Chapter 4: Dungeon Crawling with Lunatics

The Crypt of the Undying King smelled like death and bad decisions.

We stood at the entrance where stone steps descended into darkness, the walls carved with ancient runes that probably said something like “turn back now” in dead languages. Cold air drifted up from below, carrying the scent of rot and stale magic.

“Standard formation—Valeria on point, Elara in mid, Seraphina and I take rear. Watch for traps.”

I checked my equipment one last time.

Valeria drew her sword, the steel singing as it left the scabbard, and she grinned at the darkness like it had personally insulted her family.

“Finally, real combat.”

“Stay focused—undead are weak to holy magic and fire, so—”

“I know how to kill things, Rian.”

She walked down the stairs without waiting.

Great, fantastic start. I looked at the other two: Seraphina was examining the entrance runes with academic interest while Elara fidgeted with her healing staff, breathing way too heavily for someone who hadn’t done anything yet.

“Let’s go before she aggros the entire first floor.”

We descended.

The stairs opened into a massive chamber where pillars stretched up into shadow, skeletal remains littered the floor, and torches flickered with sickly green flames along the walls. The whole place screamed “you’re going to die here” in interior design language.

“Movement ahead,” I called out.

Skeletons rose from the ground, their bones clicking and rattling as they assembled themselves, empty eye sockets burning with necromantic energy. They carried rusted weapons—standard undead fodder, easy pickings for any competent party.

We were not a competent party.

“Valeria, quick strikes—aim for the joints, break them fast.”

She didn’t listen.

Instead of efficient combat, she walked toward the nearest skeleton like she had all day. The undead swung its sword, she parried casually, then cut off its arm slowly and deliberately, watching the limb fall.

“Disappointing,” she sliced off the other arm. “You don’t scream, you don’t bleed, you don’t beg.” She kicked it in the chest and bones scattered across the floor. “Where’s the satisfaction in killing something already dead?”

“Valeria! There are twelve more—stop playing with your food!”

“I’m establishing dominance.”

“They’re mindless undead, they don’t have fear!”

She ignored me, moving to the next skeleton with the same routine—dismemberment as performance art. Her sword work was beautiful, precise, and absolutely wasted on efficiency.

“Elara, hit them with holy magic—mass purification should clear the room.”

“Yes, Guild Master!”

She raised her staff and golden light gathered around her. Perfect, finally someone following orders. The holy energy built, about to release in a devastating wave that would obliterate every undead in range.

Then she saw the pressure plate.

Her eyes lit up with that dangerous, hungry light that meant she was about to do something monumentally stupid.

“Elara, don’t.”

“I won’t!”

She stepped directly onto the pressure plate.

Poison darts shot from the walls—dozens of them hitting her from six different angles, burying themselves in her arms, her legs, her stomach.

“Oh! Oh yes!”

Her face flushed crimson as she dropped to her knees, the holy magic dissipating and her staff clattering to the ground. She touched one of the darts embedded in her thigh, pulling it out slowly as dark poison dripped from the tip.

“The toxin burns so good!”

“You’re our healer—stop tanking trap damage!”

“But Master Rian, I need to test my limits! How else will I grow stronger?”

Golden light erupted from her body—high-level regeneration magic closing the wounds instantly, burning away the poison, bringing her back to full health in seconds. Complete waste of mana.

“For Master Rian, I’ll endure anything!” she moaned.

A skeleton shambled toward her while she was distracted and I moved to intercept, but Seraphina was faster. She flicked her wrist, purple magic rippling through the air, and the skeleton stopped with its head turning toward another undead.

“Seraphina, what are you doing?”

“Testing a theory.”

The skeleton attacked its fellow undead, bones clashing as the two skeletons tore into each other with mechanical violence. Seraphina watched with scientific interest, taking notes—actual notes in the middle of combat.

“Stop experimenting and help clear the room!”

“But this is fascinating—look how the necromantic binding responds to conflicting commands. The cognitive dissonance is creating feedback loops in their animation matrices.”

“I don’t care about their cognitive dissonance, just kill them!”

“Where’s your sense of intellectual curiosity?”

She cast another spell and three more skeletons turned on each other. The chamber descended into chaos: undead fighting undead, Valeria slowly murdering her targets, Elara deliberately triggering every trap she could find.

I was the only one actually trying to complete this dungeon.

A skeleton flanked me from the left—I didn’t have a weapon drawn, didn’t need one. It swung a rusty axe and I stepped inside its guard, grabbed its spine and twisted. The vertebrae separated, the whole thing collapsing into a pile of bones.

“Boring,” Valeria called out.

Another skeleton came from the right so I kicked its leg out, watched it fall, then stomped on its skull. The bone shattered—two down, ten more to go. At this rate we’d be here all night.

“Everyone, stop screwing around!”

I grabbed Elara by her collar as she ran toward a suspicious-looking floor tile.

“That’s obviously a trap.”

“Exactly—it might have spikes!”

“You’re not tanking spikes for fun!”

“But—”

“No buts! Cast purification wave, now.”

She pouted but obeyed, and golden light exploded from her staff, washing over the chamber like a tsunami. The skeletons caught in the blast simply dissolved, their bones turning to ash, the necromantic energy holding them together burning away.

Silence fell.

The chamber was clear, piles of ash marking where the undead had stood. It took thirty seconds once Elara actually did her job.

“See? Efficient.”

I let go of her collar.

“You’re mean when you manhandle me like that, Guild Master,” her voice was breathless.

“I wasn’t manhandling you.”

“You grabbed me so roughly, so decisively—you dominated me completely.”

“I stopped you from being impaled.”

“Same thing,” she swayed on her feet.

I walked toward the next corridor, boots crunching on ash, feeling their eyes on my back—all three of them watching, analyzing, probably planning new ways to make my life difficult.

“The next chamber will have stronger enemies—we do this by the book. No improvising, no experiments, no deliberate trap triggering.”

“Understood, Guild Master.”

They said it in unison again.

They were still lying.

We advanced deeper as the corridor narrowed, the walls pressing in, runes glowing with malevolent energy. The air got colder, heavier—the dungeon was alive, testing us, trying to break us.

It clearly didn’t know who it was dealing with.

A portcullis slammed down behind us—classic trap, we were locked in. Stone grinding echoed through the passage as the walls started moving, closing in, a crushing trap that was slow but inevitable.

“Seraphina, can you teleport us out?”

“The walls are inscribed with anti-magic runes—spatial manipulation is blocked.”

“Valeria, can you cut through the portcullis?”

“The metal is reinforced with curse magic, it would take hours.”

“Elara, any ideas?”

“We could let it crush us and see if my healing can outpace the pressure damage?”

“No! Bad idea, very bad idea!”

The walls were three meters apart now—we had maybe two minutes before we became adventurer pancakes. I looked around for a mechanism, a release switch, something.

There.

A carved symbol on the left wall, different from the others. I reached for it but my hand stopped inches away—pressure, killing intent, concentrated and precise.

I turned.

An armored wraith materialized from the shadows, holding a greatsword that pulsed with dark energy. Boss-level enemy, here, now, while we were trapped in a killing box.

“Girls, we have company.”

The wraith swung, its blade cutting through the air with supernatural speed, aimed at my neck—clean decapitation strike, professional and efficient.

I wasn’t there when it landed.

I dropped low as the blade passed over my head—felt the wind, felt the cold emanating from cursed steel. I pivoted, used the momentum, my leg sweeping out and connecting with the wraith’s ankle.

It stumbled.

Didn’t fall, but it stumbled—that was enough. Valeria was already moving, her sword flashing as she struck the wraith’s exposed side. Sparks flew, the wraith’s armor cracked.

“Finally, something that might actually hurt me!” she laughed.

The wraith recovered and swung at her, she parried, and the impact sent shockwaves through the corridor. They traded blows—fast, brutal—Valeria’s grin widening with each strike.

“Elara, buff Valeria—Seraphina, find the release mechanism for this trap.”

They actually listened.

Golden light enveloped Valeria, doubling her strength and increasing her speed as she pushed the wraith back. Meanwhile Seraphina examined the walls with professional focus, her fingers tracing the runes.

“Found it, but it requires a blood sacrifice.”

“How much blood?”

“Enough to hurt.”

“Do it.”

She pulled a knife from her robes and cut her palm without hesitation, blood dripping onto the carved symbol. The walls stopped moving, the portcullis raised, the trap disengaged.

Valeria finished the wraith—her blade found the gap in its armor and she drove the sword through its core. The wraith dissolved into black smoke.

“That was adequate,” she pulled her sword free.

We stood in the corridor breathing heavy, covered in ash and blood and dungeon grime. We’d cleared one floor—maybe two percent of the dungeon. At this rate we’d be here for days.

“Good work—everyone stay sharp. The deeper we go, the worse it gets.”

They nodded.

For once they looked serious, focused, like actual professional adventurers instead of walking disaster cases. It wouldn’t last—I knew it wouldn’t last—but I’d take what I could get.

We moved forward into the darkness.

The Crypt of the Undying King waited for us, and somewhere deep below a dragon slept. This was going to be a long, painful mission.

Just another day at the office.