They stepped into the dungeon in formation, weapons drawn and senses sharp.
The shift in atmosphere was immediate. The air inside felt heavier, damp, almost watching them. The faint echo of their footsteps stretched too far, and even breathing sounded louder than it should. Arthur tightened his grip on his weapon without thinking.
Then they saw them.
Three ogres.
Arthur finally understood why the captain had insisted on checking everything before entry. Why the formation mattered. Why the relaxed mood outside had vanished the moment they crossed the threshold.
In a dungeon, nothing waited politely.
Two of the ogres were massive, their bodies thick with muscle and rough gray skin that looked closer to stone than flesh. They stood in front, positioning themselves carefully. Behind them stood another ogre, slightly smaller, its posture straighter, its movements calmer.
Arthur's eyes narrowed.
Second class.
