Chapter 274: Finding The Dungeon Core, The Memories Of The World of Druids and Spirits

-----

As they continued making their way through the dungeon, taking down giant monsters and exploring the swamps and marshes, Riven could feel it clearly now. The Dungeon Core was close. A powerful pulsing presence of pure mana could be felt from afar, growing stronger with every meter they dropped.

"We’re closer. Get ready."

Once they landed at the very bottom of everything, a vast hall made completely out of thick mud stretched out before them. Everyone looked around in awe and surprise at the strange, organic architecture that seemed almost alive. The walls breathed faintly, expanding and contracting as if the dungeon itself was watching them. Soft, wet sounds filled the chamber as the mud shifted under their feet. Dim green light pulsed through the walls in slow, rhythmic waves, casting long, shifting shadows that made the space feel far larger than it appeared.

"Now..."

Riven pointed his hand forward and touched the muddy walls with focused intent. Soft green light spread from his fingertips as the dungeon recognized his authority. The mud felt warm and strangely responsive under his palm, almost like living flesh.

Then...

FLAAASH!

Bright green runes responded instantly to his presence as a Lord. They raced across the walls in intricate patterns, glowing brighter with each passing second.

His crown as a Lord appeared above his head in a soft glow, and the Sovereign Codex manifested itself into reality with a deep, resonant hum that echoed through the chamber. The sound vibrated in their chests, carrying a weight of ancient power that made even Vladimir straighten his posture.

A long chamber opened slowly, the mud walls pulling apart like living tissue, leading into a wide hall where a green-colored sphere floated in the center. It was the size of a car and pulsed with steady, ancient power that filled the air with thick mana. The light it radiated was soft yet overwhelming, painting every surface in shades of emerald and making the mud walls glisten like wet jade.

"A big one this time," said Vladimir, his voice quieter than usual as he stared at the core. His usual bravado seemed tempered by the sheer presence of the thing floating before them.

"How big is it?" Daniela wondered, staring at the core with wide eyes full of curiosity and a touch of nervousness. She took a small step closer, then stopped, as if the pulsing light made her hesitant.

"It is as big as the Dark Cave Labyrinth, so this dungeon is pretty massive," said Riven, walking forward with measured steps. The ground beneath his feet felt soft and slightly sticky, yet it supported his weight without sinking. Each step left a shallow imprint that slowly filled with murky water.

This time there weren’t any dragons or other guardians hiding here. It was just this solitary core waiting in silence, its green light reflecting off the muddy walls and casting long, shifting shadows across the hall.

Riven extended his hand and, without wasting any more time, touched the Dungeon Core’s smooth surface. The moment his fingers made contact, a surge of pure mana rushed up his arm, cold and ancient, carrying with it the weight of a whole world worth of memories.

FLAAASH!

In that moment, once more, Riven saw memories of the world connected to this Dungeon.

Or rather, the world that this fragment had once belonged to.

It was a world of endless forests, deep swamps, and misty lands, where druids, spirits, and nature lived in harmony and always closely together. Towering ancient trees stretched toward the sky, their roots intertwining with glowing streams of pure spiritual energy. Soft moss covered every stone, and the air itself seemed to breathe with life. In the deeper wetlands, thick mists curled around twisted mangroves while bioluminescent flowers floated on dark waters. The entire landscape felt alive in a way that modern worlds rarely did — every leaf, every drop of water, every breath of wind carrying a quiet awareness.

Among them there were large congregations known as the Druidic Circles. The Circle of the Moon worshipped the Moon Spirit Goddess under silver light that bathed their sacred groves each night, their rituals performed in perfect silence beneath the full moon. The Circle of the Trees worshipped the very forest and its dozens of deities, treating every leaf and branch as sacred, their gatherings held in the heart of ancient woodlands where the trees themselves seemed to lean in and listen. The Circle of the Sky worshipped the clouds and the blue sky and its great birds, soaring alongside massive avian spirits that carried messages across continents on wings that spanned the horizon. And so on and so forth, each circle guarding its own aspect of the natural world with quiet devotion and strict tradition.

The Swamp Witch was among the most despised of them all. Once belonging to the Circle of Swamps, she had once worshipped an Ancient, Primeval Spiritual Being called "The Spirit of the Land." But her Circle had been destroyed by the others, who were against their practices which included the deliberate destruction and flooding of forests and grasslands so that everything could become endless swamps. What the other circles saw as corruption and desecration, her people had viewed as a return to the primordial state of the world — a world of pure, unending wetlands where life thrived in the murky depths.

This eventually sparked a bitter war between the once peaceful Druidic Circles. Their deities and spirits also emerged to join the fighting, and it became a massive, devastating battle that scarred the land for generations. Rivers ran red with spiritual blood. Forests burned or drowned. The earth itself cried out under the weight of the conflict. Sacred groves were flooded. Mountain shrines collapsed under the pressure of rising waters. The sky spirits clashed with the swamp spirits in storms that lasted for weeks, while the tree spirits and moon spirits found themselves forced to choose sides or be swept away by the chaos.

Ultimately the Circle of the Swamp was vanquished completely, and she survived as its sole remaining member. Hiding within the depths of the Rotting Orchard, she made of that place her personal domain over the long eons that followed. Alone and filled with resentment, she twisted the once-living wetland into a place of corruption and isolation, feeding on the lingering spiritual energy of her fallen kin and the land itself.

The other druids and spirits feared her deeply, and whoever stepped into her domain was quickly taken down by corrupted plant spirits, the Dryad, or plant monsters like the Carnivorous Flowers. Over time the orchard became a place of whispered legends, a forbidden zone where even the bravest nature spirits refused to tread. Stories of those who entered and never returned spread across the remaining Circles, turning the Rotting Orchard into a name spoken only in warning of the great dangers that lurked within such dark lands.

-----