Chapter 11

  Avan descended into the cavern’s depths, the torch in his right hand casting a wavering glow across the slick, uneven stone walls. Each step echoed faintly, swallowed by the oppressive stillness, his enchanted boots—rune-stitched, black leather gripping the ground—keeping his footing sure despite the dampness seeping through the soles. The air hit him like a physical force, thick and feculent, a nauseating blend of decay, blood, sweat, and an acrid tang he couldn’t name, clawing at his lungs with every breath. His left hand clutched the spear, its wooden shaft a steady anchor, while *Origin Energy Manipulation* (Lv. 3) hummed beneath his skin, golden threads laced with silver and violet ready to flare at a moment’s notice. Horny hopped beside him, the white-horned rabbit’s ears twitching nervously, its small form a quiet comfort in the gloom.

  So far, no ambush—no guttural snarls or skittering claws broke the silence. Avan’s *Celestial Dungeonheart* sphere pulsed outward, a ten-meter radius of ambient mana feeding him a constant stream of awareness, sharper than sight or sound alone. He focused, willing *Identification* (Lv. 2) to catalog everything it could, the skill pinging relentlessly as it parsed the cave’s grim details. Gotta level this up—there’s a cap or evolution point somewhere, right? Skills don’t just stall. His mind churned, pragmatic even in the dark, the dungeon’s lessons etched deep: knowledge was survival, and he needed every edge this world could give.

  The walls told a story in stains and scraps—blood, days old, smeared in streaks of crimson and brown, human and animal mingled with goblin ichor. Bones jutted from the dirt, cracked and gnawed, some still clinging to bits of rotting flesh. Unfamiliar traces teased his sphere, creatures his skill couldn’t name yet, their essence alien, locked beyond his current understanding. Need to see them first—tag them like a damn database, he thought, the idea oddly comforting, a tether to the logic of his old life in Frankfurt’s orderly chaos. The sphere sharpened further, revealing footprints—some faint, others deep—and a new skill crystallized from the flood of perception:

  *Chime*

  Passive Skill Gained: Tracking (Lv. 1)

  Tracking (Lv. 1): You can discern tracks and their age within your sphere of influence, identifying patterns and movement.

  “Handy,” he muttered, voice barely a whisper, the torch’s flame flickering as he shifted it to his left hand, freeing his right to dig into his backpack. He pulled out a *Golden Meaple*, its golden skin glinting faintly, and bit into it, the sweet, mango-apple juice bursting across his tongue, a fleeting reprieve from the stench. *Celestial Affinity* (Lv. 2) pulsed in his chest, syncing with the fruit’s energy, a warm tingle spreading through him as he chewed, savoring the taste amidst the rot. Keeps me going—wonder if it boosts anything else. He tucked the thought away, practical as ever, eyes scanning the tunnel ahead.

  The path sloped downward, the air growing heavier, the walls closing in until they brushed his shoulders. His sphere mapped it all—cracks in the stone, patches of mold, a rat scurrying beyond his torchlight, its tiny heartbeat a blip in his awareness. Like sonar, but creepier, he mused, the dungeon’s hum in his core a steady rhythm, grounding him. The torch sputtered, casting long shadows that danced like specters, and he tightened his grip, *Steady* (Lv. 1) keeping his hand firm despite the unease creeping up his spine. Horny’s fur brushed his ankle, a soft reminder he wasn’t alone, and he glanced down, offering a faint grin. “Stay sharp, buddy.”

  A two-way fork loomed ahead, the tunnel splitting into darkness. Avan paused, torch raised, his sphere tracing the tracks etched in the dirt. The right tunnel bore the fresh, heavy prints of the *Fodder Goblin* he’d killed—deep on entry, lighter on its return, as if it’d carried something up. The left showed a mess of older trails, some days old, none looping back. Right’s the lone runt’s path—safer, maybe loot. Left’s a death trap, bodies waiting. He crouched, running a finger near a print, *Tracking* (Lv. 1) confirming the timeline: the goblin’s steps were hours old, the rest at least a day, matching the corpses’ decay topside. One went up, didn’t come back—others down there, rotting.

  He leaned against the wall, the cold stone biting through his torn jacket, and fought a wave of nausea. Images flashed—yesterday’s wolf tearing into campers, today’s goblin gnawing human flesh, blood dripping, entrails spilling. Can’t shake this—too many dead faces for one lifetime. His stomach churned, bile rising, and he dropped the torch, hands slamming against the wall as he retched, the sour taste mixing with the cave’s stench. Horny hopped back, ears flat, while Avan shook his head, dizzy, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “Ab-so-lutely awesome,” he grimaced, voice rough, stepping away from the mess.

  Rummaging through his pack, he found a scrap of cloth—a torn shirt from the camp—and splashed water from his flask, cleaning his hands and face. The flask was nearly empty, the damp cloth now reeking, and he tossed it aside with a scowl. No more puking—can’t make this a habit. If it weren’t for the damn corpses everywhere… He straightened, breathing deep through his mouth, the dizziness fading as *Origin Healing* (Lv. 3) dulled the ache in his gut. “Right tunnel first,” he muttered, nodding to Horny, retrieving the torch and relighting it with flint and knife, the flame steady again in his grip.

  They moved cautiously, the tunnel narrowing, the walls glistening with moisture that reflected the torchlight in eerie glints. Minutes passed, the silence broken only by their steps and Horny’s soft hops, until a faint shimmer flickered ahead, just beyond a sharp bend. Avan slowed, pressing against the wall, dousing the torch in the dirt with a hiss. His sphere swept the area—no breathing, no movement, just the hum of ambient mana. He strained his ears—nothing but dripping water somewhere deep—and edged forward, peering around the corner, spear tip leading.

  A small cave opened up, five meters across, its natural stone walls studded with crude cages—rusty iron and pitted bronze, bolted haphazardly into the rock. Most hung empty, their doors ajar, but one held a figure. A young beast-kin huddled inside, knees drawn tight, sobbing into her arms. Fox-like ears drooped atop fiery orange hair, a smudged tail curled around her, its tip twitching faintly. *Identification* flared: Fox-kin female, adolescent, malnourished, no visible injuries. Avan’s stomach twisted, a cold shudder racing down his spine. This is a nightmare—locked up like an animal.

  He stepped closer, boots silent, until he stood before the cage, its bars warped and rusted, the stench of unwashed fur and despair wafting out. “Hey…” he whispered, voice soft, kneeling to her level, spear propped against his shoulder. Her head jerked up, one orange eye peering through tangled hair, then she scrambled back, slamming against the cage’s rear with a muffled yelp, fear radiating from her trembling frame. Her ears twitched, tail curling tighter, and Avan froze, raising a hand, palm out. Easy, don’t spook her more. “I’m Avan,” he said, keeping his tone gentle, steady. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I’m here to help—get you out, okay?”

  Her shoulders eased, just a fraction, tension bleeding out as his words sank in. She opened her mouth, lips trembling, then shut it, mumbling, “H-hello…” Her gaze dropped to the cage floor, shame flickering in her eyes. “A-are you… here to… take me away too?” The question hit like a punch, and Avan’s mind raced—goblins, cages, captives. “No, no, no!” he said, voice firm but kind, shaking his head. “I ran into a goblin up top—nasty bastard’s dead now. You’re safe with me, I swear. What’s your name?”

  If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  He dropped his backpack, the thud echoing faintly, and rummaged through it, pulling out the last handful of dried berries, a strip of meat, and his flask—half-empty but clean. “Hungry?” he asked, holding them out, hands steady despite the ache in his arm from the goblin’s claw. “Take these while I work on this cage.” She stared, hesitant, then crawled forward, her movements slow, wary, like a cornered animal testing trust. Her fingers brushed his as she took the berries and flask, tilting her head slightly, a silent question. Avan nodded, offering a small smile, and she shoveled the berries into her mouth, coughing as they hit her dry throat, then fumbled the flask open, gulping the water in one desperate pull.

  While she ate, Avan wedged a dagger into the cage’s padlock, *Strength* (15) straining the rusty metal. It resisted, creaking, and he gritted his teeth, twisting harder, the blade scraping until the lock snapped with a dull crack. He stepped back, letting her finish, watching the spark return to her eyes, her skin less pallid already. “Thank you…” she whispered, hands fidgeting, squeezing together nervously. “Not worth mentioning,” he replied gently with a wink.

  She giggled, a soft, harmonic sound cutting through the cave’s gloom, and Avan grinned. Got her to smile—small win. She crawled out, stretching like a cat, limbs trembling from confinement, a faint purr rumbling as she shook off the stiffness. He chuckled, earning a smirk, then turned away, giving her space. “Here,” he said, pulling spare pants and a shirt from his pack, holding them over his shoulder without looking. She snatched them, the rustle of fabric filling the silence as she changed, shedding the tattered rags that barely clung to her frame.

  “Thank you… I owe you my life,” she whispered, voice stuttering. “Can’t repay that…” Avan’s jaw tightened, anger flaring at the goblins who’d done this. “You owe me nothing,” he said, voice hard, turning to face her. “They owe you. Pain—long, slow, and ugly. Not me.” He grabbed the torch, relighting it with flint, the flame steadying his nerves as he stepped back into the tunnel, fists clenched white. Horny waited around the bend, ears perked, and Avan crouched, scratching the rabbit’s fur, the softness calming his rage. Smart little guy—stayed back. Too crowded otherwise.

  His sphere pinged—Yue followed, her steps tentative but growing steadier. No one deserves this. ‘Take me away too’? More than cages—something’s rotten here. She rounded the corner, squealing at Horny, dropping to her knees to pet him, delight chasing the fear from her face. Avan laughed, nodding permission. “What’s your name, queen of rabbits?” he teased, kneeling beside her as she lavished attention on Horny. She smiled, hesitant. “Yue… and you’re Avan, right?” He nodded, settling in. “What happened? Were you alone? What’re the goblins doing?”

  Her hands froze on Horny’s fur, body curling inward, shivering as if the questions dragged her back into the cage. Avan squeezed her shoulder gently, voice soft. “You don’t have to say a word. I won’t push if it’s too much. Just… how’d one goblin kill three men? Why lock you up?” She sighed, meeting his eyes, the spark dimming but holding. “Not one goblin… They ambushed us—two groups, six total. Yannis, Ivan, Nota went down fast, overwhelmed. Jane, Nia, and I got clubbed unconscious. I woke in that cage—one ran out as I came to. Don’t know where they took Jane and Nia…” Her voice trembled, fingers resuming their stroke through Horny’s fur, seeking comfort.

  “We were from Cyntha’s guild,” she continued, voice steadier. “People vanishing—travelers, traders, adventurers—over the last week. Always men found dead, women gone. Goblins were suspected, so we took two groups—three each. One wouldn’t cut it for a plague like this. No one knows why they’re taking people… or if something’s pulling strings.” Avan’s brow furrowed, mind racing. Men killed, women snatched—but Yue left behind? Goblins aren’t known as masterminds in the stories I have read. Someone else maybe? “Will you help find Jane and Nia?” she asked, voice breaking, eyes pleading. “They’re my childhood friends… we grew up together in Cyntha. Their families took me in after my parents died. We just started adventuring a week ago. Please…”

  He squeezed her shoulder again, steel in his gaze. “I’ll help. No goblin expertise where I’m from, but I’m in. And you owe me nothing, Yue—I’m just glad I got you out.” He leaned against the tunnel wall, tilting his head back, torchlight flickering across his face as he mapped their next move. She needs a weapon—can’t trail me defenseless. “Yue, can you fight with daggers? I’ve got two, but I’m trash with them—better unarmed, Wing Tsun style from back home. Not even the spear feels good in my hands.” She nodded, resolve hardening. “Trained dual-wielding daggers—sword too, but daggers are my strength. I’d love them… get some payback while we search.”

  Avan unbuckled his belt, the twin daggers sheathed and gleaming faintly, and handed them over. She fastened them around her waist, fingers brushing the hilts with familiarity, her stance shifting—ready, tense, but steady. He gestured to her and Horny, leading them back to the fork, torch raised. Left tunnel—older tracks, answers maybe. Flask’s dry, berries low—meat’s untouched. He grinned, the dried meat still a mystery in his pack. Vegetarian back on Earth, but I eat to survive. “We’re short on food and water,” he whispered to Yue. “Left tunnel, then back up for supplies if it’s deep.” She flashed a thumbs-up, gripping her daggers, eyes sharp despite the weariness.

  At the fork, they veered left, the torch’s glow stretching thin, *Tracking* (Lv. 1) mapping the faded prints—days old, leading deeper, none returning. The tunnel twisted, walls tightening, the air growing fouler, a mix of rot and damp stone pressing in. Avan’s sphere hummed, picking up faint echoes—water dripping, a distant scuttle—but no threats yet. Another fork split the path, a soft blue shimmer pulsing from the right, its source hidden around a bend. He paused, sphere clear, ears straining—no growls, no steps. “Light first,” he whispered to Yue, nodding right, and they crept forward, torch dimmed to avoid detection.

  At the bend, they peered around—a massive double door loomed, five meters tall, its surface glowing with blue light, an ornate archway pulsing with runes. Murals carved into the stone depicted warriors battling monsters, blue energy raining down to heal them, a lone figure channeling power into the doors, opening a path within. Avan’s *Origin Language – Runescript of the Origin* tingled, fragments of meaning teasing his mind, too partial to decipher fully. “Know this?” he asked, voice low, watching Yue trace the runes, her fingers trembling with awe.

  “It’s a dungeon entrance,” she breathed, eyes wide. “Never seen one near Cyntha—guild would’ve claimed it, advertised it. The murals show mana opening it.” Avan nodded, the figure’s energy mirroring his *Origin Energy*. “Could try it with mine, but… survivors first. We need intel—two of us can’t take a nest alone. Back for help after we know more.” She agreed, reluctantly pulling away, and they retraced to the junction, Horny’s soft hops a quiet rhythm behind them.

  The left tunnel awaited, its stench intensifying—feces, urine, rot—a wall of filth that hit like a slap. Avan pinched his nose, Yue gagging beside him, her free hand clutching a dagger. Excrement smeared the walls, piled along the edges, and the tunnel widened into a medium-sized cave. His sphere pinged—two adult goblins, one larger, three smaller, snoring in a heap; at the far end, a tableau of horror: male and female corpses, some bellies burst open, blood and viscera pooling, flies buzzing in the torchlight. Avan’s stomach heaved, the sight slamming into him, and he bolted back a dozen meters, vomiting hard, the torch clattering as *Pain Resistance* (Lv. 2) failed against the visceral shock. Fuck… Yue retched opposite, trembling violently, her daggers shaking in her grip.

  He wiped his mouth with his bandaged sleeve, the wound beneath throbbing faintly, and locked eyes with her, terror mirrored in her wide gaze. “What the hell happened in there?” he whispered, voice raw, images searing his mind—burst flesh, goblin snores, a slaughterhouse of nightmares. Chimes rang, cutting through the haze:

  *Chime*

  Tracking has reached Level 2!

  Tracking (Lv. 2): Enhanced precision in identifying tracks and their age.

  *Chime*

  Steady has reached Level 2!

  Steady (Lv. 2): Greater stability under pressure, reducing interruptions.

  Avan slumped against the wall, torchlight flickering, the cave’s horrors lingering like a stain he couldn’t scrub away.