Chapter 31
She wanted to name him Brenin, and it breaks my heart she’ll never get to meet him.
…
That kid is growing like a weed, and he’s curious too. I’m not sure how I’ll keep things out of his reach if he keeps getting taller.
…
He’s a kind boy, and you know how hard that can make life for someone young. I keep telling him to stand up for himself, but that’s just not who he is. I don’t know how to help him.
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Brenin told me today he wants to be like me and join the guard. I wish I could explain how it feels to have a son looking up to me like that.
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He takes after me a bit too much, I’m afraid. He’s not made many friends and keeps to himself. I’m worried about what life will be like for him when I’m not around anymore.
…
I don’t recall the last time I wrote, but I wanted to brag: Brenin made guard today. He’s a grown man now, but I still think of him as that kid I held in my arms so long ago. Time does strange things to our minds, doesn’t it?
…
Traveling to Borja to read the letters between Tad and Paulson the Pure felt appropriate, like being back in that place would make me feel closer to my father.
I intended to read them while I sat in the rubble of the bakery where he used to live, but someone had finally bought the lot and cleared what was left of the ashes to make way for new construction.
So I sat on the town wall, looking out over the field where adventurers running the dungeon often camped.
I read every word of every letter while the sun set behind me.
Paulson was right when he said that reading letters felt like a form of resurrection.
I heard the words in my father’s voice as though we were at the kitchen table having a conversation.
His letters were mostly banal updates about life in Borja, as regular letters between friends often were, but that made him feel even more alive somehow.
These weren’t heirlooms or last words. These were my father being a normal human living a normal life.
I had never heard him talk about me before, though.
Most of the feelings he expressed in his letters, he told me directly at one time or another, but his relaying those thoughts to someone else gave them more weight somehow, like they became more real because someone other than me knew they had been said.
That person was gone now too. Paulson the Pure bled out while Invia and I consummated our vows. I had her bent over, my dick in her ass, pumping as hard as I could while she watched the life in his eyes go dark.
The Tad in these letters never could have imagined his son killing not just a paladin but a long-time family friend, someone who had visited our home and eaten at our table. He certainly wouldn’t have imagined the scope and scale of the cruelty and degeneracy that I had brought into the world.
Tad loved Brenin. Tad would have hated everything about Byron. He wouldn’t be proud of how strong I had become or how much adversity I overcame. He wouldn’t look upon everything I built and put his hands on his hips to declare, “That’s my boy!”
No, he would weep for how much evil his son wrought. He would think himself a failure as a father.
Because Tad was a failure of a father.
That came to my mind in my own voice. No sorceress whispered that into my ear, and no other person had attempted to convince me.
Tad didn’t prepare me for the world. He didn’t teach me what I needed to find my way when he was gone. Instead, I was dead less than a month after he suffered the same fate. My view of the world, my sense of right and wrong, that was all Tad.
His blueprint got him killed, and it got me killed too. How could he be considered anything but a failure of a father in the face of those facts? The moment I left the nest, predators sank their teeth into me.
I struck a match and lit one of the letters, holding a corner by my fingertips until the wind carried scraps of burning paper into the night.
I didn’t feel anything, so I lit another. And then another. I undid my father’s resurrection one page at a time until I had nothing left to burn, and the emotions I waited for never came. I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t lonely. I wasn’t remorseful.
I was a man burning garbage that was of no use to anyone.
A rival Dungeon Lord has entered your domain. Write a new chapter in the dungeon’s story for 0 DP. All usual rules and restrictions of submitting dungeon chapters still apply.
My heart seized for a moment. Was I being invaded?
Abby appeared before me in my bedroom. “Master, Lord Oliverry requests your presence.”
“Samson’s here in Sanctuary?”
“Yes, Master.”
Based on our last meeting, where Samson cut all ties with me over fears that Abaddon would attack him as well, I hadn’t expected to see the Frozen Fiend again, and if I did, the encounter would not be friendly.
“What was his mood?” I asked.
“Even, Master.”
“Please ask him to meet me in my Sanctuary office.”
Abby bowed and disappeared.
A moment later, I found Samson waiting outside my door.
“It is good to see you,” I said. “Come inside.”
Samson wandered to the window at the back of the room and looked out through the few transparent pieces in the design. “Are you certain you are human? No human would be able to achieve what you have, so much conquered in so little time.”
“I know I was human at one time. I don't know what I am now.”
“You are a Dungeon Lord.”
“I suppose so,” I replied. A demon who opened a conversation with flattery was suspicious. “Are you thirsty? I have human liquors as well as distilled debauchery.”
“Do you have any fresh maiden blood to mix it with?”
“To mix with the distilled debauchery?”
“Yes. The pairing brings out the best notes of each.”
“I'm afraid I wasn't aware of that recipe. I'll remember to remedy that.”
“Whiskey is fine, then,” Samson said.
I went to the small bar in the corner of the room and poured him a glass.
“The succubi are a nice touch,” Samson added after a sip. “Humans and demons alike will enjoy them.”
“Would you like me to send you home with a few?” I asked. “I would be happy to give you such a gift.”
“I must admit I often break my toys. I play too hard with them.”
“How about 30 succubi to start? If you clean your plate and are still hungry, let me know.”
“I accept.”
The grin the demon-in-disguise wore now seemed like sincere sadistic glee.
I didn't want to burn the DP, but I also knew Samson would always see me as a threat.
That would never change because he was a practical demon.
He felt threatened because he knew he should be.
Nothing short of a total fall from grace would change his mind.
I could, however, behave in such a way that made it clear I didn't intend to act against him. A sword in a sheath was no less sharp, but everyone was far more comfortable having it in the room.
If spending some DP eased Samson's mind, I was willing to make that sacrifice.
“While I do enjoy revelry, I also bring information,” Samson said, growing serious.
“I'm listening.”
“The other Dungeon Lords have been whispering. They believe you intend to rob them of their domains next.”
I frowned. “Do they believe you intend to conquer them as well?”
“They do not.”
“You have two dungeon cores. I only have one. Doesn't that make you more dangerous?”
“I have two dungeon cores but only attacked to claim the first. You invaded the Flowst dungeon and killed the Dungeon Lord, not me. I may have two cores, but you have killed twice as many Dungeon Lords. Perhaps even thrice as many. The Spirit of Death has been in hiding since her last meeting with you. Some believe you killed her too.”
“She made the mistake of trying to outfuck me,” I said. “She's embarrassed. Not dead.”
“I do not decide the rumors. I simply share them.”
“Thank you for warning me. In truth, I’m surprised we’re having this conversation at all.”
“Your actions have awakened a powerful demon,” Samson replied.
“His pursuit of your defeat is likely to lay waste to everything in between you and him, and that includes we Dungeon Lords. I have explained our dynamic in generalities and convinced them to consider an alliance. The King of the Abyss is no one’s ally, and he has slain Dungeon Lords en masse before.
You may represent a chance to defeat him. ”
“If the Dungeon Lords work together,” I added.
“Indeed. Assuring them that you do not desire their cores would start such a conversation in a fruitful place.”
A sense of unease crawled beneath my skin. “When last we spoke, you accused me of arrogance and demanded I never speak of you again.”
“An error, I admit. My fear of your enemy clouded my judgment.”
The Frozen Fiend admitting he was wrong? That made me even more uneasy.
“Your hesitation is wise,” Samson admitted. “We made for strong allies, and it is not a small feat for me to admit that I regret my words. I come to make amends so that I might repair our relationship.”
“Thank you for warning me about the Dungeon Lords.”
“I intend to do more than warn. I have convinced the Forgotten One to meet with you to discuss peace. They have not spoken to another being in centuries but would do so for you, at my behest.”
“The Forgotten One?”
“They own the Capital dungeon. As you have learned, adding floors to a dungeon is costly and time-consuming. The Forgotten One has held the core long enough to build 100, an accomplishment that took so long that no one, not even the Forgotten One themself, remembers their name.”
The Grubiit dungeon was level 1,378. At level 1,400, I would unlock the privilege of being able to buy a 14th floor for the bargain price of 14,000,000 DP. I was still about 120,000,000 short of the 999,999,999 I needed to level up to 1,379.
That seemed to be the maximum amount the system could require, and if that turned out to be true, every level from here until the end of time would mean having to earn 999,999,999 DP.
At 100 floors, the Capital dungeon core had to be at least level 10,000.