitude of clawed arms rising, only to freeze again. A dozen bone-white tendrils speared out of the rifts to wrap around the creature, sinking black spikes into its hide like it was made of mud instead of glass.

The next second, the tendrils ripped the monster apart, its pieces flying all over the chamber.

[ Achievement Recognized: Rankbreaker

You have killed an enemy 1 rank-tier higher than yourself.