Chapter 19

Thane paused at the mouth of the right tunnel. The stone walls glistened like someone had licked them clean, and faint glimmers of light danced further ahead. The left tunnel mirrored it almost exactly—same damp walls, same creepy vibes—just rotated ninety degrees. He scratched his chin, weighing his options.

"Left is always right in mazes," he muttered. "Not that it matters—I've got a minimap."

He smirked, then stuttered mid-step. Wait a second. He did have a minimap. So where the heck was it?

Time to stop blundering around like an NPC with a head wound and start using what the System gave him.

With the sigh of a man opening his tax software at 11:59 PM on April 14th, he summoned the settings menu. A translucent panel flickered into view, practically covered in digital cobwebs. He hadn't opened this thing since… Oh—nevermind, yesterday I guess? Time was getting weird.

Scrolling through a suspiciously long list of options, he finally spotted it: Minimap.

"Well, well, well," he said, toggling it on like he was queuing up a new movie. A neat little map blinked into the corner of his vision, tracking his movements and shading unexplored areas in ominous fog. It was like Google Maps for murder caves.

Right beneath it was another option, even more shame-inducing: Monster Level Indicators. If there was a System For Dummies book here, he probably wishlist it at this point.

The color-coded breakdown was idiot-proof:

Grey: Trivial

Green: Easy

Yellow: Equal

Orange: Slightly Tough

Red: Dangerous

Purple: Instant Regret

The system even gave him a clinical little blurb about risk thresholds. It read like a textbook written by a robot with a passive-aggressive streak. He dismissed it with a flick—like swatting away a smug mosquito.

He stared at the minimap like a student who showed up expecting multiple choice and found nothing but blank lines—and a teacher smiling like it was personal. Right now, it was about as useful as a brick. Actually, that was unfair to the brick. At least he could bludgeon a goblin with one. Still, bricks could build things—and the map would be useful. Eventually.

With an almost wistful glance back, he left the room. Spa day? Not unless you counted that stew as aromatherapy. Thane shuddered visibly. What came next—a facial peel, where his face actually got peeled off? He shook off the disturbing image, tightened his grip on Mourning, and slipped cautiously into the tunnel.

It wasn't long before his caution finally paid off. Two squat shapes slouched against the wall about forty feet away, doing their best impression of kids caught mid-freeze-tag mixed with a healthy dose of "move along, nothing to see here." The moment Thane closed to within twenty feet, a faint red glow traced their outlines—like knockoff Rudolph decorations from a shady clearance rack.

Thane closed the gap with a burst of speed, his feet barely whispering against the stone floor as he sprinted toward the diminutive figures. Then, in complete silence, he launched himself into the air—a predator diving for its prey.

Mourning swung wide like a boxer throwing a haymaker punch. The first goblin had barely half a second to register it wasn't getting a sequel before it slammed into the wall in a very permanent way.

The momentum carried Thane into a pivot, Mourning arcing back around like a ghoul swinging in for seconds. The remaining goblin had just enough time to blink in confusion before Mourning crashed down like a judge's gavel, sealing its fate with wet finality.

"Two down." Thane smirked.

Of course, violence never went unnoticed in an echo-happy dungeon. Four more goblins spilled from the tunnel ahead, eyes gleaming like toddlers who'd just spotted an unattended snack table.

[spoiler] https://i.imgur.com/lEZHHBY.png [/spoiler]

Thane rolled his shoulders, a slight grin tugged at his lips. Somehow, against all odds, he was actually getting the hang of this. Sure, he wasn't exactly thrilled about the "murdery" part, but there was no denying it: his combat skills had officially upgraded from "panicked flailing" to "intentional flailing." Progress.

Swing. Sidestep. Crunch. Thane moved like a puppy chasing its own tail—eager, a little wild, and full of energy. Mourning spun like it was trying to win gold at the Las Vegas International Pizza Toss-Off—right after someone spiked the marinara. The goblins turned into a Jackson Pollock painting, abstract expressionism with a body count.

He was wiped, but grinning like a raccoon who just found a dumpster full of pizza.

Then he glanced at Mourning.

"You've got moves," he told the weapon. "And now I can't stop thinking about pizza."

A thought struck him. Was there even pizza on Rellex? He really needed to think about something else—that was just way too depressing.

His attention snapped back to Mourning. Could he use it like a nunchuck? He'd never actually hurt himself with it. Maybe it had a soft spot for him. Or maybe it was enchanted with mercy mode for idiots.

Only one way to find out.

He dropped Mourning—just a little—to see if it would hurt. The spiked ball landed squarely on his foot, sending a jolt up his leg. It was like getting a love tap from a porcupine with attitude. He hopped on one foot, swearing he'd try something smarter next time.

Once he stopped hopping, he looked down, half-expecting a spike-shaped hole in his foot. Nothing. He quickly checked his health — zero damage. Encouraged, he lifted his left hand like a fighter getting ready to spar, while his right arm swung Mourning in a wide arc across his chest.

That's when physics betrayed him.

The chain was too long. Mourning whipped around his body, yanking him into a full spin, twirling him like a human mop. He crashed hard to the ground, limbs tangled and dignity thoroughly pancaked.

Flat on his back, he stared at the ceiling and wheezed a laugh. "Okay. Mourning didn't hurt me. I hurt me. Which means some crazy stuff is on the table!"

He sat up, shaking off the fall without complaint. As he turned to continue down the tunnel, a faint glow caught his eye from a narrow side passage he hadn't noticed before. The light pulsed like an impatient heartbeat, drawing him in. Moving cautiously, he approached and found a shimmering portal waiting silently. He paused and frowned, weighing his options.

Stamina at 52%, health untouched. For now, he was a walking bundle of potential violence wrapped in smug confidence. At least for the next hour and a half. That sobered him up quicker than a dad realizing the Wi-Fi is down mid-football game.

He squinted at the portal, then glanced at his map, then back at the portal again like it had personally offended him. It could be a shortcut to the boss, a second floor, or maybe even the exit.

And if it was a one-way trip?

He'd miss the boss fight, fail the quest—and faceplant like a narcoleptic dog chasing a squirrel. Permanently. Yeah, no thanks.

Thane grimaced and looked back down the unexplored tunnel. The smart move was to fully clear the floor, and make sure the boss was dead as a doornail—because if anyone was getting flattened into medieval hardware, it wasn't gonna be him.

"Crap," he muttered. "We're doing this old school."

System: Yes, "crap." Again. Your loyalty to that particular bodily function is touching. Might I recommend diversifying your expletives before I begin compiling a thesaurus on your behalf?

Thane stared at the air like it had personally offended him. Did the system just roast his vocabulary mid-dungeon run? He was hemorrhaging time, had no idea what the portal did, and now it wanted to workshop his dialogue. Somehow, it was weirdly motivating—and he could almost respect the pettiness.

Fine. He'd show the System some originality. Since it cared so deeply, he'd make it a personal mission to offend its delicate circuits. Maybe he'd even chamber a few favorites—like a revolver, but for verbal abuse.

"Don't worry, System. I've still got—" Thane checked the timer. "An hour and a half. Plenty of time to workshop some insul–uh, expletives while I mulch goblins like a woodchipper."

His own words caught up to him. An hour and a half. It tolled in his mind like a death knell.

It was time to hustle.

Thane moved with something approaching confidence—actual, real, honest-to-goodness confidence. Sure, it was mostly fueled by adrenaline and probably not sustainable, but hey, he'd take it. He hoovered up the loot without looking—like speed-cleaning his apartment minutes before a forgotten date showed up. Plenty of time to sort through the junk later, assuming "later" was still on the schedule.

The rough passage began to straighten out—like a drunk trying to walk a tightrope. Wobbly, but deliberate.

Farther in, the cave lost its wild curves, giving way to something more like a crude hallway. Straight lines. Shallow grooves. Someone had definitely taken a chisel to it—just not anyone you'd trust with home décor. Goblin work, maybe? Or some ancient cult with a deeply unsettling love of right angles. Either way, it screamed civilization—at least the goblin-grade kind.

Things were somehow going his way—like pulling gourmet cheese out of a goblin's sock drawer. Horrifying. But hey, free cheese.

Where there were neatly carved walls, there was purpose. Where there was purpose, there was probably some cranky goblin supervisor waiting to ruin his day. Thane tightened his grip on Mourning and stepped into the part of the tunnel that actually looked like it got a half-hearted renovation before the budget ran out. The air grew warmer, thicker somehow, like the anxious hush right before your dentist fires up the drill.

He rounded a bend and went motionless. About twenty feet ahead stood a goblin, back turned, fully distracted by a staircase leading downward. Golden-orange light rose gently from below, a welcoming beacon compared to the depressing "ice-cave chic" aesthetic he'd grown used to.

One goblin. Distracted. Perfect.

Thane lowered himself into a crouch and eased forward. As he approached, the goblin suddenly made a guttural noise of delight and pumped a tiny fist into the air.

Then it started… dancing?

It was an awkward, gleeful little wiggle. Like a kid discovering sugar for the first time.

Thane almost snorted—but the sound caught in his throat.

He closed the distance silently, slipping behind the celebrating goblin like a particularly vengeful shadow. Then, with one fluid movement—probably smoother than he deserved—he looped an arm around its neck, braced its chin, and twisted sharply.

The snap was quiet and precise. Almost polite.

The goblin went limp instantly. Thane exhaled through his nose, relieved to hear no sudden cries of alarm or approaching footsteps. Good. He dragged the body back a few steps and propped it casually against the wall like it had fallen asleep during a particularly dull PowerPoint presentation.

Just in case some other goblin wandered past and asked fewer questions that way.

Returning to the stairs, he crouched low, edged forward, and peered around the corner.

What he saw paused his brain mid-cycle.

The stairwell spilled into a wide chamber. Torches were placed haphazardly like a pyromaniac's interior design project. Thane caught sight of a shallow pit and a writhing snarl of goblins packed tight—like angry sardines with aggression issues. Their shrieking echoed off distant walls he couldn't see.

Two goblins circled each other inside the crude pit, snarling and swinging tiny clubs like unpaid interns in a cage match for dental coverage.

An aggressively enthusiastic mob crowded the pit's edge—jeering, hooting, and brandishing bloody severed bits like they were betting chits. Goblin gambling was apparently a full-body sport.

A goblin fight club. Or cockfighting, but worse. Because goblins.

Thane blinked. He should have been disgusted. And yeah, maybe a little terrified. But right now? It was a golden opportunity like destiny tossed him a softball and dared him to swing.

None of the goblins were watching the stairs. Their weapons lay scattered, or strapped loosely to their belts. No armor. No order. Just a perfect, noisy distraction.

Thane's jaw tightened. If the system was watching, it was about to get some quality programming.

He was done creeping.

"Let's see how deep this goblin hole goes."

Thane grimaced. Yeah, that came out wrong.