Re:Crafting in Another World
Chapter 96: Dungeon Crawling

Chapter 96: Dungeon Crawling

Sir Maron Vendal stood at the edge of the small hill that overlooked the narrow mouth of the newly-discovered dungeon. The rising mist clung to the rocks like a veil, thick and slow to move. His grey eyes scanned the forest line, and the mouth of the dungeon beneath, his thoughts far too heavy for the early morning.

Behind him, rows of tents dotted the ground like chess pieces, soldiers moving among them in slow but disciplined fashion. Smoke curled up from a few cooking fires, and the scent of morning rations filled the air. Maron turned as a man in worn but polished steel approached.

"Sir Maron," the soldier bowed slightly. "Provisions have arrived from Fenroth town. Salted meats, dried fruits, iron-tipped arrows, and basic medical supplies. We are still waiting for alchemical oil and firebombs."

"Very well, Captain Rhys," Maron replied, crossing his arms over his breastplate. "Have the rations counted and repacked. Priority to the scouts and the group going into the dungeon."

"Aye, sir."

Another figure jogged toward them—a younger officer, breathless. "We’ve received the orders from Lady Cassandra."

Maron’s eyes narrowed. "Finally. What are they?"

"Explore the dungeon immediately. Confirm the threat level and eliminate any orc presence. Secure the entrance, and map as much of the interior as possible."

There was a moment of silence between them all.

"Two days ago, four adventuring groups entered into that place," Maron said slowly. "And none have returned. If they failed, if they were killed... this isn’t just a threat. This becomes a crisis because they are no ordinary adventeurers."

Rhys looked at him grimly. "Should we prepare for retreat contingencies?"

"No," Maron said, firm. "Not yet. But if we don’t hear anything by sunset today, we start isolation procedures. Notify the Percival Barony Council. The capital will come with chains and boundaries. And when that happens, we lose control."

Within the hour, soldiers were busy readying supplies. Horses were watered, weapons inspected. Maron himself stood with a few lieutenants around a crude wooden table where a map had been stretched.

"This entrance," he pointed, "is narrow. If we need to pull out a force in emergency, we could bottleneck. Have three squads posted here for reinforcement."

"Should we send scouts ahead now, sir?"

"No. We wait for the alchemical supplies. We don’t know if there are traps, or worse."

Whil they were talking, a low rumble echoed from the direction of the dungeon.

All heads turned. Another sound followed, a deep metallic clang, then footsteps.

"Positions!" Rhys barked, drawing his sword.

The soldiers scrambled into a defensive formation, spears and bows drawn. Maron remained still, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

And then, out of the dark mouth of the dungeon... figures emerged.

"What in the name of the Crown..."

One by one, the adventuring groups appeared, blinking at the morning sun. They were clad in unfamiliar armor—dark steel with glowing runes, flowing capes, some even in enchanted leathers that shimmered with faint magic. Their bags were bulging.

The first to step forward was a massive figure clad in blackened plate adorned with a crimson wolf sigil.

"Iron Vow," Rhys whispered.

Then a group of slender figures emerged, almost unnoticed at first, their silent movements like whispers of smoke.

"Moonveil Blades..."

Behind them, a colorful band of mages and warriors, laughing as if returning from a festival.

"Crimson Oath."

And last came the loudest group, dragging crates and barrels filled with clanking glass and glowing crystals.

"Roaring Ash," Maron muttered.

Weapons still drawn, the soldiers hesitated. Maron took a step forward.

"You were gone two days. We feared you dead. Report."

The leader of the Iron Vow, a towering man with a broken spear slung over his back, gave a short chuckle.

"Dead? Hardly. We were... exploring. Sure...there were few challenging enemies...but this dungeon is too good."

A Moonveil Blade tossed a silver helmet at Rhys’s feet.

"This is the most ordinary thing we found in that dungeon."

The Crimson Oath mage twirled her staff, which now pulsed with ruby energy. "We found so many magical stones and equipment made out of those."

The Roaring Ash leader grinned. "This dungeon must be a blessing on humanity."

Maron stepped closer. "And the orcs? What of them? That was your mission."

The groups looked at one another. For a moment, silence as if they had forgotten why they entered the dungeon in the first place.

"There were no orcs," one said.

"Not a single one."

"We thought the others encountered them."

Maron’s eyes narrowed. "You went into a dungeon to eliminate orcs and instead returned laden with ancient equipment and magical riches. Are you certain there were no orcs?"

The Iron Vow leader nodded solemnly. "We scouted deep. Nothing. Just... forest...minerals."

A Moonveil rogue whispered, "Too much minerals..."

The Roaring Ash leader shrugged. "Hey, if it’s a curse, it’s a very profitable one."

Maron didn’t laugh. He turned, gazing at the dungeon again. Something itched at the back of his mind.

But within few days, the news spread faster than wildfire. Within days, tales of the "Treasure Dungeon of Percival" reached every tavern and guild hall. Maps were drawn, mostly inaccurate. Merchants packed their wagons. The sleepy Percival Barony was now the eye of a storm.

Under the shade of a tree near the outer gardens of the Sturgon Academy, Christina leaned back against the bark, her short dark hair catching the sunlight in streaks. In her hands was a letter, creased from many readings.

My dearest Christina,

I hope the weather is kind to you, and that your studies are going well. I miss you dearly. Your father and I talk of you every evening. The flowers you planted last spring have bloomed so beautifully. Stay strong, my lovely daughter. You are brave and kind, and we are so proud of you.

With love always, Cassandra Pericval.

A smile touched Christina’s lips, fleeting and fragile.

"You’d hate this place, mother," she whispered.

Her smile faded. Across the garden, students in elegant uniforms passed by, laughing, whispering. Some cast glances her way. None approached.

She thinks she belongs here?

Ungreatful woman. How long until they remove her?

Can’t beat her in practice. Maybe we find another way. Falsify something. Push her out. Quietly.

She clenched the letter in her hand remembering everything happened to her after she stood up her grounds.

"They don’t bully me anymore," she murmured. "They want to destroy me instead."

Her eyes lifted to the towering spires of the Academy building. She had won every duel. Excelled in every class unlike eariler. But that only made her more of a target.

A gust of wind carried voices.

"Did you hear? Another caravan is heading to Percival. Adventurers everywhere. They say the dungeon is endless."

"Someone found a blade that sings when drawn. Ancient magic they say."

"There’s a girl from here who comes from there, isn’t there? The disgraced barony. I sure hope she won’t think this is because of her family and her."

Christina rose, dusting off her pants. Her eyes burned with quiet fire.

"Let them chase gold. I’ll make sure they remember my name for more than birthright."

She turned toward the Academy.

***

Ka’ra moved like a shadow, careful not to make a sound. Her bare feet glided across the moss-covered ground of the Moonlight Forest, each step light and purposeful. The trees stood tall around her, ancient and watchful. Shafts of moonlight pierced through the thick canopy, giving the woods an otherworldly glow.

She glanced back once. Nothing.

Good.

She didn’t know that Ukar was following her, at least that’s what Ukar thought.

He kept his distance, hiding behind trees and crawling through bushes. His breaths were shallow, trying not to make a sound. His eyes stayed glued to Ka’ra’s form ahead, his muscles tense.

"Why is she sneaking around like this?" Ukar muttered under his breath. "And what is she really up to?"

Ever since Ka’ra suddenly decided to forgive him in front of the entire tribe, something didn’t sit right with Ukar. It was too easy. Too sudden.

She had said, "Now that we are here, we must all work together." She smiled when she said it, but there was something in her eyes that didn’t match that smile. Something cold. Calculated.

The tribe had been confused too. No one believed Ka’ra truly forgave Ukar, not after what he did. And yet, she insisted.

Now, as Ukar trailed her deeper into the forbidden parts of the forest, he started to understand just how wrong things might be.

The Spirit’s Forest, as Ka’ra called it, was said to be sacred. Off-limits. Dangerous.

Ka’ra kept walking. Deeper and deeper.

And then—she was gone.

"What?!" Ukar gasped.

She had been right in front of him, just a few paces away.

But now...

Gone. Vanished.

"Ka’ra?!" he called out, louder than he should have.

Nothing. Just the whisper of the wind and the rustling of leaves.

He took a cautious step forward. Then another.

Suddenly, he stopped.

Something was watching him.

He felt it.

The hairs on his arms stood on end. A deep chill ran down his spine. He slowly turned his head, heart pounding.

Out of the mist, a woman emerged.

She had red skin that shimmered like burning embers, long slightly brown hair that flowed like liquid shadow, and golden eyes that pierced straight into his soul. She was tall, graceful, and terrifyingly beautiful.

"Wh-Who are you?" Ukar stammered, frozen in place.

Normally he would act like the proudful orc he is declaring how he would make this woman his own, but even Ukar understood the difference between power.

She didn’t answer.

Instead, a second figure stepped beside her.

A man. Human.

Or at least, he looked human. He was just as tall as the red-skinned woman, with sharp features and wild green eyes that glowed faintly. He wore a black top without arms, and something about him screamed danger. Madness.

"Ah, perfect," the man said, grinning. "I was hoping we’d get someone this soon."

"W-What do you want? Where is Ka’ra?" Ukar demanded, trying to sound brave.

The red-skinned woman tilted her head, her eyes still locked onto his, as if she was waiting for orders.

"Ka’ra?" the man repeated, amused. "Ah, yes. The girl. She brought you here. How thoughtful of her to trick you like this."

He turned to Ukar and stepped closer.

Ukar tried to move, but his legs wouldn’t obey. It was like he was rooted to the ground.

"You see," the man continued, "we’re in the middle of something very important. A little experiment. Something we call... the Mutator."

Ukar’s eyes widened. "What?"

"Don’t worry," the man said cheerfully. "You’re going to help us. Be proud, Ukar. You’re going to be our very first test subject."

"Test subject?! No! I—I didn’t agree to this!"

The red-skinned woman finally spoke, her voice soft yet cold. "Consent is irrelevant."

Ukar’s heart pounded. He tried to back away, but still couldn’t move.

"Now...now, you don’t have to worry! This will benefit all of us, Ka’ra decided you are the best for this...so you should be proud," His words were almost mocking Ukar, and he knew if he didn’t struggle, it would be his last breath.