Chapter 74: A Week Without An Attack

Chapter 74: Chapter 74: A Week Without An Attack

It was to be expected for the first few days after learning of Caelan’s past that Arin would expect an attack at any moment. Every dawn he expected an explosion to greet him, every strange noise made him draw his sword, and every shadow that fluttered between the trees made his Dungeon Sense flare. After fighting off ten Dungeon Masters, surviving Dungeon Master Rage, slaying Zerf and watching Neva vanish into nothingness, Arin knew one simple truth: that peace was never good. However there was no attack. Not on the first day, not on the second, not even on the third. By the fourth day Arin had already stopped sleeping with his sword drawn, mostly.

His body was still recovering from the battle with Neva and although the wounds were healing, the pain in his muscles and the strange sensation in his Dungeon Master Authority never ceased. Arene had warned him.

[Warning.]

[Your physical condition has not fully recovered.]

[Dungeon Master Authority remains unstable.]

[Recommended action: Rest.]

Arin stared at the System message with a mix of annoyance and mild surprise. "You really enjoy telling me to rest, don’t you?" His familiar did not reply. Arin exhaled. He couldn’t really say he disagreed with the warning, so he rested, though that did not mean he stopped training.

One of the first things he did was adapt his training. Prior to the fight with the ten Authorities he had relied heavily on his Dungeon Sense. It had served him well, allowing him to understand the environment, anticipate an enemy’s moves and even comprehend the battlefield’s very structure, but it was not enough against someone such as Zerf or Neva, a fact that Dungeon Sovereign had taught him.

Understanding one’s Authority was not enough; he needed to comprehend its nature, its function, its purpose if he ever wanted to counter it, and it became the focus of his training for the week. Every day Arin trained, not to become stronger, but to gain precision. Saira aided him in physical exercises while Ayan helped him with his control over the Authority. Adnan was often seen sparring with him whenever he had the time, and Mira usually sat nearby, providing first aid and medication when Arin trained too hard.

The first day of training was horrible, the second day was somewhat better, and on the third Arin could maintain a constant Dungeon Perception without straining his body. By the fourth day he could utilize Dungeon Sense whenever he wanted, wherever he wanted, and on the fifth day he discovered something interesting: he could discern living creatures from the structure of the environment. Arin stood in the center of the training ground, eyes closed while the image of buildings, trees and people formed inside his mind.

People and animals were not part of the environment as much as they were part of it, but the distinction was not absolute, and Arin could see the difference between the creatures and the constructs of the Dungeon Master’s will, just as he could see the difference between the various types of wood, stone, metal and cloth. He opened his eyes. "I get it now." Ayan blinked. "What?" "Dungeon Sense is not about perceiving things." Arin glanced at his hand. "It is about understanding what is part of the dungeon." Ayan nodded. "Continue."

Arin closed his eyes again, sensing the settlement, the trees surrounding it and then something else, something beyond the forest, something that did not call itself an animal or a person or even a monster. He opened his eyes. "There." Ayan became alert. "What do you sense?" "There are old dungeon traces around this region." Eldran, who had been observing the training session from a distance, approached. "That is impossible." Arin glanced at the older man. "Why?" "The original dungeon was destroyed centuries ago." Arin frowned. "Destroyed?" "Not completely." Eldran hesitated for a moment. "Changed. Abandoned. Rebuilt in places." Arin narrowed his eyes. "By who?" The answer was not forthcoming, and nothing ever seemed to be lately.

Arin devoted the rest of the week to tracking down this mystery. His obsession with the old dungeon records consumed him. Eldran provided whatever documents he could find: ancient parchments detailing the battles fought within the dungeon, reports concerning the structure of the dungeon, writings of long dead Dungeon Masters and even architects that had nothing to do with Caelan. It all served to deepen Arin’s understanding of the dungeon and eventually confirm a suspicion. Dungeon Masters did not create the dungeon as a home for monsters; they created them as weapons, fortresses, prisons, arenas... but never as a shelter.

This last one, Arin realized, was different. Neva had thought that Dungeon Masters could protect the world, and now he knew that at least one of them had tried. Arin turned another page in the ancient tome. The record told of the dungeon’s original design: chambers for training, walls for defense, shelters for survival, creatures for combat, healing facilities, storage depots, everything made with one idea in mind: survival. Arin stared at the page. "Someone built all of this for them." Eldran nodded. "That Dungeon Master saved countless elves." "Do you know his name?" Arin asked. Eldran shook his head. "No. Not even a title." The remark did not sit well with Arin. The Dungeon Master responsible for constructing the dungeon was a mystery, just as the one responsible for creating Caelan was a mystery. Arin closed the book.

"What happened to the Dungeon Master?" "We do not know," Eldran replied. Arin studied the page. Two mysteries, one of the ancient past and one of the present day. What could possibly link a Dungeon Master, long dead, and a Dungeon Master apprentice, barely more than a child? Arin did not know, but it was a thought that lingered at the back of his mind.

Throughout the week, Arin spent time with the others. Adnan trained with the elven guards, quickly becoming accustomed to their presence and growing fond of their company. Mira continued her work with the healers and was, in turn, accepted as one of their own. Saira was mostly seen sparring with Arin or bickering with him, while Ayan spent the majority of his time poring over ancient manuscripts. As for Eldran, he became fixated with the old records, and each night he returned to the sealed storage room and each morning he arrived with a new collection of documents.

No answers were found as to how Caelan had survived, but in another set of records they found something that was, if not surprising, then certainly thought-provoking. Caelan appeared throughout history, linked to various individuals in positions of power, but never as a king, never as a ruler, never even as an Elven Chief, always at someone’s side, always shadowing them: a Dungeon Master, a True Hero, a military commander, a great leader. Caelan was never in the limelight, but he was always there. Arin frowned at the records.

"He isn’t interested in ruling." Eldran arched an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?" "If he wanted it he would have taken it," Arin said. Ayan glanced up from his book. "What does he want?" "I do not know," Arin answered. Caelan had spent ten thousand years gathering information, capturing Dungeon Masters, stealing Authorities, manipulating Dungeon Sovereign and now he wanted Arin. Why? That was a mystery that no one could solve.

Day seven arrived and Arin woke up earlier than he intended to. He walked outside the settlement and looked at the scene before him. It was morning, the sun filtering through the leaves of the trees and casting patches of light upon the village. Children were playing near the houses, elven guards were patrolling the streets and someone was cooking breakfast. It was an ordinary sight, an everyday scene that should not have set off any alarms in Arin’s mind, and yet it did. Saira approached. "You look strange." "I’m thinking," Arin replied. Thinking was dangerous. "That’s dangerous," his friend said. Arin chuckled.

"Very funny. I’m worried." "Because nothing happened?" "Exactly." Saira sighed. "You’ve become paranoid." "I fought ten Dungeon Masters." "Fair." Arin turned his gaze towards the forest. "I’ve been thinking about something." "What?" "Caelan." Saira’s gaze darkened. "What about him?" "Yesterday I thought that the reason nothing happened was because he was waiting." "And now?" Arin looked at the peaceful settlement. "I think he already got what he wanted." "What?" Saira frowned.

Arin raised his hand. "I’m not saying he won. I’m saying he didn’t need to attack us." Saira understood. Caelan had tested him, seen him face off against Zerf and Neva, watched him unleash the power of Dungeon Sovereign and then, without a single attack, he had vanished. Not even a single person had died, no army of monsters had come marching towards the settlement, and no assassin had slipped in during the night. Nothing. Arin narrowed his eyes. "He was studying me."

A voice spoke from behind them. "Yes." Arin turned around. Eldran was standing a few meters away, a book tucked under his arm. "You reached the same conclusion." Eldran nodded. "I’ve spent the week looking through the old records. Caelan has done this before." Arin turned towards the forest. "What do you mean?" "Disappear. He has appeared in history before and then vanished for decades or centuries." Arin stared at him. "You’re saying he..." "Does it not make sense, that he would do it again?" Ayan came up to the two of them. "What happens after he disappears?" Eldran shut the book. "We do not know." Arin looked at the peaceful village and, for the first time, realized that the past week had not been about resting or rebuilding his strength. It had been a gift, a gift of time, given by Caelan himself: time to recover, to regain control over his Dungeon Master Authority, to learn and to study. And, Arin was certain of it, Caelan knew exactly what he was doing.

A week without an attack did not necessarily mean a week of peace; it could also be a week of observation. Arin smiled. "Fine." Saira looked at him. "Fine?" "If Caelan wants to play games let him play," Arin said. He turned towards the training ground and drew his sword. The blade gleamed in the morning light. "I’ll play his game as well. There is still much I need to learn."