The descent down the third set of stairs since entering the underground waterway marked a clear shift in the floor’s atmosphere. The water channels vanished, replaced by masonry walls and floors spiderwebbed with unnatural fissures. A faint red light leaked from those cracks, pulsing rhythmically like a slow, ominous heartbeat. It was a deeply unsettling space.
The hallway stretched straight from the base of the stairs, ending at a pair of massive, heavy doors. This was the first door we had encountered since entering the dungeon. I didn’t even need my senses to tell me that the source of this rank, malevolent air was right on the other side. This close, the pressure was impossible to ignore.
"Is the core in this room?" I asked.
"Yeah. I’m certain of it," Halfa replied.
Her voice was firm, and the rest of the group seemed just as resolute. No one appeared to be succumbing to the oppressive atmosphere. It was likely the effect of her Song of Soothing keeping us steady.
I threw the doors open with a bang. Beyond lay a space resembling a great hall with a soaring ceiling. Deep within the room, a man dressed in black sat with his back to us.
"Faster than I expected. So, the Destiny God has made his move..."
The man turned around slowly. His attire was reminiscent of a church priest’s vestments. I wondered briefly if even evil cultists had ranks like bishops.
But more than his clothes, something else caught my attention. That old man... I felt like I’d seen him somewhere before.
"Where was it...?" I muttered.
"Oh, I know!" Halfa chirped. "He’s the old man from the dud dungeon!"
『The guy who turned into a frog!』 Shiroru added via thought transmission.
That’s right! Halfa and Shiroru’s memory saved the day. He was the same old man who’d been turned into a frog and nearly crushed by a treasure chest.
"Y-you! You’re those Apostles of the Destiny God from before! Do you have any idea how much your interference delayed my plans?!"
The old man seemed to recognize us as well, and he was absolutely livid.
I hadn't realized I’d been throwing wrenches into his gears all this time, but I supposed our encounter back then must have been the Destiny God's guidance. Though, his letter hadn't mentioned a word about it.
Behind the old man sat an object shaped like a large jar. I suspected that was the source of the Malice leaking into the dungeon. I glanced at Halfa, and she gave a sharp nod of affirmation. That was it—the dungeon core.
"You’re a follower of Garnalava, aren't you?" I demanded. "What are you doing here?"
"I have no obligation to answer you. And yet..." The old man spread his arms wide. "Perhaps conveying Lord Garnalava's will is also part of my duty."
His voice shifted into a slow, lecturing tone, as if he were trying to enlighten us.
"Lord Garnalava intends to establish a City of Death here."
"...A City of Death?"
"A trial ground where abominations overflow and chaos reigns supreme. A city of death where only those who discard cowardice, take up the sword, and trample over the corpses of the fallen may survive. That is the City of Death."
He spoke with theatrical gestures, appealing to us like a devout priest sharing a holy scripture. He was clearly a man of deep faith; it was just a shame that the object of his devotion was the Evil Curse God. From our perspective, it was nothing but a nightmare.
A City of Death... just as I’d feared, he was up to no good. I didn't even need to ask how he planned to achieve it. If they could turn the underground waterway into a dungeon, they could likely do the same to the entire Royal Capital. If that happened, the city wouldn't just descend into chaos. Countless people would die, and the capital would become a permanent death trap where no human could ever live again.
"I won't let you!" Halfa cried.
"The Maiden of the Destiny God, is it? And how do you intend to stop me?" The man scowled at Halfa for a split second before his face twisted into a grotesque smile. He waved his right hand dismissively as he continued. "Your interference was a setback, yes, but the ritual is already complete. You are far too late."
He chuckled, a dry, rasping sound.
"To stop the dungeonification, you would have to destroy the core. But if you do, the entire dungeon will collapse. I have seen to that. The dungeon has already eroded the majority of the waterway. If it collapses now, the Royal Capital will be swallowed whole. More lives might be lost in the collapse than in the birth of the City of Death."
If he was telling the truth, destroying the core wouldn't just vanish the dungeon; it would trigger a structural catastrophe for the city above. Why were they so obsessed with this? What was the ultimate goal of Garnalava and his cult? Whatever it was, it was clearly catastrophic.
Fortunately, thanks to the Destiny God, we had a countermeasure: the Malice Conversion Reactor. I’d hoped to neutralize the man before deploying it, but based on his gloating, we were out of time. I needed to set it up immediately.
Attempting to be as discreet as possible, I reached into my Storage Ring to pull out the Malice Conversion Reactor. I tried to manifest it behind my back to keep it out of the man's sight.
Or so I thought.
"The flow of Malice... it’s being severed?" The man’s eyes narrowed. "I see. You brought a countermeasure."
The moment the Malice Conversion Reactor activated, it began voraciously drawing in the surrounding Malice, causing the flow out of the hall to stall. While it was exactly what we wanted, it also made our trump card painfully obvious to the enemy.
However, there was something odd about the man. Despite his calm, detached tone, his physical movements were strangely grand. His gestures were fluid yet sharp, almost as if he were tracing something in the air.
A cold chill ran down my spine.
"Ressel! There’s something wrong with the way he’s moving!"
"Wait—!" The mage from the Evil-Dispelling Sword party gasped, his eyes widening. "Leader! It’s Motion Activation!"
Motion Activation? I’d never heard of the term, but if a specialist like him was shouting about it, it had to be serious. Could he be casting magic through gestures instead of incantations?
"Tsk! You bastard!"
Ressel moved like a bolt of lightning. He closed the gap in a heartbeat, his sword flashing toward the man. The cultist didn't even attempt to dodge; he took the blow full-on, refusing to break his rhythmic movements. He was prioritizing the magic over his own life.
The man’s hands didn't stop—until they suddenly froze in mid-air.
"Guh... haha... hahahaha! Too late! I’ll have to burn through the stored Malice, but if it means crushing you all here, it is a small price to pay!"
Ressel’s strike was a mortal wound, yet the man’s final spell was a success. As his body collapsed, a massive magic circle erupted across the floor. It was enormous, covering nearly half the hall. It had clearly been laid there in advance, waiting for the trigger of his motions and the fuel of the Malice.
The light from the circle rippled like the surface of a disturbed pond. Then, something began to tear its way through the center of those ripples, manifesting bit by bit.
Twisted, gnarled horns and glossy black scales. Its presence was so overwhelming that it felt like the air itself had turned to lead. Just the sight of its majestic, terrifying form was enough to paralyze us, even before its sharp gaze could pierce our souls. It was a member of the race hailed as the strongest in this world.
This magic circle was a Dragon Summoning Circle!