Gaining Ground

The corpse of the salamander blackened and crumbled away to nothing, leaving behind a large core similar to the core left behind by the salamander when it encountered Dean.

'𝘕𝘰𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘤𝘳𝘶𝘮𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘶𝘵𝘴𝘪𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘣𝘰𝘴𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘰𝘮𝘴, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘣𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘐'𝘷𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘸𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘮𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘢𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘶𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘰𝘯. 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘶𝘱𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘰𝘳𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘣𝘰𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘬𝘦𝘦𝘱 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘢𝘧𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘩 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘶𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘥. 𝘏𝘮𝘮, 𝘐'𝘮 𝘮𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘳 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦.'

Atlas stored the core away and turned to the newly appeared stairway down and bronze chest with the familiar sapling design. The golem kicked the chest open and sighed; the contents were the same as the other bosses it had cleared on this floor, nothing but a few large cores of varying colours. The dungeon seemed reluctant to give it more magic items but could not completely hold back its reward, just as the books in the Library of Worlds told.

The golem was a bit saddened not to get new things but was glad to not become over-reliant on tools, for now at least.

Atlas checked its status; core durability had increased to two-hundred seventeen, showing a one-point increase for each boss it had killed during its mapping of the second floor. It travelled down the stairs and marked its map with the 'Floor 3-L' engraved on the floor of the saferoom below.

'𝘓 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘭𝘪𝘻𝘢𝘳𝘥𝘴, 𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘣𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺. 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘭𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘪𝘱𝘦𝘥𝘴.'

With the map marked appropriately, it went back up and left the boss room, shifting back into speed form to continue mapping the floor. Every time it defeated a boss, more monsters tried to get in its way, and while it couldn't increase its stats, it provided a decent amount of monster cores to fill the spatial ring. Based on what Lager said about the cores the golem threw, it should have quite the fortune by the time it managed to break out of the dungeon.

This made Atlas feel warm; it had always been in debt in its last life. Having things of substance while not owing anyone anything was a great feeling that spurred its interest in hoarding more and perhaps claiming the rights of the dungeon master.

Mapping the layout of the dungeon and testing various theories increased its understanding of how the dungeon worked. While the core might give that kind of information freely upon taking control of it, it never hurt to build a foundation first. Atlas chalked the impulse to learn more up to its better than average work ethic, or ADHD, but that was never a confirmed diagnosis, nor did it know if that was something transferrable to-

*Bang*

'𝘈𝘩, 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘬.'

The scrambled train of thought ended up in Atlas not paying attention and slamming straight into a wall at speed. A few of the thin limbs of the speed form snapped off, and it left a sizeable dent in the wall.

'𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘚𝘢𝘭𝘢𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘴𝘬𝘪𝘯 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘴, 𝘮𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘯.'

Atlas scoffed at its own bad joke and put itself back together; its control over labyrinthine stone was to the point of working with putty, shifting and repairing its own body was a very smooth process compared to when it first arrived. The golem looked around to find that it was in a T-junction. It had crashed into the intersection and startled a pair of adventurers fighting a pair of salamanders.

The golem felt embarrassed for the first time in a long while and awkwardly waved at the small group before running off again. It shook off the unnecessary thoughts and went about its personal quest with gusto.

-⚪-

Asdea Continent, Human Capital Sanctuary

An Elven emissary and his assistant were escorted down the halls of a grand castle by four large knights in extravagant armour.

The hallways were quiet save for the clomping of the heavy armour and the shuffling of the guards posted along the walls offering their greetings to the royal guards, the glances they gave to the Elven emissary and his rather beautiful assistant clearly lecherous in nature.

The Elven emissary scoffed internally, "𝑭𝒊𝒍𝒕𝒉𝒚 𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒔, 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒖𝒅𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒘 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒊𝒓 𝒄𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒔𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒖𝒐𝒖𝒔 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆." He spoke, yet only one person heard.

His assistant sighed, "𝑵𝒐𝒘 𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝑮𝒂𝒐𝒍, 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒂𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝑵𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒄𝒂𝒏'𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒕𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔 𝒂𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒃𝒆 𝒑𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒕𝒕𝒐𝒎 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒄𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒃𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒎," she replied with an innocent tone. Their thoughts were open to each other, Elves of high birth had the gift of telepathy, and though the range was quite short, it helped in diplomacy and many other fields as it couldn't be intercepted by magic.

Gaol nearly stumbled; no matter how often he hears it, he couldn't get used to his assistant's venomous words spoken in such a cheery manner. When he looked back at her, she had the same practiced business smile on her face as if nothing was wrong. He shook his head and kept moving. The royal guards were clearly about to start grumbling about the undue pause.

They soon arrived at a single ornate door with two more of the large soldiers wearing extravagant armour. One of the guards knocked heavily twice, and a voice from within called out, "Come in."

The two elves and their escort shuffled into the room, the four royal guards taking post around the room. The was, of course, gaudy; humans had an obsession with all things glittery and beautiful, which led to conflict with the Elves when slavers continuously hunted them down.

A long table lay in the center of the room with two figures sitting at the other end in rather lavish chairs.

The tall figure spread his hands, "Welcome, welcome, please sit," he bellowed with a rather loud and exaggerated voice.

Gaol and his assistant slightly bowed, "We offer our greetings, King Edward Bridge Dominus XVI," they said while trying to keep serious, just like the humans named the city the royal bloodline had taken an imposing name to try to make themselves seem better than they were.

King Edward was a tall and burly man, even his royal garments couldn't hide the bulging muscles of years of fighting. His grey-streaked pepper black hair was trimmed short and the scars on his face somehow emphasized his ice-blue eyes. The wrinkles on his face showed the man laughed often, perhaps too much. He didn't seem to notice or care they weren't serious and laughed, "Why, thank you, but please just call me Edward from now on, there is much to discuss. Ah, right," the king almost forgot and motioned to the seat to his left, "This is Doffl, acting representative of the Gnomes."

"Huh? Oh! Yes, pleased to meet you, might I ask your name, my lady?" Doffl, the gnomish emissary, had his eyes glued to Gaol's assistant the moment she entered the room.

With a mental "𝑼𝒈𝒉," from her, Gaol clasped his hands together, "Why of course. Introductions have yet to conclude. I am the emissary for the Elves, Gaol Branq of House Branq, and this is my assistant Gloria Earlvine of House Earlvine," he introduced with practiced grace.

Normally, gnomes and elves don't get along well, even worse than humans and elves, or humans and humans. The reason Gloria caught Doffl's eye was that she was something the humans called a 'short stack, a defect that caused her to only grow to the height of a dwarf made many humans and gnomes take an interest in her.

Doffl seemed visibly excited, "A wonderful name, how-" he started but was cut off by King Edward waving his hand and talking in a more serious tone, "Now now, there will be time for chit-chat later, we are here to discuss the war."

The room went quiet, and Gaol nodded, "Of course, the House Leaders have come to a decision."

"And?" Edward stared Gaol down, giving off a bit of pressure.

Gaol did not react, "A war is not in the interest of the Elven people, and thus we will not be participating in your petty squabble," he stated with the dignity of an Elven High-Born.

The room went silent again and the air was tense, but King Edward laughed and shook his head, "A shame really, we've already secured ground on the continent of Grimora."