As Zealth moved deeper, sightings became rarer.
At first, the Gravewings still came.
Four of them dropped from cracks in the ceiling not long after he crossed into the unexplored section. Their shrieks tore through the tunnel, sharp enough to make his vision blur at the edges.
Zealth killed them quickly.
One lost its wing to Cinderbrand. Another hit the wall after he kicked it mid-dive. The third tried to bite his shoulder and got stabbed through the skull. The last one circled too wide, got predictable, and flew straight into a burning slash.
Their bodies dissolved into dark ash.
Zealth stood there afterward, breathing through his nose, waiting for more wings.
Nothing came.
He listened.
Water dripped somewhere ahead.
Stone creaked faintly under the mountain's weight.
No shrieks.
No claws.
No fluttering.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Weird."
He moved on.
The sightings became fewer after that. One shadow clung to the ceiling far ahead, but it disappeared before he reached it. Another pair of pale eyes watched him from a crack in the wall, then withdrew into darkness. No undead dragged themselves from the floor. No roots tried to skewer him.
The dungeon had become quiet.
Too quiet.
Zealth hated it.
Noise meant trouble had already introduced itself. Silence meant trouble was coming. He knew something deep in the dark waiting.
Soon, the tunnel split.
A twin path opened ahead—one to the right, one to the left.
Both looked equally unpleasant.
The right path sloped downward, its walls covered in pale fungi that pulsed faintly like sick stars. The left path remained darker, but the air coming from it smelled cleaner, less rotten. That probably meant nothing. This dungeon could make a flower smell like murder if it wanted.
Zealth stopped between them.
He opened the map.
Both paths were black.
"What can I expect? It was unexplored," he said.
He closed the map and looked right.
"Maybe right."
He took one step.
Stopped.
"No. Left."
He turned left.
Took two steps.
Stopped again.
"What if there's an ambush there?"
He turned back to the right path.
"Right might be the right choice."
He started toward it.
Stopped.
"What if there's also an ambush waiting deeper?"
The tunnel gave no answer.
Zealth looked between both paths, then sighed long enough to qualify as a prayer.
"Let fate decide."
He stretched out his hand.
A small inventory ripple opened, and a pen appeared between his fingers.
Not a magical pen.
Not an enchanted quill.
A normal pen.
Cheap. Blue. Slightly chewed at the cap.
He crouched and placed it carefully on a flat stone between the paths.
"Okay, fate," he said solemnly. "Time to prove you're not completely useless."
He flicked the pen.
It spun across the stone.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Then slowed.
The tip pointed left.
Zealth stared at it.
"Left it is, then."
He picked up the pen and returned it to his inventory with the full dignity of a man who had just trusted his life to stationery.
The left tunnel was quieter than the right.
That did not improve his mood.
He walked for several minutes, sword ready, shoulders loose, eyes shifting from floor to ceiling to walls. No beast came. No undead rose. No wings stirred above him. Nothing moved except the faint flame of Cinderbrand and the dust drifting through its light.
The tunnel widened little by little.
Then it ended.
A massive door stood ahead.
Zealth stopped.
The door was built from dark stone and reinforced with old metal bands. Its surface rose high enough to make him tilt his head back. Symbols had been carved across it in concentric lines, worn but still visible. At the center, just above waist height, sat a keyhole.
A very normal keyhole.
That somehow made it more suspicious.
Zealth stared at the door.
Then smiled.
"Looks like I hit the jackpot."
His voice echoed softly.
"Massive door means massive gold inside. That's ancient law."
No one argued.
Excellent. The dungeon was finally learning manners.
Zealth sat on the ground a few steps away from the door and waved his hand. A wrapped cake appeared from his inventory—round, dense, and topped with small dried fruit pieces pressed into the surface.
He placed it on his lap.
"There might be guardians inside," he said. "I need to prepare first."
He took a bite.
Sweetness spread across his mouth, followed by a faint citrus sharpness. Not bad. A little dry, but after death trees, flying bats, and his mother's bitter gourd, dry cake felt like luxury.
A system panel appeared.
BUFF NOTIFICATION
Health Points +10%
Stamina Points +25%
Mana Points +10%
Duration: 30 minutes
Zealth nodded, chewing.
"Not bad for a five-hundred-Callis fruit cake."
He finished the rest quickly, licked a crumb from his thumb, then stood. His torn tunic hung from him like a defeated flag. He looked at the door again.
The keyhole waited.
Zealth opened his inventory and took out the strange drop from the Rotbound Tree.
Key for Everything.
It looked almost too simple. Silver body. Golden teeth. No gemstone. No dramatic aura. No skull motif. No whispering curse. Just a key with a stupid name and the quiet confidence of something that knew doors feared it.
Zealth held it up.
"Prove to me that you're really the key for everything."
He inserted it into the keyhole.
It fit.
Perfectly.
A soft click echoed through the tunnel.
Zealth blinked.
He twisted it.
Deep inside the door, ancient locks began to move.
One.
Then another.
Then several more, each louder than the last, until the entire door seemed to wake with a heavy grinding sound.
Zealth looked at the key.
"You indeed are the key for everything."
The compliment made him uncomfortable.
He pulled it free and returned it to his inventory.
Then he pressed both hands against the door and pushed.
At first, nothing happened.
Then the stone groaned.
Dust fell from above in thin sheets. The metal bands shuddered. Slowly, painfully, the massive door moved inward, opening into darkness.
Zealth stepped through.
His smile faded.
The chamber beyond was massive.
That part was promising.
But there was no gold.
No treasure chests.
No glowing piles of rare materials.
No display of artifacts waiting to make his financial suffering meaningful.
Only a wide circular hall built from black stone, its ceiling hidden in darkness. The floor was cracked, but polished beneath the dust. At the center of the chamber sat a throne.
Or what had once been a throne.
It was large, old, and carved from pale stone unlike the rest of the room. Its back rose high, shaped with faded wings and a broken crown motif. Six statues stood in the chamber's corners—or what counted as corners in a circular hall—each one facing inward.
Zealth slowly turned, studying them.
One statue held a sword.
Another, twin daggers.
The third carried a staff.
The fourth gripped a hammer.
The fifth held an open grimoire.
The sixth drew a bow.
He frowned.
"Six basic classes?"
Warrior.
Mercenary.
Mage.
Smith.
Priest.
Archer.
His gaze returned to the throne.
"Then what does the throne mean?"
His voice sounded smaller in the huge room.
He moved closer.
One step.
Two.
The moment his boot crossed a faint circular line carved into the floor—
The door slammed shut behind him.
The sound thundered through the chamber.
Zealth spun.
Dust burst from the doorframe.
A system warning flashed red in front of him.
DANGER!
Zealth gripped Cinderbrand with both hands.
The flame along the sword flared.
"Where?"
He turned slowly, eyes flicking to the statues.
"Those statues?"
The system did not answer.
Something above did.
A rustling sound.
No.
A chain.
Rusty metal dragged against stone somewhere in the darkness overhead.
Zealth looked up.
At first, he saw only shadow.
Then the flame from Cinderbrand caught the edge of something hanging far above the throne.
Chains.
Dozens of them.
Thick, old, rusted chains wrapped around a massive figure suspended from the ceiling. The thing looked like a corpse at first—limbs slack, head lowered, wings folded awkwardly against its back. Its body was enormous, too large for any ordinary man. Armor clung to it in broken plates, pale and tarnished, shaped with symbols Zealth did not recognize.
Its skin, where visible, looked gray-white.
Dead.
Ancient.
Unmoving.
A system panel appeared above it.
Fallen Celestial King
Floor Boss
Zealth stared.
Then his face went blank.
"Wait."
He looked around the chamber.
"Floor boss?"
He looked back up.
"There are other floors?"
The massive corpse did not move.
It only hung there, bound in chains, silent as a monument to something that had failed to stay buried.
Zealth slowly raised Cinderbrand.
"How am I supposed to kill what's already dead?"
A chain snapped.
The sound cracked across the chamber like thunder.
Zealth's eyes widened.
Another chain broke.
Then another.
Rust exploded from the ceiling as the remaining chains gave way all at once.
The massive figure fell.
Zealth threw himself backward.
The corpse descended straight onto the throne.
Impact shattered the room.
The throne flattened beneath its weight, pale stone bursting outward in jagged chunks. Dust erupted. The floor cracked in a wide circle. The shockwave knocked Zealth onto his back and rolled him across the chamber until he slammed against the base of the sword-bearing statue.
His breath left him.
Not pain.
Just the insulting force of being thrown like laundry.
He pushed himself up, coughing.
The Fallen Celestial King sat where the throne had been, slumped forward, chains still wrapped around its body. Its wings spread loosely behind it, torn and gray. Its head hung low. No light shone in its eyes. No breath moved through its chest.
Still unmoving.
Zealth stared at it.
Then let out a shaky laugh.
"Seriously, dude. You're giving me a heart attack."
The chamber stayed silent.
Dust drifted between them.
Zealth swallowed and took one cautious step forward.
Then he saw it.
A finger twitched.
Small.
Barely visible.
But enough.
Zealth froze.
The Fallen Celestial King's head lifted by one inch.
A faint golden light opened behind its closed eyelids.
Zealth's mouth went dry.
"Oh shoot."
The system panel above the boss flickered.
Fallen Celestial King
Status: Awakening
The six statues around the chamber cracked in unison.
Zealth tightened his grip on Cinderbrand, torn tunic shifting in the cold air, no armor left to protect him from whatever came next.
The king's eyes opened.
Gold burned in the dark.