Chapter 233

After a long hike through tangled woods, the land finally opened up into a small, unassuming valley. The entrance was just a dark, circular cave mouth in the side of a grassy mound. Vines, thick as a man's arm, framed the opening. A weathered wooden sign, carved in simple letters. NAZAS DUNGEON.

It certainly didn't look like the seat of great power or a fountain of riches but exactly like what it was reputed to be: a humble little hole for wet-behind-the-ears adventurers.

"Behold!" Joric declared, his voice echoing across the valley. "The Nazas Dungeon! The best place for newbie adventurers to find their glory… and their first bit of gold!" He stretched his arms out trying to to embrace the entire area, his pack almost tumbling off shoulder.

"Get down, you idiot!" Vana hissed, yanking on the back of his leather vest hard enough to almost send him toppling backward. "You're a professional for fuck's sake! Don't make yourself a target. What if an archer decides to test his range on that big, shiny forehead of yours?" She tugged him off the ridge and into the cover of the trees.

"Relax," Joric said, shaking her off with an indignant huff. "The monsters in there are very weak. Goblins, slimes, maybe a lightning wolf or two if we're unlucky. It's a cakewalk. I told you, I cleared this dungeon dozens of times back in the day. It's practically a second home."

"I know, I was with you on three of those dozen, remember?" Vana snapped back, her voice acidic. "The time you manly ass got ambushed by a flock of goblins and screamed like a little girl? Ring any bells? Your ego is writing checks your skill can't always cash."

She gave his back a final shove for emphasis, sending him stumbling forward a step. He sighed, the dramatic wind taken out of his sails, and looked at the dungeon entrance with a bit more sobriety.

He drew his longsword, the blade was well-used but clearly well-cared for. "Alright. Let's not waste any time then. The dungeon won't wait. Gold doesn't grow on trees."

He strode confidently toward the dark entrance. Vana followed, her hand resting on a small wand tucked into her belt. Her husband was a pain in the ass, but he was her shield. Her job was to stay behind, sling spells, and keep him alive long enough for him to protect her. It was an understanding they’d forged over many years of adventuring and arguing. It was their way. And they were, once again, stepping into the dark to seek their fortune.

The moment they stepped inside the dungeon mouth, the world changed. It was not the cold, stinking damp of a cave they remembered. The air was humid and warm, carrying clean, earthy scent.

"Not stinky like I recall," Joric commented, his nose twitching. It was just… wet. Like a greenhouse.

"And no monster corpses or dust or even cobwebs," Vana added, her eyes scanning the unnaturally clean stone corridors. It was bare, as if it had been swept and washed that very morning. "It feels inhabited. Sterilized. It's wrong."

"We'll be careful," Joric grumbled, though his earlier bravado had evaporated. "Stay close to me. Don't want to lose my wife in a low-level dungeon. The lads back at the tavern would laugh me out of the damn place."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm not a porcelain doll anymore," Vana shot back, kicking the back of his heel. "Now get moving. The sooner we see this stupid core or owner, the sooner we can leave."

"Wait," Joric said, his hand held up while he slowed his pace. His voice had lost all its earlier playful swagger. "I see something." He pointed down the T-junction at the end of the corridor. "Shadows. Moving."

As they got closer, their boots making soft, sticky sounds on damp stone, the forms resolved themselves. They were not shadows. They were figures. Big, bulky figures.

"Is that… a hobgoblin?" Joric whispered, his sword gripped so tight his knuckles were white.

"And there are two of them," Vana said, hand flew to the wand, her body already tensing to cast a shield. "This is not a fucking newbie dungeon. It's a goddamn hellhole."

The information they'd been given was not a rumor but a death warrant. And they'd just walked right into it.

"We have to go. Now!" she whispered, turning sharply on her heel.

"Shit!" Joric yelled, spinning around to follow. "Did those bastards lie to us? But why?"

They sprinted back the way they came, their only thought was escape. The entrance, their only salvation, was just hundred meters away. But a shape stepped out of an alcove, blocking their retreat.

Vana, running at full speed, slammed right into it. She crashed backwards, tripping and slamming into Joric, sending them both sprawling on the floor.

"Ouch! What the hell..." she wanted to curse before pushing herself up. Then she looked at what had stopped them.

"Damn," she whispered, her face pale with pure, undiluted horror.

Another hobgoblin. This one was different. It was taller and broader, its green skin crisscrossed in old, silvered scars. Instead of the patched leather the first two wore, this one was clad in a crude but sturdy suit of jagged iron plates, strapped over heavy canvas. In its meaty hand, a huge bastard sword rested easily on shoulder like the thing no heavier than a twig.

"Why'd you stop?" Joric grunted, standing up and looking around.

His gaze landed on the new arrival, and his bravery which had made a brief, desperate comeback, was completely extinguished. For a moment, he could only stare.

There was no getting past that.

"Vana! Get behind me!" he yelled, raising his sword.

His wife couldn't move. She scrambled backward, her hands and legs pushing her away until her back hit a wall. "I… I don't think we're going to make it out of here," she breathed, her voice trembling.

Her gaze was locked on the monster before them, a portrait of brutal power. "Even though… even though you're an idiot sometimes… no, all the time… but… you're my idiot, and I… I love you." Her confession was raw, terrified.

Joric pushed Vana behind him in a desperate, final act of protection. His sword felt like a child's toy. His heart hammered against his ribs so hard it felt like it would break. He looked at the giant iron-clad hobgoblin. He saw its small, cruel eyes. He saw the big sword begin to rise in an arc that would slice through his body, then Vana's.

He took a shuddering breath.

This was it.

The final words. The last thing he would ever say to the woman he had spent ten years arguing and loving. He turned his head just enough to look back at her, his eyes filled with aching, desperate love.

"Then it's a good thing," Joric whispered, a bloody-fitting grin on his face. "Because I'm not letting my angel go alone."

The sword reached the apex of its arc and began its deadly descent.

Joric and Vana both squeezed their eyes shut, their hands clutching each other's so tightly their bones felt like they would snap.

The high-pitched, razor-thin whoosh of the sword cut through the humid air.

Time seemed to slow down. A fraction of a second stretched into an eternity.

…clank…

A deafening, metallic sound.

Then…

Nothing.

No pain. No shock of impact. Just a strange, ringing silence.

The duo cautiously cracked open one eye each. The hobgoblin stood frozen in mid-swing. But the bastard sword was not there. In its hand, raised precisely to Joric's eye level for his inspection was a thick piece of leather parchment. On it, neat, written letters.

Joric read it out loud, his voice cracking with disbelief. "'W-welcome t-to Nazas Dungeon! Where Health is a Grind, and Cuisine is a C...crime.'"

"What the fuck?" Vana muttered, her hand raising the wand, ready for a spell.

But the hobgoblin wasn't attacking. It just… standing there, staring blankly forward, a living, breathing statue made of muscle and metal, holding the parchment out for them like a menu. The two other hobgoblins walked up to join him and took up rigid positions.

The air was silent again. But a faint, ethereal melody began to drift through stone corridors. It was calm, almost serene.

Light, the color of warm gold, began to softly illuminate the tunnel, showing the way forward.

And hanging from the ceiling, a little further down along the corridor, was a hand-painted sign that definitely wasn't there a moment ago. An wooden arrow sign pointed straight ahead with the words written below:

RELAXATION ZONE.