Zealth kept moving.
North, south, east—he had no idea anymore. The dungeon map did not bother with proper directions. No compass. No neat labels. No generous little arrow saying this way, poor idiot. All he knew was that he moved opposite the entrance, away from the dead tree, away from the burning hollow, away from the place where a boy farmer had begged to die.
Behind him, the Rotbound Tree of Death still collapsed in pieces.
The sound echoed through the buried ruin.
Creaking wood.
Cracking skulls.
Falling branches.
The groan of something ancient had long gone. Only remnant remained, and started to vanish.
Zealth did not look back.
"Keep walking," he muttered. "There's a lot to explore here."
He moved like a ghost through the broken district, Cinderbrand held low, flame dimmed to a dull pulse. His armor was gone. His buckler was gone. His tunic was torn, burned, and full of holes. He looked less like a Rogue and more like a man who had lost a fight with a laundry machine.
A very violent laundry machine.
Every few steps, his bare arms brushed against cold air. The dungeon chill bit differently without armor. Not painful, but irritating.
He opened the map.
His red marker crawled along a thin, explored line. Behind him, the chamber of the Rotbound Tree remained as a large, dark mass now outlined in faint gray. Other parts of the dungeon remained black, untouched, unexplored.
Ahead, the path continued.
Barely.
"Good," Zealth whispered. "A mysterious road into darkness. Exactly what a half-naked man needs."
He closed the map and continued.
The ruin was still infested with undead, and the tree's destruction hadn't changed them.
Zealth avoided them when he could.
One villager shuffled too close to his path.
He waited behind a broken arch until it dragged itself past.
Two skeletons stood near an old well, both gripping rusted weapons but not moving. He slipped behind them without breathing too loudly.
A group of six Rotbound Villagers crawled over the remains of a fallen building, searching through the rubble with dead hands.
Zealth turned around immediately.
"Nope. That's a committee. I don't attend meetings."
When he found three or fewer, he dealt with them.
Quick.
Quiet.
No drama.
A lone skeleton by a cracked fountain lost its head before it fully turned. A Rotbound Villager near a collapsed cart tried to groan, but Cinderbrand pierced its skull before the sound spread. Two crawling undead reached from beneath a broken bridge; Zealth stepped back, let one overextend, then cut through both with a single burning arc.
The fire sword remained reliable.
That alone made him suspicious.
"Don't betray me," he told it. "I'm starting to like you."
No answer.
Good.
Weapons that answered back were usually expensive, cursed, or both.
Soon, the narrow alleys opened into a wider road.
Not massive.
Not like the town roads aboveground.
But wide enough for wagons to travel side by side. The path was paved with old rectangular stone blocks, most cracked and uneven from roots pushing beneath them. Wheel marks had been carved into the surface long ago. On both sides, ruined walls leaned inward, their upper sections broken away. Moss swallowed the edges. Dry vines hung from stone posts like old ropes.
Zealth slowed.
A road.
Not a random ruin path.
Someone had used this.
A lot.
"Trade route?" he murmured.
His voice faded into the dark.
No answer came except water dripping somewhere far ahead.
He followed the road until the broken buildings thinned and the walls on both sides grew closer. The path narrowed little by little, not enough to block wagons, but enough to make the air feel pressed between stone. The ceiling above lowered from distant cavern darkness into rough rock veined with roots.
The road became a tunnel.
Its entrance was not marked by a gate or arch, only by the way the ruined district gave up and the mountain swallowed the path whole. Faint blue fungi grew along the tunnel walls, giving off a sickly glow. The air changed with it—less rotten, more mineral. Cold stone.
Zealth opened the map again.
The explored line extended only a little farther.
At the tunnel's distant bend, the line stopped.
Beyond it—
Black.
Unexplored.
Untouched.
The edge of known space.
Zealth stared at the map.
Then at the tunnel ahead.
"Wonderful. The road became a throat."
He moved forward carefully.
The tunnel was wide enough for a wagon, but shadows gathered near the ceiling. The blue fungi did not reach high enough to show everything. Loose pebbles shifted beneath his boots. The broken road continued underfoot, its old wheel marks fading in and out beneath layers of dust.
Then he saw the corpse.
It lay near the right side of the tunnel, half-propped against a broken milestone.
Not undead.
Not moving.
Not yet, at least.
Zealth stopped.
The body wore traveler's clothes reinforced with leather armor. A pack lay torn open nearby, its contents scattered across the stone—rope, a cracked lantern, a broken compass, a pouch emptied of coins. One hand still gripped a dagger. The other reached toward the dark bend ahead, fingers curled as if the person had tried to crawl forward before dying.
Zealth crouched beside it.
"No black particles," he whispered. "NPC."
Old corpse.
Maybe one of the later explorers. Maybe a trader. Maybe someone who had followed this wagon road and learned too late why the map stopped here.
He checked the surroundings.
No immediate movement.
Then he gently pried the dagger from the corpse's hand.
A system tag appeared.
Worn Explorer's Dagger
Quality: Poor
Durability: 21/100
Zealth stared.
"Poor, but honest."
He took it anyway.
Then searched the pack.
Most of it was ruined, but he found a sealed wax packet, a small dried ration brick, and a folded note too damaged to read fully. The ink had bled into the paper. Only a few words remained.
…road narrows into the tunnel……heard wings before the dark bend……do not light fire…
Zealth paused.
He slowly looked at Cinderbrand.
A fire sword.
Currently glowing.
Then back at the note.
"Now you tell me."
A faint sound came from above.
Soft.
Dry.
Like leather folding.
Zealth went still.
Another sound answered from the tunnel ahead.
Then another.
Wings.
He raised his eyes.
The fungi glow only climbed halfway up the walls. Above, the tunnel ceiling vanished into shadow. Something moved there. Several somethings. Small shapes clung upside down between stone cracks, their bodies wrapped in folded wings.
Zealth slowly straightened.
"I was joking about bats earlier."
One shape dropped.
Then another.
Then five more.
They unfolded midair.
Bat-like monsters.
Not large—three feet at most from head to tail—but their bodies were lean, ugly, and built for speed. Each had two sets of wings: one larger pair near the shoulders, another smaller pair along the lower body that flickered rapidly for control. Their heads were narrow, with pale eyes and needle teeth. Their skin was dark gray, almost purple under the fungus light.
A system label appeared.
Gravewing Skitterbat
Dark Beast
Zealth counted quickly.
Seven.
Then more shapes dropped from the ceiling.
Ten.
Twelve.
"Ah," he said. "Groupies, huh."
The first Skitterbat screamed.
The sound stabbed through the tunnel.
Zealth flinched as the pitch scraped at his ears. His vision blurred for a fraction.
Minor Disorientation Resisted
The bats rushed.
Fast.
Too fast for normal undead.
They cut through the air in jagged paths, using both sets of wings to turn sharply inside the tunnel's cramped space without losing speed. One dove toward his face. Zealth raised Cinderbrand and slashed.
Missed.
The bat twisted midair, smaller wings flicking hard, and passed under the blade. Claws scraped across his shoulder.
Dull impact.
Black particles spat from the cut.
"Okay," Zealth muttered. "Annoying type."
Another came from the side.
He ducked.
A third dove toward his back.
He spun and swung Cinderbrand in a wide arc. Flame traced through the tunnel air. This time, the bat was too close to evade. The sword caught one wing and burned through it. The creature spiraled into the road, shrieking.
Zealth stomped it before it recovered.
Gravewing Skitterbat defeated.
"One."
Three attacked together.
Zealth backed toward the tunnel wall, forcing them to approach from fewer angles. One tried to climb high and dive over him. Another swept low toward his knees. The third came straight for his chest.
He hated flying enemies.
They had no respect for honest footwork.
The low one reached him first.
Zealth kicked loose stone from the road. The bat flinched mid-flight, tiny body shifting by instinct. He cut through it as it adjusted.
The chest attacker struck next.
He caught it on his forearm. Its teeth sank into the torn sleeve, not deep enough to hold. Zealth slammed it against the wall and stabbed it with the traveler's dagger.
The dagger worked.
Barely.
The bat dropped.
The one above screamed again.
Zealth looked up.
"Don't."
It screamed anyway.
His ears rang.
The rest answered.
The tunnel filled with high, cutting shrieks. Not loud like thunder, but sharp enough to confuse distance. Their movements blurred in the sound, shadows splitting and folding as they darted through the dim fungi light.
Zealth's eyes narrowed.
They use sound.
Not just noise.
Positioning.
Disorientation.
Hunting.
He dimmed Cinderbrand's flame further.
The note had warned him: do not light fire. Maybe the flame drew them. Maybe they hunted warmth. Maybe they were just rude.
He shifted his stance, listening beneath the shrieks.
Wingbeat.
Left.
He stabbed with the dagger.
A bat slammed into it.
Not cleanly, but enough. It shrieked and twisted away, wounded.
Right.
He raised Cinderbrand flat.
Another bat crashed into the blade's side, rebounded, and hit the ground. He finished it with a downward strike.
Behind.
Zealth dropped to one knee.
Claws passed over his head.
He reached up, grabbed a wing, and yanked.
The bat slammed into the stone road. He drove the dagger into its skull.
"Four."
The rest circled wider now.
Smarter than undead.
Unfortunately.
One landed on the wall and crawled sideways with hooked claws, watching him. Another clung to the broken milestone near the corpse. Three remained in the air, crossing paths to confuse his timing.
Zealth glanced at the corpse.
The explorer had heard wings.
Probably tried to run.
Probably lit a lantern.
Probably got swarmed.
Zealth tightened his grip.
"Thanks for the warning," he muttered. "Terrible delivery, but thanks."
The bats came again.
He moved first.
Instead of waiting, Zealth rushed toward the one on the wall. It tried to spring away, but the dagger left his hand before it launched. The worn blade spun once and struck its wing joint. The bat fell awkwardly.
Zealth cut it down with Cinderbrand.
The airborne three dove.
He rolled under them, grabbed the dagger from the fallen bat, and threw himself behind the broken milestone. The bats passed over him in a tight cluster.
Too close together.
Mistake.
Zealth slashed upward with Cinderbrand.
Flame caught two at once.
They screamed, wings burning, bodies tumbling into each other.
The last bat broke away, rising toward the ceiling.
Zealth grabbed a loose stone from the road.
He threw it.
Missed.
The bat turned, as if offended.
Zealth picked up another stone.
"Don't judge me. I'm under-equipped."
The bat dove.
He waited until the last moment, then stepped aside and swung.
Cinderbrand cut through its body.
The creature crashed behind him, skidding across the road before dissolving into dark ash.
Silence returned.
Almost.
His breathing echoed faintly in the tunnel.
Zealth stood still, listening for more wings.
Nothing.
He opened the combat log.
Gravewing Skitterbat defeated x12
A few normal drops appeared.
Gravewing Membrane x9
Echo Fang x6
Dark Beast Ash x11
Small Wingbone x14
Zealth stared at the loot.
"No armor. No shield. Of course. Why would bats carry armor?"
He picked up the drops anyway.
Then he returned to the explorer's corpse and placed the worn dagger back near its hand. Not in the same grip. Just close enough.
"Borrowed it," he said quietly. "Worked better than expected."
He stood and looked toward the dark bend.
The tunnel ahead remained unexplored.
Untouched.
Probably full of worse things.
Zealth opened the map again.
His red dot stood just before the edge of known space.
Slowly, as he stepped forward, the black fog peeled away by a few meters.
The tunnel continued.
He looked into the dark, then at Cinderbrand, then at his torn tunic.
"I should have stayed at the shop," he said.
Then he walked on.