Chapter 68: Closed Door

Lyza left the dungeon with a smile so wide that Zion could still picture it even after she disappeared beyond the entrance.

He watched the empty tunnel for another second.

"Brotherhood..."

Apparently, that was something he would need to think about later. For now, several notifications had been waiting patiently at the edge of his awareness since the fight ended.

Zion opened the first one.

[New Feature Unlocked: Basic Reforging]

1

[Allows basic equipment repair, enhancement, and improvement.]

His attention immediately shifted toward the enormous collection of junk sitting in his dungeon inventory. Rusty swords, bent daggers, damaged leather armor, cracked shields, old boots...

Enough cheap adventuring equipment to stock a very disappointing weapon shop. Zion had collected most of it from defeated adventurers over the past several days and barely knew what to do with any of it.

"Reforging?"

That could actually be useful.

He opened the feature briefly and found several options involving repairing durability, combining materials, improving quality, and modifying existing equipment.

His interest grew. Then he remembered something else.

His attention shifted back toward Floor 3. Four members of the Brotherhood had been defeated, and not one of them had dropped a cloak.

He had been quietly hoping at least one would leave something useful behind. Their robes survived acid, resisted tearing better than most ordinary clothes, and were apparently comfortable enough to wear while jumping down enormous shafts.

Instead, the defeated adventurers had vanished with everything important still attached to them.

"They must have some kind of protection on their equipment."

Maybe a binding skill. Maybe an enchantment. Whatever it was, Zion had gotten nothing.

He sighed.

"Looks like I’ll have to buy my cloak myself."

His attention shifted toward the Dungeon Store, and it only took a few seconds to find the item again.

[Grief]

The black robe appeared in front of him. It looked even better the second time.

The velvet-like fabric absorbed most of the light around it while metallic purple stitching ran along the edges. The falling birds embroidered near the sleeves somehow looked even more dramatic now that he was actually considering wearing it.

Zion looked down at himself. A skeleton wearing a crooked crown and sitting on a stone throne. No clothes.

"If someone actually reaches me, I should at least look like a Dungeon Lord."

That was reasonable. Very reasonable.

He ignored the fact that the robe cost as much as unlocking Floor 5 and focused on the purchase button.

[Purchase Grief for 4,000 Essence?]

Zion immediately looked away.

"Yes."

He didn’t want to watch the number disappear.

A soft thump landed against his lap. Zion looked down at the robe resting across his legs and stared at it for several seconds before carefully picking it up.

The fabric was heavier than he expected but incredibly soft. Up close, the stitching looked even more detailed. Purple metallic thread formed thin patterns along the cuffs and collar before spreading into the falling birds he had noticed in the preview.

"This is really nice."

Zion stood and draped the robe around his shoulders. The fabric settled over his skeletal frame almost perfectly. The robe covered most of the exposed bone beneath his ribs, while the long sleeves hung neatly around his arms.

Even stranger was the faint warmth that came with the robe. Zion rubbed one sleeve between his fingers. "I didn’t know skeletons could feel warm."

He turned once, then again, watching the fabric move around him. It looked good too. After another few seconds of admiring it, Zion suddenly stopped and looked down at the robe.

"Wait. I don’t even know what this thing does."

He had purchased it almost entirely because it looked good, and that realization made him slightly uncomfortable.

Zion sat back down and reopened the item page.

[Grief]

[Quality: Rare]

[Effect: Hidden by Grief]

[All personal status information is concealed from external appraisal.]

[Secondary Effect: Makes the wearer a little sad.]

Zion stared at the description.

"Sad? Makes the wearer a little sad?" His hands immediately moved toward the robe. "I don’t want to be sad."

Then he paused. Nothing felt different. He remained seated for a while, waiting for some wave of sadness to hit him, but even after a full minute, nothing happened.

"Maybe it doesn’t work on skeletons?"

After waiting a little longer, he decided that was good enough.

"Either way, as long as I’m not sad."

The status concealment was actually useful too.

If adventurers eventually reached him, they would not immediately see exactly how weak he was. Maybe they would assume the skeleton sitting on a throne in expensive black robes was significantly more dangerous than reality.

Zion adjusted one sleeve. "That alone might be worth something."

A notification from the Dungeon Network appeared. He opened it and found the Bone Zone chat active again.

BoneCollector and RotKing were arguing. Of course they were.

BoneCollector: Skeletons don’t need flesh hanging off them to look intimidating.

RotKing: That’s because you have no appreciation for texture.

BoneCollector: Rot is not texture.

RotKing: Spoken like someone afraid of a little decomposition.

Zion glanced at the messages before remembering Lyza. He hesitated for a moment, then started typing.

SkeletonLordZion: Is it normal for an assassin organization to adopt one of your floors as a training facility?

The chat stopped.

Then—

BoneCollector: What?

A moment later:

GraveMom: Congratulations?

He was not entirely sure it was something worth congratulating.

RotKing: Start charging tuition.

Zion laughed.

SkeletonLordZion: I’m serious.

BoneCollector: How does that even happen?

SkeletonLordZion: They came in. Four of them. I thought they were thieves or maybe a cult.

RotKing: That’s already promising.

SkeletonLordZion: They dismantled almost every trap on Floor 3.

BoneCollector: I hate them. There’s nothing more annoying than the trap dismantlers.

SkeletonLordZion: Then my roaming boss hunted them through the maze and defeated three.

GraveMom: That sounds better.

SkeletonLordZion: The fourth one killed the boss and then yelled that she wanted to bring the rest of the Brotherhood here to train.

Several seconds passed.

RotKing: Oh.

BoneCollector: Brotherhood?

RotKing: I’ve heard adventurers mention them before.

SkeletonLordZion: You know who they are?

RotKing: Not really. I don’t pay much attention to surface politics.

RotKing: Some kind of assassin group. Thieves too, maybe. People talk about them like they’re dangerous.

Another message appeared.

RotKing: Pretty sure they have branches all over the continent.

Zion lifted his fingers to his chin.

"Branches?"

That sounded much larger than he expected.

SkeletonLordZion: So I might have accidentally turned Floor 3 into an assassin training ground.

GraveMom: It happens.

SkeletonLordZion: It happens?

GraveMom: In my case it wasn’t specifically assassins.

GraveMom: One of my early floors had a large amount of rare medicinal flora. I spent far too much time making the ecosystem diverse because I liked how it looked.

GraveMom: Eventually aspiring apothecaries started using the floor as a testing ground for ingredient identification and harvesting.

GraveMom: Sometimes people decide what a floor is for regardless of what you intended.

Zion looked toward Floor 3. That was apparently true. He had designed it to stop people. Then Lyza looked at the collapsing floors, poison gas, hidden blades, Shadow Panther, and nearly lethal pits and apparently thought: Excellent training facility.

Zion sighed. "As long as they don’t try to kill me."

He could tolerate it. Even if watching them dismantle his traps was going to hurt every single time.

Another message appeared.

BoneCollector: Any luck with the Ossuary Knight?

Zion’s attention immediately shifted toward the contract sitting in his inventory.

SkeletonLordZion: No.

He paused before adding:

SkeletonLordZion: But I haven’t really tried anything new yet.

BoneCollector: You’re wasting it.

SkeletonLordZion: I’ve been busy.

BoneCollector: You have an Ossuary Knight contract.

SkeletonLordZion: I know.

BoneCollector: I offered you fifty thousand essence for it.

SkeletonLordZion: And I said no.

A skull icon appeared beside BoneCollector’s next message.

Zion was fairly sure that counted as sulking.

BoneCollector: Fine.

BoneCollector: Are you at least coming to the next Closed Door?

Zion frowned.

SkeletonLordZion: The what?

The chat went quiet again. This silence lasted noticeably longer.

RotKing: Wait.

GraveMom: Zion.

BoneCollector: How new are you?

Zion stared at the messages. He had the uncomfortable feeling that he had just admitted something embarrassing.

SkeletonLordZion: Pretty new?

RotKing: That explains so much.

SkeletonLordZion: What does that mean?

GraveMom: Have you never experienced a Closed Door?

SkeletonLordZion: I don’t know what that is.

Several seconds passed before GraveMom replied.

GraveMom: Once every month, during the full moon, dungeon entrances temporarily seal.

GraveMom: Adventurers cannot enter during that period.

Another message appeared.

GraveMom: Dungeon Lords are also permitted to leave their own territory while the doors remain closed.

"Leave?"

His attention snapped toward the dungeon entrance. The boundary had stopped him every time he tried to push his awareness beyond it. He had assumed that was simply how being a Dungeon Lord worked.

That he was trapped inside forever.

SkeletonLordZion: You mean leave the dungeon?

BoneCollector: Yes.

SkeletonLordZion: Outside?

RotKing: That is generally what leave means.

Zion ignored him.

SkeletonLordZion: Like actually go outside?

GraveMom: Yes.

Zion stood so quickly that the robe shifted around his shoulders.

His thoughts immediately jumped toward the forest beyond his entrance—the trees, the open sky, the dirt road, and all the places adventurers disappeared toward whenever they left his range.

He could actually go there.

Even if only temporarily.

SkeletonLordZion: How long does it last?

GraveMom: Long enough for visits.

BoneCollector: Most of us use it to meet other Dungeon Lords.

RotKing: Or avoid them.

BoneCollector: Nobody invites you anywhere anyway.

RotKing: I am deeply loved.

BoneCollector: By flies.

Zion barely read the argument. His attention remained fixed on GraveMom’s earlier message. Dungeon Lords could leave once every month during the full moon.

Another message appeared.

GraveMom: We usually visit each other during Closed Door.

GraveMom: This month everyone is meeting at my dungeon.

A few seconds passed before the next message arrived.

GraveMom: You’re more than welcome to come too.

Zion stared at the screen. For once, he had no immediate response. He looked toward the enormous stone doors of his throne room, then farther beyond them toward the distant dungeon entrance.

He could actually go outside.

He could meet BoneCollector, GraveMom, even RotKing, and see another dungeon from somewhere other than a forum post.

The world suddenly felt reachable.

Zion looked down at the black robe hanging from his shoulders, then back toward the chat. A grin spread across his face. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t excited.

He was very excited.

SkeletonLordZion: When is the next one?