Not the physical kind—he didn’t have enough of a body left for that. This was deeper. Hollow. Like something essential had been carved out of him and barely stitched back in time. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t even think straight.
But he was alive.
Barely.
Fragments of memory came flooding in, jagged and half-coherent. The fight. The Observer. The core-detonation. The flash of light as he’d pulled the trigger on a weapon no sane person should ever use. The knight’s destruction. His own.
He called out “Strategist?”
“I'm here
Calm. Controlled. But strained. More strained than he’d ever heard it.
“What happened?”
“You detonated the prototype. Your physical form was obliterated. Your core casing suffered terminal fracturing in six sectors. I diverted the dungeon’s total reserve to reinforce your soul’s integrity. We lost the top two floors.”
Silence.
The words hit, but didn’t land all at once. He was still rebooting—if that was even the right word. Most of his systems were offline. Even breathing felt like a process he had to simulate.
“And the Observer?”
A pause.
“Sealed. For now.”
That… was something. Not victory. But not death either. Which, all things considered, was more than he could’ve hoped for.
He tried to shift his perspective, to see where he was—but the moment his senses extended, nausea spiked through his core.
He caught flickers of a dim chamber. Walls made of unfinished metal. A single scavenger golem standing over his fragmented casing, arms scorched and trembling from overexertion. Mana pulses barely flickered along its limbs. It had almost died saving him.
“You were seconds from disintegration,” the Strategist continued. “I made the call to abandon upper floors and pull all excess mana into the vault chamber to shield you. Most golems are inert. Power grid is down. The forge is cold.”
“…And the city?”
“Redroot remains intact. Our surface camouflage failed for less than a minute before emergency seals reengaged. No outside parties seem to have noticed. Yet.”
That yet burned.
Ethan exhaled a breath he didn’t physically take. So many things he’d built… gone. His early work. His pride. Dozens of constructs and enchantments that he’d poured hours into. Wiped out in moments to save him.
“How long until I’m mobile?”
“Unknown. Your core is stable, but the damage is extensive. You require a new body. A better one.”
He closed his thoughts inward, trying to ignore the ringing void where his body used to be. He should’ve been dead. The only reason he wasn’t was because his Strategist had risked everything—and won.
But even with that, the Observer still existed.
Still down there, beneath the ruins of the old dungeon. Caged. Wounded. But not dead.
“I’ll need a lab,” Ethan said. “And materials. Titanium. Mythril if we still have it. The blast must have knocked some out of the vault walls.
“Already scavenging,I have also dispatched Engineer Golems to begin repairs. We have a large part of our combat units not in the first two floors still online. But Ethan…”
“I know.”
The Observer had nearly erased him without even trying.
And Ethan, for all his preparation, he hadn't even been able to kill him.
But that didn't matter
And next time… next time, he wouldn’t just survive.
He’d win.
No more half-measures. No more holding back for the sake of subtlety or clever tricks. The Strategist had bought him a second chance—and Ethan was going to make it count.
He let his mind drift into the construct forge schematics, already redesigning. Reinforcing. Rethinking the core conduits. If he couldn’t beat the Observer in raw power, he’d beat him in everything else—speed, precision, adaptability.
And he’d start with himself.
He was going to build a body that gods would fear
______________________
He floated in silence. Or maybe the silence floated in him.
There was no light. No shape. No time.
Only ache.
Every nerve, every thread of mana in his body, burned like it had been pulled apart and stitched together wrong. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t feel—not properly, not outside the cage of his own thoughts.
Something had gone wrong.
Very wrong.
He remembered surging forward. Power crashing like a tidal wave through his limbs. The thrill of domination. He remembered tearing that construct apart, the one that dared call itself sapient. Remembered the satisfaction.
And then…
Then something had gone off-script.
A noise. A light. No, not light—detonation. The kind of blast that didn't make sense. Wild. Primal. Like the System had hiccupped and spat out raw creation.
And pain.
He didn't remember the impact—just the aftermath. His skin had peeled away. His bones had cracked from the inside. His mana—
Gone. Scrambled. Every pattern in disarray, like someone had pulled out his threads and re-woven them with broken glass.
And now this.
This… nothing.
He tried to reach out, to assert control, to break whatever veil wrapped him—but it didn’t respond. Not even resistance. It was like pushing against the inside of a coffin.
He didn’t know what had happened. He didn’t know how.
He just knew he’d lost.
That thought twisted deeper than the pain.
He’d lied, sure. To others. Maybe to himself.
But it was one thing to bluff. Another to be shown the truth. Inarguable. Brutal.
He wasn’t invincible. Not even close.
Whatever that dungeon had done
—it had worked. A suicide move? A last-ditch trick? He didn’t know. He wasn’t even sure if Ethan was alive. He should’ve been dust.
But something… something had interfered.
He could feel it, faintly. The echo of a will not his own. Ancient. Sharp. Watching.
It reeked of the silence, Leo thought, lips unmoving. But it wasn't him
He was sealed now. Buried. Wrapped in something more sophisticated than most Saint-tier minds could muster.
Not dead. But humiliated. Crippled. Caged.
And the worst part?
He didn’t know how.
Not yet.
But he would.
He’d remember every detail. He’d peel it all back, thread by thread. And when he got out
There would be nothing left of that dungeon but a whisper.
_________
The skies above Redroot darkened the moment the clash began.
Not clouds. Not storm.
Mana.
Thick and wild. The kind that shouldn't exist outside catastrophes or fallen cities. The kind that made even birds veer off course and children wail in their sleep.
From the heart of the dungeon, a pulse had rippled out—twice. One, a raw detonation, thick with chaotic resonance. The second, subtler but deeper. Like something ancient locking into place. Or being chained.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
No one saw what happened beneath the earth.
But everyone felt it.
____
Atop the Guild’s temporary outpost tower, Vaylean stood like a statue, arms crossed tight, gaze locked on the dungeon’s distant entrance. He didn’t blink as the wind howled harder, as the walls around him hummed with pressure. Even his breathing had gone shallow.
A Jade-ranked officer beside him whispered, “What the hell was that?”
Vale didn’t answer.
His aura—usually calm, self-assured, borderline cocky—was razor sharp now. Alert. The glint in his eyes wasn’t fear, not exactly. It was worse.
It was resignation
___
In the Church's concealed observatory across the valley,Priest Adrast winced as his artifact cracked under the stress. He dropped the scrying mirror with a hiss as a sharp edge slashed across his palm.
"Report!" he barked.
Clerics scrambled, one vomiting as she tried to hold a connection open to the dungeon’s inner floors. Another passed out cold from overexposure.
A third, shaking, whispered, “I saw it. I— I think it was a Saint. No, worse.
Not without divine sanction.
And this dungeon… had none.
No prayers passed the threshold. No holy symbols resonated within its walls.
It had been declared sacred, yes. But not because it was blessed.
Because they couldn’t see it.
Until now.
Adrast narrowed his eyes toward the horizon.
“Begin preparations,” he said quietly. “We may need to contact the Holy Observers.
Chapter 44
The pain hadn’t stopped. But now, at least, it made sense.
Ethan floated in the forge-core chamber, tethered only by the most delicate threads of mana. The Strategist had cradled his fragmented consciousness with meticulous care, stitching his mind back together one memory at a time.
It hurt. Gods, it hurt. But it was real.
The first part of the new body was almost done—no, not a body. A vessel. His old self had been metal and muscle, plates and runes, wires soldered into bone. This was more. The schematics pulsed around him like a heartbeat, filled with alien angles and impossible math that would’ve broken his old self just to glimpse.
He was done being clever.
Done hiding behind tricks and layered traps.
The Observer had crushed him with ease, the only reason he was still alive was due to his trump card.
Ethan wasn’t stupid enough to think the next round would be easier. But next time, he’d be ready.
The core floated before him now, forged from condensed titanium filament wrapped around a lattice of mythril threading. It wasn’t just armor—it was a framework for godhood. Not divine in the worshiped sense, but divine in potential. The kind of machine the world had forgotten how to fear.
“You're quiet,” Ethan murmured mentally.
“I am calculating,” said the Strategist. “Seventy-four percent of your essence has re-bound to the new housing. Stability is increasing. Soon you may regain limited motion.”
“Good.” A flicker of emotion pulsed through his soul-thread, grim satisfaction. “Don’t stop rebuilding the lower levels. And move the Mirage Node to the outer vault hallway. I want all intruders disoriented before they see what’s coming.”
“Already done.”
He paused. Let his awareness stretch outward—only gently this time. Enough to feel the forge’s warmth, the faint glimmer of scavenger constructs at work. The burn of mana filters restarting. It was like hearing his dungeon breathe again.
Redroot hadn’t fallen. His constructs had survived. The Strategist had saved him.
And the Observer was sealed.
He wasn’t out of danger. Not by a long shot. But something had shifted. He could feel it, just on the edges of perception. Like the world was watching differently now. Like something had blinked and started paying attention.
He opened a sub-thread in his mind, tapped into the records from the surface.
And smiled.
_______
He felt it before the reports reached him.
A weight in the air, like gravity had thickened. Every instinct he’d honed over fifty years in the field screamed the same thing: run.
Mana had surged. First wild, then precise. No natural source could’ve pulled that off. That was control. Mastery. Someone had triggered a miracle, and whoever survived it would own the future.
Renic didn’t look out the window. He didn’t need to. He could already hear the bells ringing across Redroot—churches, temples, even the old roadside shrines. The clergy knew. The pilgrims knew. Everyone knew.
The great Machine God - as the fanatics called it- was in trouble.
Vaylean didn’t look out the window. He didn’t need to. He could already hear the bells ringing across Redroot—churches, temples, even the old roadside shrines. The clergy knew. The pilgrims knew. Everyone knew.
The great Machine God - as the fanatics called it- was in trouble.
He closed the report and turned to the map behind his desk. It wasn’t just Redroot anymore. Traders were moving from three provinces over. The Empire was sniffing the air. Adventurer interest had quadrupled in the last week. And now, with the dungeon collapsing and sealed.
It was too much. Too fast.
And yet... just what he’d been waiting for.
He’d gambled early, placing Redroot’s resources behind the dungeon’s growth instead of trying to control or dismantle it. Others had called him mad. Dangerous. A traitor to Guild neutrality. But now?
Now he had proof.
Divinity wasn’t just real—it was local. And the Guild had the inside track.
He picked up his pen and scrawled a command.
Form a Golden Delving Accord.
- Jade and Gold parties only.
- No Disasters. Too unstable.
- Full logistical support from Redroot.
- Objectives: Re-map the dungeon. Identify structural collapse zones. Retrieve lost enchantments. Report sapient interactions.
- Do NOT engage the core without approval.
He paused.
He handed the parchment to his secretary without a word and moved to the reinforced vault. Inside were relics, offerings—artifacts donated in reverence, held by the Guild in trust. One of them hummed now, reacting to the pulse still echoing in the world.
He didn’t know what the Church would do next. He didn’t know if the Empire would move. But he knew this:
This wasn’t just a dungeon anymore.
This was a fulcrum.
__________
It had been four months since the dungeon had gone quiet—and then louder than ever.
The explosion of light that had rippled through Redroot was now just a rumor, polished by time and prayer. The sky hadn’t shattered, but for a few long minutes, it had felt like it might. Farmers had dropped to their knees. Children had stopped crying. And the earth itself had cracked before settling once more.
Now, standing at the outer rim of the entrance canyon, one could see the difference. The land bent gently toward the dungeon mouth as if the terrain itself acknowledged the shift. Crystalline veins ran through the rock like glowing vines, pulsing faintly with a slow, heartbeat-blue. What had once been jagged and hostile was now deliberate—still uninviting, but majestic in a way that made pilgrims pause before stepping inside.
They called it the Divine Corridor.
______
Three months.
That’s how long it took to strip everything to the bone.
The dungeon had grown into a reflection of who Ethan used to be—panicked, paranoid, improvising under pressure. The floors were efficient, brutal, reactive. But they weren’t him. Not anymore.
So he demolished them.
Every corridor. Every trap. Every clever construct cobbled together under stress.
Gone.
Now, standing in the heart of the first floor, with blueprint overlays scrolling across his vision, Ethan finally felt like a creator—not a survivor.
He cracked his knuckles, let the soft hum of the upgraded dungeon core buzz through his mechanical body,
Speaking of which, he had finished his new vessel soon after his core had completely recovered.
It had a nice light alloy of mana-infused aluminum and mithril as the basic frame, with some adamantium for the joints to make them sturdier, along with a mix of titanium and orichalcum for the actual body. He had also used the last of his adamantium and mithril mixed with a shard of the baby dungeon core, which hadn’t been destroyed—he’d quickly liquefied it, then merged it into a strong dense shell for his core.
His body wasn’t just sturdy. It was built to last.
And it worked.
He flexed his fingers again, the metallic fingers responding like an extension of his own. The strength in them was immense—he could feel it in the tight tension of his forearms, in the steady pressure of each joint. Every movement was deliberate and without hesitation. There was no doubt, no awkward adjustment. His thoughts were commands, and his body obeyed.
Yet, despite all this, there was something missing. His offensive options were limited. He could hammer through a wall with a single punch, or tear through stone with his bare hands if he wanted to, but—
He needed more.
Fists and an unstable reactor gun weren’t going to cut it.
He had no way of attacking at range with precision, no way to deal with larger-scale threats without risking damage to his environment. His constructs could handle the heavy lifting, but what if the problem wasn’t just brute force? What if it was about control, precision, adaptability?
The thought of a new offensive system clicked into place in his mind.
"Time to work," he muttered under his breath.
The room shifted. Overhead, the ceiling melted into lines of glowing symbols, while mana tubes hummed into action. It wasn’t just a design; it was a feeling. The first floor of the dungeon was going to evolve into something far more lethal—far more intelligent.
But before he could get ahead of himself, he needed to address his own limitations.
Ethan turned toward one of the newly crafted workstations, an array of shimmering runes pulsing gently as the process of synthesizing new materials began. The mana within him surged, guided by his own will, and the workstation began to hum. Ethan closed his eyes, feeling the core pulse beneath him. As his mind reached out, the patterns of raw mana weaved themselves into something coherent.
“Weaponry,” he said aloud, testing the sound of the words. “I’ll need a modular weapon system.”
He set to work.
________________
The first prototype took shape quickly. A long, sleek gauntlet, forming itself from an experimental alloy he'd mixed with the remnants of his once huge stash of offerings and metals from the church- which he had rapidly used up repairing the dungeon and experimenting for his new body.
He forged the outer shell with enough flexibility to allow movement but enough density to absorb the impact from enemy strikes without cracking. The gauntlet would serve as both a means of attack and defense, enhancing his already formidable physical strength.
Inside the gauntlet, Ethan embedded several functions—a quick-forming energy blade that could extend from the knuckles, capable of cutting through most materials at close range, and a set of pulse-emitters that could generate short bursts of kinetic force when he hit something. The design was simple, but it was exactly what he needed.
With a quiet click, the gauntlet locked into place on his left arm, extending seamlessly with the rest of his body. The moment it connected, a burst of mana surged through the circuit pathways, syncing the system with his core.
Ethan clenched his fist. The gauntlet hummed, testing its limits as it responded to his movement.
It was time to test it.
He walked toward the center of the room, where he’d set up a target. A simple construct, humanoid in shape but made from basic stone and reinforced with a series of hard, layered materials. He wasn’t going for subtlety. He wanted power.
With a grunt, he hurled his fist forward, activating the gauntlet’s energy blade. The edge sparked to life, glowing bright as it extended, and he drove it into the target’s chest. The impact was immediate. The blade sliced through the stone like it was butter, carving through layers of dense material before sinking into the core of the construct.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a loud crack, the target’s body splintered, the stone cracking and crumbling under the force of the strike.
Ethan stepped back, studying the damage. The gauntlet held strong, and the weapon worked perfectly.
But there was still room for improvement.
“Good,” he muttered, turning away from the remains of the target. He could feel the heat from the forge as the core powered down, but the spark of ambition within him never waned. He could feel the next idea bubbling to the surface.
Energy weapons were reliable, but he needed something else. Something that could reach further. A range attack.
His gaze wandered around the room, and that’s when the idea hit him. The reactor gun was unstable, sure, but he could stabilize it—turn it into something more consistent. A beam weapon, focused with the precision of the core's mana-binding properties. A weapon that could clear a room or disable a target at range, without the unpredictable fallout of his previous design.
It would take time, but Ethan had plenty of that.
He moved toward his workbench and began to assemble the pieces. The first stage was the re-forging of the reactor gun, refining the core elements and stabilizing the energy flow. He couldn't afford another accidental detonation.
His hands moved quickly, crafting small precision gears, manipulating mana crystals to channel energy into the weapon’s core, adjusting the shape and flow to suit his exact needs. The reactor gun would become a focal point of concentrated power, capable of firing beams of destructive energy or pulsing waves that could disintegrate matter in an instant.
When it was done, Ethan held it in his hands—sleek, powerful, and ready. He raised it and pointed it at a distant wall. With a deep breath, he released the trigger.
A beam of pure energy surged from the barrel, cutting through the stone wall effortlessly. The room shook slightly as the blast dissipated, leaving a smoking crater behind.
“Much better,” he said to himself.
With the weapons systems finished, it was time to turn his attention to the dungeon’s defenses. Now, the floors would truly become an extension of him—each construct, each trap, and each puzzle designed with purpose, refined by his new abilities and creations.
It wasn’t just about survival anymore.
It was about control.
He was a creator, not just a fighter.