Is Cannibalism Wrong?

by Throwaway1971

Yes, yes it is!

AN: Haven't posted something in the threads in a while. Decided to do so for a random reason that I can't fathom. Anyway, enjoy nearly 40k words, am going to play modded Fallout now and cry at my inability to write good fanfiction for the setting. Instead I just have Danmachi filth.

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Summary:

"Good Deeds Done Dirt Cheap,

Dirty Deeds Done Priced Right." - Corvac Vex

Chapter One: The Rotten City

They were like a bunch of rats and starving dogs.

"Give it!"

"It's mine!"

"Fuck off!"

Corvac grimaced at the harsh reminder of this city's nature as he watched a trio of what looked to be boys scuffle within an alleyway. One of them pulled some sort of shank, a piece of sharp rusted metal wrapped in a cloth hilt. The kid promptly started to crudely cut and stab at another boy who screamed in agony and shock, "He's stabbing me! Fuck! He's stabbing me!" The boy cried as he tried to crawl away.

Corvac's eyes met the dying boy's eyes, desperate, pleading. The blade drew an ugly line across his throat, the other boy who sat crouched on his defeated quarry's back heaved in heavy breaths. Then a heavy brick clipped him in the back of the skull, the sharp edge of the stone sending him out of this mortal coil as the last boy now stood victorious over the dead two.

The survivor started to rummage around inside the pants and shirts of his fellow street rats, before scampering down towards Corvac. The boy, who he now could see was a she, nearly tripped in fear as she saw him standing within the shadows of the alleyway's mouth, fear in her eyes as she instinctively hid her ill-gotten gains and bared her new shank and teeth.

"Mine!" She growled as she scampered past him, running into the streets.

Corvac was silent the entire time, his eyes dull to the sights of such a happening. He rolled his shoulder and pushed off the wall he was resting against and moved towards the two corpses. He knelt down and closed the eyes of the two street rats, before standing and exiting to the street.

'Orario…The City of The Gods.' Corvac thought with a bit of sarcasm.

He was out and about today, exploring the city to memorize its landmarks and get familiar with his new home. He was admittedly attracted to the sounds of the scuffle and lurked over to watch what was happening. It was the voices of children that attracted him, less so the violence. He might not be exactly the most moral of men, but if there was an adult within that mess of a fight; he might've found it in him to intervene with gratuitous violence. Although now that he thought about it, those 'boys' could have been a Palum.

He sighed and forced himself not to think about it.

The reason he didn't intervene was that he didn't really care enough to get involved. He might sigh and mope a little bit about what he'd just seen, give worthless respects to two corpses rotting inside an alleyway; but he wasn't about to lose sleep about it.

The Gods and Adventurers all went on about Heroes and Legends; there was no such thing in this city. Can't save everyone in this scum-filled city, and eventually one gets desensitized enough to stop caring about what happens in front of their very own eyes.

Inadvertently becoming a piece of shit themselves in the process…

'That's getting a bit too philosophical for me…' Corvac derailed that train of thought.

He'd been in this city for a good month. Gone into the Dungeon a few times, blooded himself on the kobolds and goblins, yet never went deeper than Floor Three.

Corvac was a Transmigrant. He'd woken up inside this city and wasn't really that much different than those three boys, just less feral and desperate; given his gifts and all, he'd done reasonably well for himself in these few weeks of adapting to his new home.

He had his boons in the form of this reality's power system, known as a Falna. A Godless Falna, which was meant to be impossible or something; but look at him, he had a Falna and no god.

As he walked, he figured he could look at his stats. He had finished a training session yesterday and it'd be good to see how much he'd improved. He took a breath and mentally meditated, a tattoo hidden underneath his black leather jerkin glowing as he took in the information that wormed its way into his mind.

[Status]

Corvac Vex

Level 1

STR: 164 H - 183 H

END: 182 H - 194 H

AGI: 192 H - 198 H

DEX: 279 G - 282 G

MAG: 353 F - 364 F

DEVELOPMENTAL ABILITIES:

-

MAGIC:

Sovereign of Ruin:While this magic is active, all entities -save the caster- within a hundred meter radius are affected by this spell. Those that are, are weakened dramatically with the Strength and Magic statistics falling 300 points. Fatigue becomes exceptionally apparent, and pain flares twice as intensely. Magical weapons and items fail and are drained of their energies, slowly becoming mundane within the radius. All forms of defense, whether they be physical, divine, or magical weaken dramatically within the aura; the Endurance statistic drops a total of 1000 Points, reducing the statistic into lower levels.

"The ruined lord stirs within his castle of entropic desire and the calpa shortens. So dreams the Sovereign of Ruin, he who desires the end of all things, just as he desires an end to his own existence."

Nergal's Rot: Imbues a weapon with the concept of Rot, causing Necrosis to spread rapidly from any wound it creates. Those affected by this curse become a perfect breeding ground for disease, their immune system becoming utterly shot while preventing magical methods of healing to any wounds or diseases. The Enchantment lasts one hour. The Curse lasts a week. The more magic pressed into a weapon, the faster the rot spreads and the longer the effect lasts.

"When the scent of sweet rot lingers in the air, forgive no slight or grievance. Hold your bitterness deep within, and there let it fester. Let it roil and squirm and churn, until you are filled with bile so poisonous that all you touch falls to ruin. Thus shall you serve Nergal best."

Lord of Spores: Releases a cloud of toxic spores that spreads to a maximum of thirty meters. All creatures infected with the spores will be mystically inundated with rapid fungal growth. These creatures will become controlled by a parasitic Cordyceps species and will follow the caster's every command. Abnormal Resistance will resist the toxic effects of the spores, but does nothing against the rapid fungal growth as the fungi merges with their nervous system in an unthinkably agonizing process. The Caster is immune to their own spores. The Cordyceps Servus will continue to spread their spores at a reduced rate by using their controlled host's respiratory system. All Cordyceps Servus, even those of extended generations, are loyal to the Caster.

"Hosted within the recesses of the mind, grow and twist within their rotting flesh."

SKILLS:

Decaying Existence: Damage you take will regenerate at absurd rates, healing fatal wounds in mere seconds. These wounds are not gone, however. Instead they will be delayed through this skill, but over time your body will slowly start to decay. Seek healing methods to avoid becoming an undead husk or pile of dust from accrued damage. Enough sustained damage may rapidly advance the decay and cause enough to kill the user. Poison and Disease do not affect you. You feel pain, but it is not processed as a negative sensation.

Rotten Meat: Foods that are fresh are utterly repugnant to you, while those that have rotted and started to decay become first class meals in all aspects. Eating rotten foods and meats causes you to rapidly regenerate and heal supernaturally fast. Eating the rotten corpses of monsters grants you a dramatic boon to Excelia gain.

The Gift of Growth: So long as you continue to want to grow, you shall do so at an extreme rate.

Monarch of Stagnation: Within a fifty meter radius you project a field that affects all those who reside within it to cease to regenerate Mind. Excelia gain is stagnated by those who are within this field. This affects everyone save for yourself, even allies.

The Black Tongue: When chanting Magic, you whisper in an unknown tongue that grates at the mind of all who hear it. This prevents others from chanting magic who hear your words, lest they cause an Ignius Fatuus. As if an eldritch god is speaking through you, your words are obvious to all that whatever you speak holds foul consequences if let to twist reality. Furthermore, you can now effortlessly chant while moving and will never face an Ignius Fatuus.

The tattoo that was burned into his back took the shape of a rusted cauldron, overgrown with all manner of foul creations. Rotten meat bubbled within the churning boils of the cauldron's frothing rim, while the wrought metal of rust covered iron was etched with images that could only inspire that of utmost plague and pestilence.

Why his Falna took the following theme of disease, rot, and decay; Corvac couldn't even begin to guess. He wasn't even in Nergal's Famila, which led him to believe he was in Nurgle's familia, but with his ability to self-update his Falna…

He didn't know.

What he did know was that he didn't exactly mind the exceptionally powerful Status that he was practically handed.

His two 'problem skills' would be Rotten Meat and Gift of Growth, both of which were…strange.

Corvac had gone to bed one night in an Inn. He remembered eying up a few of the waitresses and was a bit…flustered going to bed.

He'd woken up and done his morning routines, only to find that he'd grown an inch or two downstairs. That and various blemishes and fine details to his body were refined or just gone. All told he didn't exactly dislike what the skill had done to him, but it was very much a subconscious process to which Corvac hadn't a clue how far it would go.

Many people had dumb ideas and thoughts, and so after that he'd practiced well to be satisfied and thankful for the gifts he'd been given; lest he spontaneously mutate himself into a disgusting freak of nature with Body Dysmorphia ruling his life. This 'resolve' only went so far, and everyday he found himself with some new alteration to his body. That extra bit of muscle tone and definition, a slightly lighter or darker tone of skin, the twisting and shifting organization of his dental work that yearned for utmost perfection of symmetrical utopia, the exact length of his limbs being equal in all respects; it was…an experience, to say the very least.

For sometimes the greatest of blessings was to not get what one wanted…

The other problematic skill, Rotten Meat, was less of an issue and more just a cosmetic annoyance. In his satchel resting at his hip he had a massive bottle of alchemical mouthwash that removed the horrible case of bad breath he'd obtained from his dietary needs, which was really the only downside to his diet. His shits were healthy and he felt more energized than ever, his body was growing -although that was more The Gift of Growth working there- into a fine piece of work; all together it seemed fine.

It helped that he could push what counted as 'rotten', as there were all kinds of socially acceptable rotten and fermented foods out there. He used to hate bleu cheese, but now it was his favorite kind of cheese. 'Rot' seemed to have a very loose interpretation with the skill, as technically he was eating entirely fresh decomposers, but when he ate a completely healthy mushroom, it tasted like garbage. A very bipolar skill, all told.

He'd become a bit of an alcoholic lately as well. The stuff tasted like it was the nectar of the Gods. He never got drunk though, as his Decaying Existence prevented him from doing so.

His new enjoyance made him…wary of Soma's stuff, as he was likely far more susceptible to the effects of addiction that those drinks inspired. He could be wrong, but well, never hurts to be safe.

'Now, if only I could sell Magic Stones.' Corvac sighed as he made through the streets of Orario, passing through the crowds as they thinned more and more; until soon he was left on an empty street.

The Churches of the old Religious Quarter of Orario, long since abandoned, were an utter mess. The homeless and dregs of society avoided this place due to one simple fact; disrepair. Daedelus Street was a mess, but it wasn't a health hazard to even exist near one of these listing buildings of old world history. They really should have been scheduled for demolition centuries ago. Now they just existed as ghosts and shadows, creaking and bending with rotten wood and crumbling stone that ever so often collapsed, causing the roofs or some feature inside to break from its own weight.

These places were seen as homes of the Divines, and squatting in them was perceived as being exceptionally disrespectful to this world's culture. Mortals were exceptionally respectful to most Divines, especially ones that were seen as powerful ones. There were limits and lines that were to never be crossed when interacting with a Divine, as when a Mortal died they returned to Heaven. There a Divine could curse them in their next life.

He'd heard some people cursing Palum, stating they were the souls of people who earned the ire of the Gods and were thus cursed to suffer an existence as a lesser race.

For yes, racism existed in this world, and dear lord did it thrive.

At least it was more understandable now, as Corvac himself didn't particularly enjoy the company of Elves, Beast-Kin, and Palum.

Beast-Kin were exceptionally brash and loud, filled with unending energy and were almost always belligerent to a certain extent. Those that weren't were instead shy to an uncomfortable extreme, whispering their words and acting like every movement was one that'd be risen to slap or abuse them. Both of these traits in females, he honestly didn't really mind. But with men…it got annoying, and fast. A bit sexist perhaps, but his opinions were his own.

Elves didn't like people touching them, which was fair. Hygiene in this world was provided for in a number of ways, especially in Orario, but the rest of the world was still firmly within a spread out collage of low to high medievalism. This meant that outside of the single most developed capital in the world; other places were even more filthy than they were within said capital. Which wasn't saying much considering the fact that Adventurers crawled out the Dungeon covered in gore and blood often.

However, the reason behind their extreme aversion wasn't so rational of thought as 'people gross, no cuties', but instead that Elves thought literally every race were unworthy filth undeserving of touching them. The casual arrogance behind the faces of scorn and blatant disdain were annoying to say the very least. That paired with the fact that most elves were well educated by this world's standards, lived significantly longer, none were ugly; and it eventually generated into either a narcissistic asshole, or a reclusive and skittish sheltered fifty-year-old man who was more naive than human teenagers.

Palum, if he could describe them, were the Khajiit of this reality; a race of thieves who had the bodies of children and knew how to leverage that to their advantage. He didn't exactly like thinking about the Palum. He'd much prefer if they were similar to halflings, hobbits, or gnomes; as those races at least had features that allowed one to sorta guess age. Most Palum were eternally young, and never grew any form of facial hair besides peachfuzz. It made him…uncomfortable? He just didn't like the ambiguity of the Palum, made him hesitate too much when interacting with them, and they all played it to their advantage.

He returned from that racist mental dirge of thought to reality, finding that his feet had taken him 'home'. He stood in front of a worn and weathered wooden door that led to the entrance of an old church. Instead of heading inside, Corvac lurked over to the out-of-the-way alleyway and found a rusty wrought iron gate covered with overgrowth. He reached over the gate and unlatched the rusted iron lever keeping the gate locked, letting him into the narrow alleyway. Shutting the gate behind him, he passed by a grapevine wall and the church's own weathered brick, before rounding the corner and gazing at the backyard that he'd been camping inside of.

Behind this church existed a rather well preserved crypt where the ancient dead were interred inside. The Crypt itself was likely far older than the church, as the language used to inscribe names of the dead was unfamiliar to Corvac who only knew English and Kione.

The Crypt itself extended into the underground a decent way, filled with dust and long decayed bones. But, he really just used the entrance for his needs. The inside got too cold and dark, not to mention stuffy which made spoiling foodstuff for his consumption a bit hard. That and using fire and lantern light got old and fast. Sure, he could use a magic-stone based light, but why waste the valuable materials for light when he already had torches and lamps located within and around the tomb.

He'd gone ahead and used the crypt's crenulations as his 'workshop' and dinner table. He slept in one of the crenulations that he'd padded up with bedding. It was very atmospheric when it rained, although winds often blew inside the open air shelter making it rather cold. He'd strung up a line of rope which he'd then hung a few thick sheets to help block winds, and used the various torch holders and candelabras as his heaters.

It wasn't quite the best of shelters, but it was his home. Corvac sat down on his bedding and grunted as he started removing his jerkin and shoes. The stones were cold on his feet, but discomfort and pain didn't exactly register to him as they used to when he didn't have 'Decaying Existence'.

He got up and walked over to where he'd put a bunch of chicken breasts to marinate inside a bucket of wine. Taking the raw chicken out of the wine bucket, he plated it over a hotplate magic item to get searing. The chicken was around five days old and was filled with all kinds of nasty stuff, but he was used to this. Tasted too good to care about the appearance.

He pulled from a hanging sock a chunk of moldy cheese and grated it over the chicken breast, watching the cheese melt over the chicken as he then stuffed it with cordyceps he'd harvested from a few birds he'd infected with Spore. He wasn't exactly the best of chefs for this kind of stuff, but he was learning as he went. Everything tastes amazing anyways, so cooking for flavor wasn't really something he was concerned immensely about.

He feasted on the bird once it was finished cooking, eating somewhat messily before he finished with a strong belch. He fished out one of his many bottles of wine that he then chugged to mask the smell of his breath and the contents of his stomach, before then taking a small swig of his mouthwash that he spat outside into the overgrowth.

Corvac gazed up at the sky and sighed, wondering what to do with his life.

He'd been transmigrated, that was more than obvious. Here he found himself in this city of Gods that felt more like a city of Sin. Granted wondrous powers, given the potential to grow…

'The dungeon calls…' He'd been putting it off. Not afraid, not really. The halls of the Dungeon felt safer than he did up in this city. Down there he had monsters to kill, and the rules of society didn't apply. He could be whoever he wanted, wear or shed whatever masks he so desired.

Up here, he needed to at least pretend to care, to smile and laugh and act like this city wasn't rotten to its core. Filled with greedy people and prideful adventurers who chased glory and gold. Filled with capricious gods who played their games, collected their special little souls and compared the gleam of their polish against another's empty accomplishments.

He'd been here for all of a few weeks, and already he'd 'come sick of it. Yet the Dungeon called, for it was a being that wasn't rife with sickness. It was frank, it was pure. It hated you, it wanted to kill anything that so dared walk its paths. So it spawned its children, and kept on hating. He could respect that.

Corvac personally wanted the power that the Dungeon so offered, as everyday he existed within this damnable city he was constantly reminded how pathetically weak he was. Being poor sucked ass, and it seemed that the only way to not be poor was to become strong; and the only way to become strong was to be rich, which held its own paradox. That being if you were rich and weak, then someone strong would come along to make you poor.

Corvac held his own advantages that allowed him to escape the damnable pay-to-win mindset that most all Adventurers and Gods held, spending millions of Valis on the best over-priced elixirs and weapons that needed repair every dive. The less he said about Magic Weapons the better.

There were obstacles to that desire, however. The most notable being the Guild.

The Guild acted as the overseers to the great game that was played by the various Gods of Orario. They wielded a grand amount of Soft Power, and while they didn't actively watch who entered the Dungeon, they did watch what came out of it, or more accurately; they watched the markets.

Legally they had merely monopolized the Magical Stone market. The reagents, meat, and monster products that Supporters harvested from dead monsters were entirely up to the party and clients who wanted those products. From smiths to alchemists, to chefs and cooks, leather workers and drug cooks; the Guild couldn't watch all those transactions. They tried to, acting as a great intermediary and middleman for Adventurers with their Questing systems, but oftentimes Familias with great renown and prestige were individually approached by clients, while lower level Quests were regulated to the Guild.

This hurt Corvac, as few people actively advertised they were looking for specific Dungeon products, leaving those baser and noobish needs to the Guild where the quality of an Adventurer wasn't important in collecting say, twenty goblin livers.

Without having a God, Corvac couldn't register at the Guild. Which meant he couldn't sell Magic Stones, and without access to great connections; he couldn't obtain any quote on quote quests for him to generate a cash flow within the Dungeon.

He also didn't have a Supporter he could reasonably trust to carry such large loads of supplies.

This left him destitute.

He'd made his living recently by roaming around Alchemy and Mixing shops selling what few goblin, Dungeon Lizard, and kobold ingredients he'd obtained from his first dive -one taken in desperation for that wealth- which generated a decent amount of cash for him to spend on what little he owned; like his leather jerkin and mouthwash.

However, his dull dagger he'd been using to kill Goblins wasn't going to cut it. Obtained off a thug he'd beaten into the ground, it wasn't going to hold up to much more punishment on the Dungeon Monster's unnaturally tough flesh.

He'd had to use Lord of Spores to kill most creatures, creating a small party of monsters to help him fight, but Mind wasn't an infinite resource and he needed a good blade to use Nergal's Rot. The Spell might sound crazy dangerous, but it was only insofar as dangerous as the blade it was cast upon, as he needed to create wounds for them to become infected with rot. This encouraged him to both level up his Strength -something he'd been passively training the past few weeks- and to find a superior knife that could handle extreme punishment.

His ideal scenario was to somehow learn how to make a blade for himself. Try as he might to ignore it, this entire Falna system felt a lot like an RPG; however, the Falna acted in a way that limited those who had it, just as it helped ascend others.

When playing RPGs, crafting systems always attracted him as he enjoyed grinding up the skills and eventually producing a selection of endgame idealized gear. A gearset of weapons, armor, and utility items that perfectly complement a build or playstyle.

This was reality, however, and while he might have an exceptionally powerful build; obtaining the gear for that build was a bit more difficult than crafting a billion iron daggers at a forge and then crafting a legendary weapon.

In Corvac's fantasies, he had an exceptionally deadly set of shortswords, both of which were enchanted with that Mystery ability, while he was some sort of Alchemist or Mixer who produced deadly poisons to lace his blades with those toxins.

This idea and concept was reflected into reality by the Blacksmithing, Mixing, and Mystery development abilities; all three of which would require him to Level Up to gain. Blacksmithing alone would require a dedicated forge and likely him utterly excelling at forging weapons and armor; which would take time and money. As he was now, it was unrealistic. Mixing meanwhile required an education, and those things didn't come cheap inside this shithole of a black company. Lastly, Mystery was all up to RNJesus, as no-one seemed to know how it came to be or how one unlocked it.

No secret knowledge, no fantastical magical abilities to learn; just you have it, or you don't.

It made him wake up from his dreams and snap back to reality once he'd really started investigating the functions of the Falna System. Excellia wasn't EXP, and was instead divided into two separate categories of Low and High. Low Quality Excellia was generated by struggle and threat, with greater amounts of those two things increasing the growth of one's statistics. The Excelia that was gathered was then divided into the various statistics, with those that were used more obtaining greater growth.

High Quality Excellia meanwhile required one to 'Impress The Gods' with a feat, allowing an Adventurer to Level Up, which Corvac struggled to comprehend. He ultimately decided to not care, as he wasn't going to level up until his stats hit the so-called maximum of S Rank, which people said took years of effort for a single attribute.

Other people weren't him with two separate growth enhancing abilities though. In a single dungeon run down to the third floor with a group of ten goblins and seven kobolds hard carrying him, he'd gained more than twelve hundred statistics spread across the board.

Talks with Adventurers at various bars he hung around told him that they'd be ecstatic to see a single statistic crawl twenty five to fifty points per run, with a hundred points across the board being seen as a massive improvement. This was also with people who were at Level One, and thus experienced the full brunt force of the Dungeon and grew faster than those at higher levels who needed to experience harsher tribulations to gain even a few statistics. People who were higher level started seeing that growth peter off, obtaining a total of maybe fifteen to twenty-five statistic points over the course of a week or two of effort and saw such growth as a great victory.

This also discounted things such as injury, burnout, celebration, rest, transit between floors of greater difficulty; at higher levels there existed what Corvac referred to as 'The Wall'.

He called this barrier as such because it was a mixture of Hard and Soft 'caps' towards one's growth. The Hard Caps were that growth slowed down naturally, as one was already a superhuman and finding the glass ceiling of one's abilities was exceptionally harder than when one was weaker and more mortal. Then to even build towards and press against that glass ceiling, they needed to delve deep into the dungeon to find monsters that could give them a challenge; requiring week long excursions and expeditions to be planned out with all the logistical needs to follow.

Lastly, they needed to break through that so-called glass ceiling, which Corvac was ignorant on how to efficiently go about doing. Impressing the Gods was a very nebulous task, and it left one with many unanswered questions.

If having all S Rank stats didn't impress a God, Corvac didn't have a clue what the Falna wanted other than maybe doing some kind of story-book worthy feat. Maybe he could go down and solo a higher level monster, or fight against the Monster Rex solo? Or if the Falna wanted entertainment he could do a three-sixty no-scope triple-back-flip dagger throw to kill a Minotaur?

'I'll figure it out when I get there I guess.' Corvac decided blandly.

He confirmed with himself that he wanted to get involved with Dungeon Running, but also knew that he was kind of screwed when it came to profiting monetarily off that experience.

'On second thought though…'

He didn't exactly need much to get started. Really just a better blade would do, and those while not cheap would be a worthwhile investment. With Decaying Existence, Corvac didn't exactly need to worry about any form of defensive measure; capable of taking literally any form of punishment and coming back with a vengeance to feast on their rotting corpses. This meant that expenses concerning things like Armor weren't truly of his concern or worth his attention. For all he cared, he could dive into the dungeon wearing rags so-long as he had a place to sheath and store his weapons.

Ultimately, he had defense and healing down. Sustenance was brought to him via the Dungeon…

'Yo, crazy idea, but like…what if I lived inside the Dungeon?' Corvac's eyes narrowed at the spontaneous thought.

The Dungeon never really consumed any of the corpses from fallen Adventurers, leaving many of the hallways decorated with their corpses and skeletons. They were usually picked clean by scavengers who got lucky to find such a paydirt, but they usually left clothing and camping supplies they didn't need, like campfires, cooking utensils, extra pairs of clothing, bedding, and so on. It'd be a matter of luck to find weapons, but that would come in time or active hunting of other Adventurers.

Sleep was the largest concern, but Lord of The Spores could solve that. Killing a powerful enough monster would allow him to have constant guards while he took a nap within a low spawn area. He used to have Hypersomnia before being transmigrated, but with Decaying Existence he could sleep on stone and conk out; discomfort and pain not really bothering him anymore and doing wonders for his sleep.

The last issue would be water, but Corvac knew that Monsters had to eat and drink. Monster Pantries were usually filled with small springs that many adventurers used to refill their water flasks on all floors if they dared brave the monsters who called it home; the Water Labyrinth not included.

'Interesting, and feasible, but not for the present once again.' He eventually decided.

Corvac knew that he wasn't powerful enough to take such a course of action. It was also an added fact that the first few floors were usually always being explored by some party or expedition, and having some dude sleeping next to a guardian fungified Dungeon Lizard wouldn't go well. However, at deeper levels the floors became dramatically larger and finding a secluded place to sleep within the Dungeon wouldn't be that hard.

'If I do eventually ever enter conflict with any familia or even the Guild itself though, retreating to the Dungeon wouldn't be a bad idea.' Corvac thought. It was the perfect place to hide and retreat, and with him being capable of updating his own statistics; he'd be getting even stronger inside the Dungeon, and would eventually grow strong enough that any enemy of his wouldn't be a threat.

'A good plan and fall back.' He decided, before turning his thoughts once more to his most troubling issue of money.

He needed to get a good weapon. A blade that would be functional for a long period of time, or at least a collection of weaker blades that he didn't need to worry about being without a weapon in times of danger. Sadly, weapons within Orario were stupid expensive, especially those that didn't tend to break outside of the hands of First Class Adventurers.

Any thought of theft went away, and while he might be capable of scrounging together enough wealth from selling monster parts to various venders; not many were exactly in the market of buying them without putting specific orders for inventory. This wasn't an RPG where vendors would take all his crap and give him a boat load of gold for a bunch of eyeballs. There was a functional economy within Orario, and one that was exclusive to those who were registered to the Guild and its systems of reputation. Without playing the Guild's game, he was shit out of luck on that side of things.

A few business ideas started to race through Corvac's head. The first of which was to act as an accelerated decomposer and to produce quality fertilizer in great bulk. This world couldn't synthesize nitrate for their soils, and so he could act in that stead to jump into a market that seemed to be bountiful.

Sadly, he knew that farming and all of its subsidiaries was a very caged-in and familia owned business, claimed by the Goddess Demeter and her familia. He'd need to join her familia if he wanted a piece of her pie, as it was. That, and he didn't really know much regarding fertilizer and compost, other than it was made out of rotten dead stuff.

He nibbled on the butt of a cordyceps, his brow furrowing as he glanced down at the fungi.

'Lord of Spores…Am I really so limited to just Cordyceps though?'

Corvac stood up and grabbed a few pieces of tarp from his crude bed, laid them out and then opened up his food storage before he started to toss a whole bunch onto the tarp. He could get more by robbing some random alleyway trash heap neighboring a tavern or restaurant.

He drew his dagger and then mumbled out Nergal's Rot, before cutting up the food stuff and causing it to rapidly decay and rot. He then stood up and went out into the field, his hands carving up a bunch of topsoil and bringing it inside to throw onto the foodstuff and cloth.

Soon he'd made a decent mound and brought the four corners of the sheet together to tie it into a sack. He then hung it on the rope he used to create his windscreen. With the bag hanging there, he took his dagger and struggled to poke small holes into it, his knife dull as it was, before stepping back and chanting Lord of Spores.

He consciously altered the spell, willing it to spawn not the default Cordyceps, but instead a spore designed entirely by his imagination.

He was surprised at how easy it was as instead of the normal white spores that were conjured by the spell, instead a gust of slightly bioluminescent pink and purple spores floated over and penetrated into the fabric of the bag. He watched as it trembled, before from one of the slits he'd poked into the bag, a wild and exceptionally vibrant mushroom peaked out. Several more started to poke their way through the bag, with Corvac cutting holes where great growths were occurring before his very eyes.

Soon the bag was barely holding its structure together, and Corvac started to cut and harvest the mushrooms, grabbing one and inspecting it. He shrugged and tossed it into his mouth, cringing at its foul taste as it was horribly fresh -literally just harvested- but swallowed anyway. He went along with his work, mushrooms growing back as he cut them, creating something like an infinite food glitch as he went to town.

Soon he had several hundred ideal and choice cuts of what was quickly coming to him as a hard hitting psychoactive agent. Spots spun inside his eyes as the surroundings shifted into several hundred different colors, many of which weren't those that the human eye could see.

Corvac grinned as he flowed into the trip, sitting down into his resting place and dozing, his body cooling down chemically as he rode the wave; delving into his own imagination as he started to lucid dream vividly, consciously altering his dream through his subconscious desires, conversely communicating with his subconscious, flowing into conversation with his inner voices and darkest thoughts; jerking in and out of self-love and hate, then jolting back into his dreams and passions run wild.

Corvac blinked as he woke up, slowly crawling out of his bed before striding outside and glancing up, finding that it was morning. He was out for…fourteen hours? More maybe, he wasn't sure what time it was when he finished working.

Glancing over to the resting pile of mushrooms, Corvac stared at what to him felt like literal gold. When conjuring the idea for his psychedelic mushrooms, he'd imagined a mushroom that was themed around the concept of the dream. His dreams were filled with combat, the thrill, the fear, the sensation that he'd come to associate with a non-negative pain; liquid fire running through his veins. The subatomic penetration of adrenaline and something more, something of a unique qualia that sent his heart racing and his soul blaring. He imagined each experience would be uniquely tailored to whoever imbibed the mushrooms.

Corvac shook his head, banishing the thoughts away as he focused on the task ahead of him. He had a product now, hell he had an entire line of products depending on how finely tuned he could adjust the effects of his mushrooms. Not to mention potential synthesis into potions. He hadn't a clue how to approach Mixing and Alchemy in this world, but he figured it'd be harder than making his mushrooms into a more palatable rotshake, cowpiss brew, or alcohol.

Regardless, Corvac now stewed on how he wanted to approach marketing. This was keenly important, as if he marketed it as a product from his Magick, then he'd be potentially conscripted into whatever familia that dared try some funny business to get a unique and broad market item under their thumb. Corvac had learned well to never underestimate the inherent greed of this world, and knew that he needed to be careful who he sold his products to and how much he explained in how he made them.

'I don't really need that much money though.' Corvac thought.

He really just needed enough to purchase a knife and blade collection, and maybe a few pieces of cheaper armor and supplies for the dungeon. His knowledge of local economics told him that he needed roughly fifty five thousand valis. He wanted at least three to four blades, which cost around ten to fifteen thousand valis for weapons used by Level Twos, which were the ones he ideally wanted. Supplies would then cost around twenty five thousand if he stacked up on Mind Potions which retailed around ten thousand valis each and he wanted at least two. The last five thousand would be for general supplies, like a canteen or waterskin, a cheap blanket for sleeping in the dungeon, rope, extra clothing and so on.

If he sold his products for say, six hundred valis a gram, which was roughly converted to around twenty USD a gram; then he could quickly meet the target goal. The issue became his demographic and product leverage that could be applied to that demographic.

The…Dreamer's Shroom was a product Corvac would likely try to sell to smiths. However, Corvac didn't have direct inroads or connections to those smiths, and neither did he have the marketing ability or resources to capture their attention. He was alone, and so he needed to find somewhere he could market or sell his products to a demographic that he could reasonably target.

Bars. The answer came to him quickly and he found himself nodding. Adventurers and Smiths alike came to a wide variety of bars, taverns, and inns along the northern district of Orario after work to party among one another. It was also a location where business was often made between those same smiths and adventurers as they drank, hashing out deals and dividing shares of the haul or monster products.

He thus had two large demographics he could target. Smiths with the Dreamer's Shroom, and Adventurers. However, as enjoyable as the Dreamer's Shroom was, it wasn't something that Corvac imagined would be greatly enjoyed in an environment like a rowdy bar or tavern. He'd still sell it of course, but he wanted another product that didn't knock someone out for fourteen hours and sent them to dream land.

Getting up, Corvac once again created another bundle of dirt and foliage, rotting it up with his magic, before casting Lord of Spores. This time, he focused instead on the vibrancy of life, the saturation of colors, the enjoyment of the moment, the thrill and rush, ecstasy and sensation. Curling strands of bright yellow and green mushrooms grew out of the slits inside this bag, and Corvac tossed a few strands into his mouth, crushing them up well into a disgusting tasting mash before swallowing.

His eyes dilated, a giddy smile spread on his face, and he started to laugh and giggle.

…

…

…

Corvac came to within a bed of flowers and fungi. He felt well rested, free and relaxed. His muscles were utterly free, feeling like gelatin and rubber, heavy with relaxation, yet strong with rest and time to recover. He rubbed at his eyes and his jaw dropped when he came to full lucidity.

His backyard was crazy. Massive mushroom stalks grew up into the air, while nets of mycelium crawled up against Orario's massive rampart walls. Giant flowers swayed in the wind releasing plumes of spores that created a dense mist of yellow and red at his feet. Mushrooms and fungi covered every inch of the now increasingly overgrown backyard, breaching into the backdoor and windows of the church with mushrooms peeking out of the stone and woodwork. Hell, he saw a few up in the belltower.

Memory came flooding back to him, and he sighed, relaxing into the bed of warm flowers. He'd gone on a bit of a casting trip with Lord of Spores, creating several hundred new species of fungi that had somehow mutated into flowers too. He'd had a blast though. Every moment was one of creative impulse and happy-go-lucky nonsense, and he'd eventually started to consume vast amounts of Dreamer's Shroom and what he now called Lemonboy.

He was unsure how much time had passed, but he knew it was at least a few days. He remembered exploring a bit of the Religious District, raiding old and rickety buildings and finding casks of ancient wine and spirits within cellars; drinking metric fucktons of the ambrosia, before deciding to try and brew himself a funky mushroom spirit with Nergal's Rot. The enchantment to his blade rapidly accelerated the fermenting process, and in a few hours he had an entirely potable batch of mushroom alcohol.

It was delicious.

And likely extended his trip exponentially.

Corvac stood up with a sigh, cracking his back and glancing down to his clothes. His leather jerkin looked old, hell, every bit of his clothing looked old and worn. He smelt good though, like citrusy rich soils, alcohol, and a funky smell that made him a bit woozy from inhaling. Mycelium networks grew throughout his clothing, with various mushrooms laced into his clothing and hair, his beard having grown and now was woven and braided with all sorts of colored fungi.

'Where did I find a fully intact priest outfit?' Corvac wondered as he picked at the strangely pristine white stole around his shoulders, laced with crimson red mycelium. Threading his hand through his hair and removing a grand amount of knotted detritus, Corvac shrugged and stood up, before heading back to the crypt where he found several large barrels of fermenting and aging mushroom grog resting inside, along with a dozen large bags of mushrooms ready for transport.

Corvac smiled, glancing outside at the noon sun. He decided he might as well try and get a taste of what sales he could be expecting.

He picked up a bag that after a quick check inside seemed to be an assortment of all types of his fungi he'd grown. From Dreamer's Shroom, Lemonboy, ZestyZests, Reality Check, Bane of Pain, and Monster's Energy.

Lemonboy was an ecstasy drug that loosened one's mind and made one a giddy child again. ZestyZests from his memories made one horny and very energetic. He might have tried to fuck a hole in the dirt before he'd created Reality Check which was a slow acting detox. While he was on Reality Check though, he'd started sampling a bunch of his Mushroom Grog made out of Lemonboy and Dreamer's Shroom; which got him back on the trip.

Bane of Pain meanwhile was a general pain medication, and lastly Monster's Energy was a mushroom loaded with chemical and magical effects that acted like a souped-up energy drink it was named after.

Slinging the bag over his shoulder, Corvac then used his other arm to lift a barrel of his mushroom grog onto his other shoulder, before heading off into town.

As he reached areas that were populated, people gave eyes to the man wearing old fashioned and practically ancient religious garb indicative of an age long since passed. Yet, their eyes were more drawn to the strange growths that so decorated his clothing and features, the brightly colored fungi a tasteful color and a unique choice of texture and pattern to his clothing.

Soon Corvac arrived at a bar that he frequented. Opening the doors, he saw that he'd arrived before the rush, and so walked up to the counter where he nodded to the owner.

The owner was a dwarven man, elderly and well into his hundreds, and was also a member of the Agni family who reached Level Three before retiring. The man's bushy eyebrows raised, revealing piercing blue eyes that were previously hidden by his rough and deep glower that he kept on as he cleaned out a wooden mug.

"Corvac? You've been gone a while." Satar stated as he set the mug down and pulled out his smoking pipe, stuffing some tobacco into the pipe and giving it a light with a flintstone lighter.

Corvac set his bag of shrooms down at the foot of his stool, before setting the keg down on the counter. "How long?" He asked.

Satar gave a concerned glower, "You don't know?"

Corvac gave a wry grin, "Knocked myself out on some…" His eyes shifted to the pipe in Satar's hand, "Stuff."

The elder's eyebrows raised in amusement, "Kid, I've seen you beat Level Fours with Abnormal Resistance in drinking contents without nary a stumble to your steps. You're saying you found something that can knock you on your ass?"

Corvac grinned and nodded, poking at the lace of mycelium that was grown in his braided beard, "That I did. Brewed it into this keg." His eyes gleamed with foul interest, "Take a shot?" He asked lightly.

Satar hummed at the question, grabbing the keg and flipping it on its side, before leaving to grab some tools. Soon he returned with a hammer and a spout which he hammered into the barrel's lid, before taking out a shot glass from the counter and pouring himself a decent serving of two fingers.

He inspected the deep purple color of the liquid with a queer look. "Kid, this ain't poison is it?" He asked with real concern in his voice.

Corvac grinned, "Not to me it isn't."

Satar deadpanned, "That's not a ringing endorsement." He grumbled, before raising the glass and giving it a sniff. His eyes misted immediately and he stumbled back, spilling a bit of the spirit onto the counter. Satar was silent as he stared into nothingness, before suddenly jolting back into reality and gaping down at the drink.

"By the Gods, what in Tenkai have you brewed lad?" Satar rasped. "Nearly knocked me off my feat from a fucking whiff. Fuck…my visions still…what in Agni's name is this stuff?"

Corvac laughed, reaching over the counter and pulling out his own shot glass, before pouring it to the brim and then knocking it back without even the slightest of reactions. He grinned and opened his mouth, showing his tongue was dyed purple by the liquid. "Mushroom Spirits." Corvac answered.

Satar stared. "Lad." Satar whispered, "Mushroom Beer is one of Dwarven kind's most sacred drinks. It costs hundreds of thousands of Valis to purchase a decent batch."

Corvac snorted, "This ain't beer." He said with a bit of disdain, which drew an exasperated sigh from Satar who knew that Corvac disliked beer. A dislike that lingered from before he'd obtained Rotten Meat, even if when he drank the beverage now it tasted divine. "It's shromeshine, or grog; call it whatever you like. I made it from my shrooms. They're what set me 'on my ass'."

Satar's curiosity was clear, so Corvac reached down and pulled up his bag of mushrooms, dropping it on the counter and pulled out a cutting of each strain. "Try these two. Just a nibble of both." Corvac said as he pushed forward Bane of Pain and Monster Energizer. Bane of Pain looked like someone had taken a heart and veins and woven them together into some twisted ball of flesh, making cutting it a bit of a hassle without creating some abomination that looked like a butchered heart. Monster Energizer meanwhile grew in twisted tendrils of charcoal black and neon green patterns which was easier to prepare and portion.

Satar picked both up with intrigue, but also caution, before shrugging and pushing both together and taking a nibble. He chewed, blinking in shock at the unique taste. To Corvac, he could only taste them when they've rotted, but he knew Monster Energizer tasted like the Monster's Energy Drink it was inspired after, being made into a chewy candy, while Bane of Pain tasted like a slightly citric tasteless marshmallow.

The bartender swallowed and Corvac took another shot of his Grog while waiting for him to experience the effects, to which were immediately apparent as Satar's body tensed and relaxed; a breath of sweet relief being exhaled from the man as he leaned against the counter with lidded eyes. His eyes then gained a spark of energy that straightened his posture.

Satar was previously injured grievously decades ago, and with pain medication from alchemists being horribly expensive; Corvac decided to help the guy out.

Satar met Corvac's gaze, before giving him a firm nod of thanks, "Thank you, Corvac."

"First taste is free. Six hundred valis a gram, buy you're a friend so I'll sell 'em to you for three fifty." Corvac responded without a beat, drawing a grin from Satar.

"Where'd that naive kiddo who strolled in here go?" Satar asked with a laugh. "That's a good deal though kid. Thanks." Satar bowed his head, before glancing over to the cask on his counter. "How strong is this stuff, if you'd estimate?"

Corvac tapped a finger on his chin, getting some estimates. "Level Threes would get hammered to oblivion by a finger, even with Abnormal Resistance. Fours…Maybe one and a half fingers or two. Fives could take a shot and get away with feeling cozy for a bit before the rest of it hits them. I'd say only a Level Seven or Eight could really take this stuff and get away with being relatively 'normal'."

"Sheesh, kid." Satar shook his head. "I know a bunch of fuckers who'd pay top valis for a taste of this stuff. I'll have to dilute it a fuck ton, but that'll still create one hell of a drink."

Corvac grinned, "I got more too. That one there's made out of a mixture of Lemonboy and Dreamer's Shroom." Corvac tapped the two mushrooms in question, "I have other flavors and kegs back home too." Corvac pointed at the cuts of shrooms that the bartender had nibbled on. "The Bane of Pain strain won't be brewed into an alcohol though, but Monster Energizer will. It has a good flavor to it."

Satar inspected the keg, noting its aged appearance. The damned thing looked at least a century old. He then glanced down at the tincture of spirits inside his own shot glass, before sighing. He grabbed Corvac's empty shot glass and poured most of his into it, until he was left with a small pool at the bottom of the glass. Then he shot it back, and his eyes swam with energy and color most grand.

Corvac laughed as Satar drunkenly spun on his feet, nearly falling into his racks of bottles. He leaped over the counter and supported the bartender, before guiding him around the counter and boosting him up to a stool. There the bartender sat, dazed.

Corvac pulled from his bag a handful of Monster's Energy and pulled out a small bowl from behind the counter. He then took out a sliver of Reality Check and ground it over the slivers of Monster's Energy and slid the bowl over to Satar. The man dazedly looked down at the bowl, before he started to snack, his eyes glazing over as he stared at his shelf of bottles, likely experiencing something crazy and intensely personal in his daydreaming state that the mushroom spirit put one in. The fermented combination of Lemonboy and Dreamer's Shroom was a very introspective state where one interacted with the best aspects of their psyche. Lemonboy was designed to be a sort of party drug, while Dreamer's Shroom twisted that hardcore full-tilt ecstasy into something far smoother, but just as intense as it hit the feelings and hard.

The snack plate of Monster's Energy was used as a counterbalance to the intense drowsy effect that Corvac was unable to counterbalance by merely using Lemonboy in the fermentation of the grog.

While Satar was going on his trip, Corvac took up behind the bar, serving the guests who started to stroll in for the noon rush. The trip that Satar had was intense, yet thanks to the dusting of Reality Check on the Monster's Energy bites, he started to come back to lucidity.

Satar stood up from his stool and gazed over at the keg that Corvac's Grog rested in. "By Agni and Gaia." He muttered, "Tis' a holy artifact brought to us by the prophet of brew." He whispered with reverent worship in his tone.

"You say something?" Corvac called over, drawing Satar's attention back to Corvac.

"H-how much?" Satar asked as he walked over with fervor in his voice and posture. "I need, I must have that keg."

Corvac raised a brow, "A hundred thousand."

Satar didn't even blink as he headed to the backrooms and unlocked his safe, drawing out all of his currently available savings of three million valis. Corvac who'd followed him stared with wide eyes as Satar pushed the money towards him. "A hundred thousand, three million; whatever price you want. I need more."

Corvac raised an eyebrow at the dwarf, "Ten." He said in response, voice flat and neutral, but inside he was grinning like the devil himself.

Satar nodded rapidly. "Done." Satar stated easily. "Do you have an account at the Guild I can deposit at?" He asked.

Corvac nodded, as he did indeed have a Bank Account with the Guild, the faction being getting their fingers in any piece of soft power they could reasonably obtain without pissing off too many people. Apparently owning people's money was included in that tolerance. He told Satar his banking number and told him he'll get on brewing what he needed.

"What would you call what you drank?" Corvac asked.

Satar blinked at the question, an intense debate raging inside his head. "Spirits Blood." Satar said softly. "Felt like I was communing with my ancestors, with the old stones in the ground, the jolly spirits of liquor and eternal brew. They were proud." He smiled a true and rare smile, something few dwarves ever did, "They were proud." He whispered.

Corvac hummed, "How about Fading Spirits?" Corvac asked.

"Ah, you were looking for a name." Satar muttered, now realizing why Corvac had asked that question. "Yes, that sounds grand. Fading Spirits. I'll need to contact the glass maker, find a good bottle for them." Satar muttered.

Corvac smiled, "So, you ordered ten of my spirits, how many do you want of Fading Spirits, and how many do you want to be more experimental?"

Satar blinked at that, but then glared at Corvac, "Killing me here with all this choice…five Fading Spirits Grogs, and then five random Grogs."

Corvac hummed at that and nodded, "I'll get back to you soon." He held out his hand to which was immediately taken by Satar, "Pleasure doing business."

"Aye." Satar grinned. The dwarf watched the enigmatic man leave, before returning to the bar and grabbing the keg. He stored it under the bar, keeping a watchful eye on it, as if a thief were to break in and steal his greatest treasure. The day wore into night and Satar waited, waiting until a selection of individuals arrived at his counter.

"Satar!" A massive man with a crimson red beard and a bald head roared with a massive smile on his face. "How you doing, old friend?" Siegard Folksbard, a man from the northern lands of Dragon's Valley, once upon a time a Einherjar of Odin's Familia, and now the Vice Captain of the Hephaestus Famila. A Level Four in his own right, the human man was merely twenty seven years old and was looking to surpass his familia's Captain, Tsubaki Collbrande. Siegard became a regular in Satar's bar, the two bonding over stories as they were both experienced veterans of the North War.

"Good, my friend. Very good." Satar gave a wide smile full of teeth, wild excitement in his voice and expression.

Siegard blinked, before lowering himself to the counter with a concerned demeanor. "Friend, are you well? Where has your grouchy face gone?" He asked with pure confusion.

Satar growled, and Siegard smiled and laughed, "There he is!"

"You should learn to be more quiet, Siegard." A voice came from the man's left, both bartender and smith blinking as they gazed down at a now occupied and formerly vacant seat. "You'll wake the dead with that voice of yours." So spoke Yataro Yomaha, a man from the Far East, a deadly and former assassin who now resides in the Fujin Familia, a semi-nomadic familia, but one that usually resides and revolves around Orario for the challenges that can be found in the Dungeon. He too was a Level Four.

"Yataro!" Siegard smiled and laughed, a massive palm slapping down on the man's back, nearly throwing him off his seat.

Yataro ignored the slap and loud giant, instead gaze at the bartender with a raised eyebrow, "Why are you so happy, old man? You're always so grouchy…" Yataro's brows furrowed, "You're not favoring your left leg." He noted, a firm frown and deep growl echoing from his throat, "You're not on those disgusting medications that hack of a God sells for broke?" The man was referring to the Dian Chet familia, a very infamous familia that was known to hike up the price on pain medication to profit from suffering. Not a good look to say the very least, but one that made them tons of money.

"He doesn't have the glaze in his eye if he was." So spoke the last of their small quartet of drinking friends. Last to arrive was another Dwarf, this one wearing a hooded cloak and on his back a massive crossbow hung. He grunted as he climbed up the stool and sat down, unbuckling several latches and dropping the quiver of bolts and crossbow to the ground with a resounding thud. At Level Five, Selovin Yawevin was the highest level of the group. A member of the Eros familia, Selovin was the Captain and leading expeditioner of the familia and had slain thousands of monsters with his ever evolving and increasingly deadly mechanical contraption of death. "What's the news, old timer?" Selovin Yawevin was also Satar's grandson, the bartender's daughter marrying a fellow adventurer inside the Eros familia and settling down, raising him to become a First Class Adventurer within Orario.

Satar leaned forward, "A month back there was this kid. Human, fresh faced and looked so lost it wasn't even funny."

"'Nother lost soul, huh? Wandering to the winds…" Yataro muttered.

Satar nodded to what Yataro had said and continued, "Guy can drink anyone I've ever seen under the table. Hell, Siegard, you'll remember him. Or…maybe not. You drank a lot that day."

Siegard's eyes narrowed, "You told me you didn't know who he was. I still to this day demand a rematch to retake my pride and wipe away my shame." He said emphatically.

Satar waved his hand at Siegard, "Bah. I hardly know the man. He's an Adventurer alright, but he's tight-lipped about what familia he's in and any personal details."

Selovin piped up, "If a man could drink Siegard under the table and we don't know of him, then it is likely he has a skill of some kind." Selovin commented to nods all around.

Satar continued, "Anyway, he came in today, this morning in fact. Came in dressed in one of those old religious uniforms, white little scarf thing, black garments; the works. Thing is, they're covered in all this fungi and stuff."

"Guy on hard times or something?" Siegard asked with a frown, "My drinking rival should not be in such a slovenly state; especially when sober."

Satar grinned, "Thing was, he wasn't sober. At least that's the vibe I got from his state of dress. He'd disappeared for a while, usually coming by to buy some of the piss water, but he was gone all week. He had with him a sack and a keg, sat them down and we got talking. Apparently, he's something of a cultivator for mushrooms."

Yataro's eyes widened, "He has the wiseman mushrooms?" He asked with nary a whisper. Siegard heard him and his eyes widened.

"I was bested by a Shaman." He muttered, before grinning. "As is only right."

Selovin smiled with intrigued eyes, cunning sparks lighting within them, "You have some of his strains?"

Satar grinned a shit eating grin, bending down and lifting a keg. "I have one better. His grog. All the effects of his mushrooms, distilled down into tastes and flavors that I can hardly describe. We named it Fading Spirits." Satar's eyes shimmered with something bordering on lust and greed, before grabbing three shot glasses and filling them all.

Selovin got the largest with two fingers worth, Yataro the smallest at half a finger, and Siegard in the middle with a full finger.

None made any complaint regarding the portion size, although the precise nature of them had them confused. "Why so rationed?" Siegard asked as he rolled the drink around inside its glass.

"Take a sniff." Satar countered.

The group did so, before they all recoiled, eyes fogging, bones and muscles relaxing, colors and shapes shifting. "Shhiit." Yataro whispered, the assassin had the highest Abnormal Resistance Developmental Ability at G Rank, compared to Selovin's H and Siegard's I, but Endurance seemed to be the key factor in resisting the effects, of which he was lacking.

Siegard stared into the pool of dark violet liquid, before without warning he downed the glass, immediately gazing into nothingness. His eyes roamed the room, finding the hearth of the bar, to which he rose without a word and plopped himself down before the fire; eyes lost in shifting flames. He felt the whispers and touches of ghosts and ancestors long since passed. He heard their roars, their baying encouragement, their raucous laughter at his failures and mistakes, their rueful smiles at his embarrassing moments. He felt his mother's tinkling laughter and touch drift on by as she gave him a smothering and warm hug, and his father's firm hand by the fires of the forge; telling him to never burn himself within its smoldering heat, and then guiding him in the actions of making a simple nail.

The others too had consumed their own share of the liquid, Selovin having rounded the bar and grabbed his grandfather in a tight hug, the old man comforting the boy with a wide smile on his grizzled face. Yataro meanwhile was gazing at his own reflection in the glint of his blade, rotating it as he mourned the lives it had taken, yet celebrated those it had saved.

Then the slumbering effects of the drink hit, and the group of men fell into a drowsy slumber. The bartender dragged them up into the loft, resting them on various pieces of furniture, before as the night died and the last customer left the bar, he took a draught of the liquid himself, and fell into a blissful dream.

The group of men woke come dawn, Selovin humming a joyful and soft song, while Siegard contemplated the flashes of grand inspiration that his dreams had shown him. Yataro meanwhile found himself with an indescribable urge to paint something, the man having no passion, no hobby, no release of creative energy, was inspired with the desire to create without the skills or passion to do so; paradox, yet motivating.

The three left the old man to sleep, but together they made a single collective decision.

"We gotta get more of that stuff."

…

Chapter Two: Rotten Wealth Well Spent

Corvac grinned widely as he took the cash from the Guild Employee. A grand total of three million valis was offered in large denomination coins, ready for him to spend.

Satar was rather quick on depositing the money in his account, especially so as Corvac had delivered the booze via renting a wagon a mere three days after getting his order. It was trivial to make the stuff as while he was experiencing his first high, he'd learned how to control and limit the effects of Nergal's Rot, allowing him to dramatically accelerate the fermentation process.

How that was possible, Corvac wasn't sure, but he theorized that the spell made the liquid his enchanted knife was dunked into an 'ideal environment' for the decomposition process and with yeast being a decomposer…

'Bah, it works, that's what counts.' Corvac thought, disregarding the minuta of the ordeal in him producing the alcohol.

Besides his loosely patented Fading Spirits Mushroom Grog, Corvac had also generated a total of five new types of grog. Fading Spirits was a combination of Lemonboy and Dreamer's Shrooms, and so he'd produced several new combinations by incorporating various ratios and mixtures of Monster's Energy, Lemonboy, Dreamer's Shrooms, and ZestyZests.

A few days of work for a total of three million Valis, something that came out to around a hundred thousand USD which was rather crazy all told. Even then, Corvac knew that he got a bit jipped. Soma sold for millions on the bottle, and that was failed products at that. Without having tried the wine, he was hesitant to compare his own to the Soma's, but the fact that it didn't cause addiction while also being exceptionally unique and having psychoactive effects; well call him arrogant, but he thought his brews should sell for around the same price.

Corvac was also sure that Satar was going to share it around. Not as a product in his bar, but a more private collector's item that was given to friends. Even if limited to those people, he knew that word of mouth would get around and there'd be a market for his products opening up.

While none of his products were addicting, well, chemically they weren't, but psychologically they were, this was an age where psychedelic drugs were far more accepted than the modern era; however conversely they were dramatically harder to get a hold of without living in a native environment where they grew.

Those that Corvac saw as potentially popular if his products ever went public were the ones that were most intense and effective in what they were designed to do. Pain Bane Brewski, Nirvana Smooth, and Amorous Night were the big three. The Pain Bane Brewski was the pain medication, dulling the sensations and sending one on a smooth trip that numb the senses; creating a sensory deprivation effect that dulled overactive sensation. Nirvana Smooth meanwhile was the smoothest trip he could reasonably create, designed with pure ecstasy and feel good energy; the dopamine and serotonin release was likely legendary, and extremely unbalancing chemically. Amorous Night meanwhile was the opposite of Pain Bane Brewski, enhancing sensation instead of numbing it, while also acting as an aphrodisiac in both men and women.

Corvac wasn't sure if he wanted to keep going inside this market he'd only just created, as right now his passion was the Dungeon. While he'd admit the thought of creating a tried and true business and or company surrounding his ability to create wild mushrooms and produce quality alcohol from them had its appeal; his true calling was to become more powerful so that this city of sin didn't swallow him whole. Once he reached that theoretical level, Corvac could then see himself pursuing the business in a more serious and sustained manner. As he was right now, he was too weak to protect himself, too much of a subversive element with his lack of a God; for if someone found out about his many skills and magics, along with his unreal ability to update and keep his Falna active even without a God, then he was straight up fucked.

However, for now that wasn't happening. Right now, Corvac was on a mission to the Industrial District.

He'd changed out of his fungi-ridden priest garb, and instead changed into his old outfit of a leather jerkin and trousers. The first place on his list was actually to obtain a few new sets of clothing, ideally those that could be used sustainably in a combat situation without any clothing malfunctions. This wasn't truly him obtaining a set of armor, but really just him purchasing clothing he could use for everyday use.

The thought of Armor seemed like an unnecessary expense when he was poor, and now that he was rich…ish, well he was more enthused with the thought of having something to protect his poor little internal organs.

With his mental map of Orario, he headed for Babel. Babel, the tower itself was filled to the brim with all sorts of shops and stores; most of which were catered towards Adventurers, but many more were also used to attract and sell to Tourists. However, to even obtain a shop in Babel was to move past being a mere tourist trap; one needed to have actual quality goods to sell them for the prices they do.

Corvac wasn't interested in those kinds of shops, and instead entered the central fantasy elevator and headed to Floor Three.

Floor Three was an Adventurer's Floor generally reserved for lower-tier goods that were sold to Level Twos and Ones, although interspersed within the floor's makeup there were a few other shops that Corvac had eyed when he too had visited the tower. Currently, Corvac was headed for Zalk's Arms.

Zalk's Arms was a very focused Level Two rated store, suited for outfitting warriors with powerful weapons and armor that was suitable for work in slaying beasts like the Minotaur, Ligerfangs, Infant Dragon, and Wyverns.

Corvac entered the shop, immediately glancing around for a weapon that caught his eye. Blades of all kinds, dressed up in all kinds of styles and with ornaments that favored style over form and function were what first put him off to this shop. However, as he came closer to the counter of the shop, he began to see promise in this location's wares.

Blades of traditional or cultural designs were located within the central aisles of the shop, and as he neared the back recesses, he found practical works and experimental ones as well. These fascinated him greatly, and soon he was drawn to a set of blades that drew his immediate interest. For the moment his eyes came onto them, he immediately came to a certain thought.

'Bone Fungi.'

The blade was of blackened bone, carved and warped to be wavy, like the zweihander, sharpened to a pre-natural edge that held with uncanny strength. He brushed his finger against the blade and came back with a small cut against the skin. He frowned. Supernaturally sharp for bone, but nothing compared to the near glass-like blade of -say- a No-Steel or Mythril blade; let alone an Adamantium weapon.

The less said about Orichalcum the better.

He picked the blade up and gave it a flourish. The bandages around the hilt conformed to his hands well, giving him good grip and were tightly bound with just a bit of give to them. To add detail to the weapon, the rough hilt and guard of the weapon was decorated with minute details of skulls. The guard itself was twisted upwards, green scales decorating it, granting it an almost poisoned leaf look.

Tucked behind the blade, only noticed as he removed it, was its sister blade. It was a wavy dagger of the same profile and shape of the weapon. Placed at the base of this 'set' of weapons, was a massive circular mace, designed to be wielded one-handed and was forged out of Black Iron, heavy and dense iron made out of an alloy of lead and iron, hardened by using hellhound fangs as both the dozen spikes and the weapon's Infusion ingredient.

The last weapon to be brought to his eye was a shadowed dagger that looked to be designed for throwing. It had a ring hilt and a shadowed blade, speaking of War Shadow claws being used in its make. A perfect throwing weapon.

He collected the weapons and continued on, soon finding yet another weapon of decent make that caught his eye. It was a simple whip with a green scaled handle and bone laced cords that would strike the enemy. A brutal weapon that joined his cart.

Corvac brought the weapons to the counter where a dwarven man slumbered. He tapped the stone counter, waking the man who blinked. "Hmm, those old things?" The dwarf muttered. "Well. Never expected those to sell. You a collector, lad? Strange thing to be for a human." The dwarf commented.

"Zalk I presume?" Corvac asked.

Zalk nodded, "Aye, I am him. Lookin' to buy those old relics? Wielded once by a friend of my father. Died during the wars with Rakia and the Crozzo burnings. Heard they're waging another offensive here soon. With rumors brewing about the Zeus and Hera familias tackling the Three Great Quests; things are heating up." The shopkeeper looked distressed, the blades bringing back bad memories.

Corvac grimaced fakely, "Let us hope that the Alf Royal Knights hold the line then. Lest their weapons of mass destruction be turned towards us." He tried to give the air of a patriot and someone well keyed into the happenings of a distant war he was entirely uninvested within.

Zalk nodded, "Zeus and Hera would put them into the dirt the moment they barred their blades, but I could imagine someone sneaking such a weapon inside Orario; the devastation would be immense. The loss of lives; greater." Zalk shook his head ruefully.

"Let us move past those dark things," Corvac said with a false smile of empathy.

Zalk smiled, "Yes, let's."

"What can you tell me about the bones in the make of this blade?" Corvac asked first.

Zalk hummed, "I believe they were made from Green Dragon wing bones. Flexible things, further tempered with the fangs and blood of the Green Dragon it was made from. The Infusion is unknown to me, but from my testing I suspect that Dark Fungus Cuttings were infused into the weapon. Lastly, some shamanistic rites of Old Magic were used to infuse some mojo into the blade that I don't rightly believe. It was an heirloom, in truth, and it's just been collecting dust and creeping people out whenever they see a blood stained blade inside my shop. Same as the rest of the weapons."

Corvac restrained any emotion of interest or fascination, instead placing a pretubed look on his face. "What makes you think it is infused with a Dark Fungus? Is the blade poisonous?"

Zalk's eyes darted to Corvac's fungal covered clothing, "Aye, the weapon is incredibly poisonous." He claimed.

Corvac hummed, taking one of the blades and sliding it across his palm. He clenched his fist, grunting falsely in pain as he felt his Decaying Existence repair the damage to his hand. Corvac just raised an eyebrow at the dwarf, acting like he felt no such thing as poison. He didn't, in truth. Immune as he was to poison, but he wanted to see if the dwarf was lying.

Zalk winced at the action, and sighed, "Mildly poisonous. I see you have Abnormal Resistance. A foolish gambit." He capitulated.

Corvac huffed, "Eighty Thousand."

Zalk coughed, "I must say at least eight hundred thousand!"

"Two-Hundred thousand. I'll be doing you a favor." Corvac claimed with a grin ruined by his fungal infected beard.

Zalk grimaced, "Three hundred." He tried.

Corvac nodded with satisfaction. "Deal." He dug out the coinage and tossed it onto the counter. "Sheathes?" He asked.

Zalk counted the coins, grumbling as he did. "You'll need custom work for those blades. I'd say just use a belt."

Corvac nodded and sheathed the blade into his belt. "For the two daggers?"

Zalk hummed, "A hundred eighty?"

"Fifty?"

"Deal." Zalk grumbled again.

Corvac sheathed them into his belt again, tossing the money onto the counter.

"For the whip and mace?" Corvac asked next.

Zalk hummed, "Four hundred for both?" He offered.

"Three seventy five?" Corvac countered.

"Deal."

They shook and with Corvac bundling up the whip and wrapping it into his belt, and then bandaging up the dangerous mace and dropping it into a shopping sack; he continued on with his journey.

Corvac left Zalk's Arms and came to Zelefor's Armory.

He entered the shop with a similar ambience to Zalk's, eyes glazing over flamboyant designs, looking for what fit, and what designs he thought could be refitted.

He soon led himself to a corner that was similar to Zalk's shop; experimental or old items left to the fore.

It was as he was losing hope for this shop, did he find his holy grail. A suit of blackened plate segments, integrated into a set of scaled mail, further complemented by a nearby forgotten about scale greaves. Thrown into a corner was a pitch black tattered cloak that looked to be Infused with War Shadow Essence, further complemented by a tattered wide-ring maille skirt that seemed to just go perfectly with the cloak.

Corvac gathered the items into his arms and hurried over to the counter. The shopkeeper was a human man who raised an eyebrow at the items, quietly going over them and humming; "Five-hundred for the lot. Good deal, if you ask me." The man shrugged.

Corvac nodded without a word of argument, tossing the man his money and skittering out like he'd just robbed the man blind.

With his weapons and armor obtained, Corvac realized that he had enough wealth to actually take a gander at the more mystical side of the Tower.

He skipped over to the elevator and caught it heading to the forth floor. Here he stepped into low-level Magic shops. Prices here were egregious, as he soon found out; with magic items made from Mystery ranging from the millions, to the tens of millions of Valis.

Corvac, however, soon stumbled upon a magic shop that catered not to the average Adventurer, but magic users themselves.

Staves, wands, and other foci littered the shop; along with an odd selection of magic items. Corvac paused in his steps as he found a strange collection of chains, with each chain tipped with a miniature razor-sharp hook. He couldn't imagine this mess of random chains being useful for anything, and the price only confirmed his worries. He picked the mess up and infused his Mind into the chains, not surprised to find that it did nothing. He was about to set it down, when he pulled on one length of the chain; and found that more chains spawned from abject nothingness.

He tested it out and kept pulling, the length of chain he was pulling suddenly longer than his entire arm. His brow furrowed, and with a call of mental focus he directed his Mind into the hook itself; finding that the hook grew larger. He willed it to not be so, and watched as the chain shrunk back to its default; the hook following suit.

'This could be really useful against larger monsters; having a 'hook' or 'harpoon' type attack would be practical against such enemies. Enchanting the hooks with Nergal's Rot would be a no-brainer too.' Corvac thought, taking the hooks into his grasp and bundling them into his hands.

He then navigated the messy shop, soon coming upon a case of necklaces. He hummed, finding nothing of true note; only to pause and gaze into a cloak clasp in the shape of an eye. He pondered the listed price, and picked it out of the case, before continuing on. Corvac didn't know what the eye did, but it looked cool and it was relatively cheap at seventy-thousand Valis.

He then came to the section of magical foci; not interested in the casual wand or stave as he'd be dual wielding a serrated mace and a sword. Corvac frowned as he found not the 'casual wand or stave', and instead happened upon different foci than imagined. He plucked the cheapest one he found, a bundle of goblin skulls bound together in chains.

The moment he touched them, he felt his Mind free itself, no longer as bound to himself as it was previously. With wide eyes, he tucked the skulls into his shopping bag and continued on.

He found nothing more of note, at least until he came to the counter.

There an elven witch, elderly and old read a book; ignorant or uncaring of his coming. He frowned down into the case of glass, several crowns of unknown value and use offered to the observer.

"Excuse me."

The witch opened her eyes and raised an eyebrow at the large amount of items he was off loading onto her desk.

"How much for what I've got?" He asked.

The witch tapped her finger against her counter, "1.2 Million Valis."

Corvac's lip twitched. "How much is that crown inside the case?" He asked, pointing at the one that caught his eye.

It had spooky skulls and looked really edgy. It fits his weapons and armor, so he must have it.

"Four hundred thousand." She said blandly.

Corvac smiled, "What does the amulet and the crown do exactly?" He asked as he started counting out the last few bits of his fortune.

The witch hummed, "The Amulet is a Cursed Object. Made by someone who has the Hexer Development Ability. While wearing the item, any wound within its gaze will have the pain and agony the wound created or creates reflected onto you. The more pain you experience, the more you heal." She sighed, "I've seen men crawl back from the brink of death, spines and skulls shattered onto the dungeon's floor." The witch chuckled ruefully, "Their minds were lost though, broken by the eye." The witch glanced up, waiting to see the young man's reluctance or ignorant lust; only to find a disturbing glee inside the man's eyes, hidden and tightly repressed.

"...The crown." She began, finding it disturbing to an extreme degree as the man's eyes ripped themselves away from the amulet on the counter and focused on her with an intensity that had the ancient elf feel a shiver. "It simply enhances Offensive Support Magics to a certain degree, while granting resistance against curses." She shrugged, a bit of pride infecting her voice.

"Priceless." Corvac uttered. "How, or why is this not priced higher?" He asked, already taking it into his hands as the money clattered on the counter.

The witch chuckled, "Mystery is difficult to price. The items that sell for millions, tens of millions, or even hundreds of millions; everyone has something to gain from such things. A staff, while valuable, tends to only help mages. And a crown that can only assist those with a specific type of magic tends to drop in value due to the niche enchantments it provides." She raised an eyebrow, "After all, not everyone has a million Valis to drop on what to many would be novelties at best."

Corvac's brow furrowed, "How is any of what I've picked up a novelty?" He muttered. "Well, I guess the necklace is. As are the chains. But the goblin skulls are a wonderful focus charm." He said with a proud smile.

The witch furrowed her brows, "Dear, that is my apprentices workmanship, made two decades ago when she was first starting. It is, by far, the worst foci you will ever find."

He nodded, "Yet it is a foci that removes the need to wield a wand or stave, and it is a foci. A horrible foci is better than no foci, as even with such a poor focus; the Mind Efficiency will be greater than without. Especially so for those who are skilled in manipulating raw Mind." He added.

The witch blinked, reevaluating this young human. "..You are skilled in such?" She asked, doubt lacing her voice.

Corvac bobbed his head side to side, "In-so-far as a man learning to use magic on his lonesome, without guidance, education, or sense of safety." He chuckled, "But, in the wise words of Tod, It Just Works." He scooped his things off the counter, not waiting for the witch to jolt out of her horror of what she'd just heard, and skipped out of the shop to the baffled stuttering of the old elf.

Corvac consolidated his items into a single large haversack, before skedaddling out of the Tower and headed straight for his home. It was late by the time he hit the streets, and thankfully the Religious District was devoid of pedestrians and any lurking vagrants looking to get an easy meal. Daedalus was more fit for that sort of thing, and he took roads and paths that were populated even late at night; only leaving them when he had to.

He opened his gate, the creaking metal loud in the silent night of an empty district; soon he headed for his crypt and gently placed his bag of spoils worth roughly three million Valis. He placed the bag to the side for now, skipping over to a small bronze cauldron that was steadily simmering over a hot-plate powered by magic stones.

He squatted down and took a whiff of the liquid, smiling with glee as it smelled exactly how the product he'd purchased smelt.

He grabbed an empty alto flask of wine and gently started to pour the Mind Potion into the flasks, creating five and a half total flasks.

'Knew buying those books from old Thoth was worth it!' Corvac cheered mentally, taking an errant sip of the mind and smiling as it tasted neutral -like water- to him. Not rotten, but not fresh either; just different.

Corvacc had decided to bite the bullet and try his hand at Mixing, wanting to at least try to figure out creating potions; as that'd be a useful skill to have, and it might give him a Developmental Ability he could grind.

Healing Potions were initially going to be his lord and savior, Decaying Existence requiring healing lest he become a zombie or a pile of dust. Healing Potions and consumable rations of rotten food would be his lord and savior, and with his Amulet of Agony acting as a further source of potential healing -dependent on if Decaying Existence countered the amulet's curse of Agony- he felt it was only practical to have as many sources of healing within the Dungeon as possible.

Corvac put the potions away, knowing that they were going to slowly spoil and left them without a cork to do so. Mind Potions that were spoiled were toxic to an extreme degree, leading to agonizing headaches and migraines that could last for weeks if not months if ingested. Corvac was interested if there was a potential boon to him consuming rotten potions, although he wasn't looking forward to being proven wrong for once.

He then directed his attention back to his armor and weapons.

Corvac started to rifle through the items, and then started getting dressed and fit into his new gear.

He stripped out of his old fungi-coated frock and stripped down to just his long-johns, long-socks, and long-sleeved T-Shirt. He was from the far north-west, and heating was expensive. He wore this sort of clothing to go to bed, as sleeping with too many blankets got stifling.

Corvac then threw on a previously obtained gambeson that he'd scavenged off a thug that jumped him within the Dungeon. Over that he put on his segmented plate and chain armor, then the maille skirt, and over that his cloak. He clasped the cloak with the Amulet of Agony, placed the Crown of Curses over his head, and then started to organize his belt with his multitude of weapons.

He took a deep breath, and held both his mace and sword; feeling strong for the first time in a long time.

It was but an illusion of safety, but it was a feeling that he took great comfort within.

Corvac then glanced down at his multitude of weapons.

In the Dungeon, the few times he'd gone, he'd learnt much of the dagger and blade. While he proclaimed himself no master, adept, or even a passable apprentice; he was no novice of the dagger. However, the same couldn't be said for his multitude of other weapons.

His whip, his magical chain meat-hooks, his throwing knife, his bastard sword, his mace; duel wielding both of the weapons. And then unifying all of those weapons into a cohesive fighting style. Not to mention his magics, as casting magic within the dungeon was a trying feat.

However, Corvac wasn't even concerned with the lack of skill he so professed. For he had one overarching Skill that invalidated all forms of worry about his skill issue.

Gift of Growth.

Corvac had gone into the dungeon around three or so times. He was an absolute civilian who could barely cut tomatoes with a kitchen knife. A dungeon Goblin was a deadly threat to a hardened civilian who had a weapon. An unarmed man would stand no chance against a dungeon Goblin, such was the creature's strength, speed, and durability. The Falna's base blessing at I Rank statistics and 001 stats granted enhanced a mortal man beyond their natural physique; even if just slightly. Corvac might not be the paragon of skill and technique, but he could wield his shitty dagger comfortably three floors deep inside the Dungeon.

It sounded like nothing, but it was a feat unto itself when taking into consideration his origin. A man from Earth who has never seen combat or ever expected to see it, transported to this shitty black-company of a setting. He was ninety-percent certain that this world was some Light Novel he'd never gotten around to reading; some social commentary about the working conditions of Japan or some other such crock.

Corvac sighed, pushing those flaming thoughts away and instead focused back on his conundrum of skill.

With the Gift of Growth, Corvac could go from being a complete and utter noob; to being a moderately competent user of a weapon within a single dungeon Dive. In three, he could call himself decent. In five? Skilled. In ten? A professional. Fifteen? An expert. Twenty? A master.

Harder fights meant more learning curves, more challenge meant more growth, and more growth meant more skill and stats. More stats meant more physical ability to experiment, finding new ways to leverage his physical might with advanced skills only usable by superhumans. The Gift of Growth was utterly broken, and was likely his strongest skill. If he could only choose one skill of his to have; then he'd likely choose Gift of Growth such was its busted nature.

Corvac took his intimidating figure in, lacking a mirror to truly inspect himself, he did notice something that he'd forgotten in hindsight. Grieves, or boots; along with suitable trousers that weren't just his long johns underneath a mail skirt.

Rolling up his long johns into something resembling shorts, Corvac couldn't help but chuckle at his hairy legs and short-cut boots. If he found himself some pointed toe shoes, then he'd look like the stereotypical Evil Wizard. Rolling his long-johns back down, Corvac inspected the remaining amount of his wealth.

The cauldron, supplies, and book for Mixing had taken roughly the remaining amount of his wealth. He was now broke once again with barely a few coins to his name; roughly ten thousand Valis to his name. A total of three-hundred and thirty dollars from three million. Such a rate of expenditure showed just how much money Adventurers made, as his current kit was something a Level Two and beginner level three would rock.

'That'll put a target on my back for those looking to rob me.' Corvac mused.

As he was right now, Corvac doubted that he wanted to use the full kit within the dungeon. It drew too many eyes and too much attention. The edgy armor, the fine -if old and strange- blades; there were a dozen and a half reasons for him to not want to use his armor as a fresh level one who couldn't defend himself from a Level Two on hard times who might want his dagger or sword.

The Dungeon was a free-for-all-zone, and while certain factions would hold their peace within the Dungeon; one never knew when they'd run into someone who woke up and decided to choose violence. Or their greed for easy gear and money overwhelmed their non-existent moral fiber.

However, Corvac also wanted to use his weapons and armor to their fullest potential, as that was the only way he could reliably grow; using his weapons and armor within active combat zones, fighting for his life and being pushed towards using certain weapons.

With a dower frown, Corvac decided that he'd be using his weapons and armor despite the cons in attracting negative attention. He could only hope that he didn't attract the attention of a higher level opponent than him. To help with that, Corvac drew from memory the pathways and maps he'd seen within the Guild of the first few floors. Corvac decided that he'd be delving deeper than he'd previously gone. He'd be aiming for the tenth floor, which was where Orcs and Imps spawned.

With his target in mind, Corvac got up from his thinking and started to get even more prepared. He picked up a haversack filled with jars and other containers for storing and preserving alchemical reagents; it was relatively cheap for what he'd obtained, needing a bit of patch work to fix some broken stitching, but was serviceable as it was. The satchel was thrown onto his left side, opposite of where he kept the pygmy of goblin skulls on his right hip.

Corvac's goal for this dungeon dive would be to obviously challenge himself. However, secondary objectives were to obtain materials from monsters that could be valuable in brewing potions and mixing ointments. The world of Mixing appeared to be a deep one, with the usual 'Health' and 'Mind' potion being ubiquitous to all; however, that was certainly not the limit of the craft.

While most Mixers seemed to chase after the Panacea within Orario, Corvac was more interested in the wild and chaotic effects that potions and hermetic magick offered. He was reminded of his days playing Noita, the Finish Fanfiction of Hermetic Magic and Alchemy as he read and studied about Mixing; which was a good point towards its depth and potential power that he felt was only scratched at by Adventurers within Orario.

However, he needed resources to be capable of exploring those depths, and so he suited up, pulled on some rough black trousers and city boots that would provide his legs with some level of protection; and strolled out onto the dangerous city of Orario.

Corvac met a few gazes towards his gear and outfit, but it wasn't exactly a unique style with Orario being filled with glory hounds and unknowing chunni eighth graders chasing fame. Dressing flamboyant in various styles that he recognized as 'Goth', or even some outlandish things like '90's Disco' were fashion styles that seemed to infect the general population.

Brought into fashion by the Gods themselves, who seemed to have inspiration or knowledge of the modern world; or at least a modern world. Corvac was entirely unsure of why the Gods appeared to be 'Meta-Gamers' as he knew it, but figured that he would remain more sane for not questioning it and more appreciative that he could purchase a hoodie and sweatpants without looking out of place within the world.

Not that he'd had the funds to purchase such comfort items, but the thought made him happy.

Corvac entered the Babel Proper, soon falling into the slow and methodical steps of the Dungeon that led to the first floor.

Corvac took a deep breath, unsheathing his blade from his belt and giving his mace a tentative few twirls as he unraveled its wrapping. He took an off route as he came to the bottom of the stairs, knowing that it'd lead him to a circuitous swing of the First floor and take him directly to the stairs leading to the second; just in twice the amount of time the more direct paths would normally.

This meant that he'd be avoiding Level Twos who would take the faster routes without thinking, as they needed to get down to the Mid Floors or Great Tree Labyrinth to grind towards Level Three.

It didn't take long for Corvac to find his first foe, a duo of Goblins jerked their heads towards his approach and without prompt or warning darted towards him. No roar or scream came from their mouths, their over-large crimson eyes lighting up as the dove towards him.

Corvac swiped upwards at the first one to reach him with his blade, correctly placing the edge against its extended arm and shredding the forearm and biceps up until he hit the armpit with the tip of his blade. An arc of arterial blood was shot into the air as the goblin fell back in agony, Corvac feeling pressure in his own arm and knew that the Eye of Agony was working.

He grinned and side stepped back to create extra distance from the closely followed second Goblin, before swinging his gruesome mace and crushing its raised arm that tried to block the mace from its skull. The spikes continued undaunted by the arm, slightly squishing the skull as it flew off the weapon and slammed into the ground in a limp pile of limbs.

Corvac advanced a single step and thrusted, his blade carving into the wounded goblin's chest with an executing twist. He threw the goblin off his blade with a twist of his wrist, executing it with one last slash to the throat.

"Now would be a good time." Corvac muttered. "The ruined lord stirs within his castle of entropic desire and the calpa shortens. So dreams the Sovereign of Ruin, he who desires the end of all things, just as he desires an end to his own existence." He chanted, his voice warbling in dark tones and echoing deeply into the tunnels of the Dungeon. He took a deep breath, and saw to his eye the world looking a bit grayer.

This magic took a decent amount of Mind to cast, however, its maintenance was practically null. Sovereign of Ruin was his general Offensive Support Magic, and he felt his crown glow slightly; the spell costing dramatically less than it normally did. He also felt the ease at which his Mind was pulled and funneled into the spell at a more efficient rate from the Foci at his hip, cutting the small drain to a fraction of itself due to the two items working together.

Corvac, in his provincial studies of magic, had discovered that Mind was not a resource that required the Falna to cast. Mind was a spiritual resource that acted as this worlds 'Mana', and while the MAG Statistic of the Falna expanded one's reserves supernaturally, allowing them to support city ending feats of magic; Mind had its own base reserve.

He was unsure where his own base reserve fell within the average population of Orario, or the world in general; hell even his own race. However, Corvac through experimentation with his few spells had found that he rarely ever got close to Mind Down even after casting his three spells several times. It led him to willingly overcharging his spells, increasing the length of time and rate of rot that Nergal's Rot granted his blades, while also expanding the density of spores that were released from Lord of Spores.

Where Corvac found that he lacked in Mind, was that his Mind reserves took forever to regenerate. This wasn't Skyrim where he could just wait a half minute and be topped back up to full reserves, and instead it took a good day of rest and relaxation to regenerate his reserves.

This made him somewhat stingy with his Mind in the past, even with his large amount of it, but now that he had a way to recover Mind in the form of Mind Potions; and he was using a Foci and Crown to further enhance the efficiency of his spells; Corvac found no reason to not expend and leverage his large base reserves to their fullest, hoping to obtain even more Excelia for the MAG stat to push the statistic even higher.

Corvac next turned his attention to his weapons. "Hosted within the recesses of the mind, grow and twist within their rotting flesh." He whispered, a gust of blackened spores being whispered from his mouth.

The spores collected around his weapons. The daggers gained a fine coating of the material, but they went no further than that. Easily washed off after a single strike or cut.

His other weapons, however, proved to be different.

His mace, sword, and whip all had bone in their construction. The spikes of his mace were all Hellhound teeth, and the fungi flew into the spikes of bone, being fed Mind to fuel their growth within the porous structure of the teeth. The teeth of the weapon blackened, small fibers the size and texture of peach fuzz on a teen's face extending from each. On these fibers microscopic needles laced with deadly neurotoxins and deadly fungal spores rested in wait.

A similar feat appeared on the bone lashes of his whip and his blade. Poisoned without the need for extensive Mixing, Corvac then whispered his last magic. "When the scent of sweet rot lingers in the air, forgive no slight or grievance. Hold your bitterness deep within, and there let it fester. Let it roil and squirm and churn, until you are filled with bile so poisonous that all you touch falls to ruin. Thus shall you serve Nergal best."

A good tenth of his magic was expended as he infused it into his whip, mace, daggers, and blade. He extended the length of the enchantment to three hours, doubling the cost of the cast; but his foci and crown reduced the cost dramatically, allowing him to more efficiently weave the Enchantment into his weapons.

They glowed with dark green flame and blackened wavy light that filtered over each weapon, soon fading with the effect only periodically apparent.

Corvac grinned at the weapons, twirling his mace and flourishing his sword. Cracking his neck, Corvac advanced into the Dungeon; ready to get some work done.

He ventured through the low hanging caves of the first floor, head low and eyes quickly adapting to the darkness of the cavern that goblins lurked within. They'd play the shadows to their advantage, and Corvac quickly learned to sharpen his senses to the utmost extreme, listening intently for any errant whisper of movement, breath, or odd shape within formless shadow.

He was promptly ambushed several times as he journeyed into the depths of floor one, goblins charging him from behind stalagmites, leaping at him with claws held wide; seeking to grab onto his form and savage him like the beasts they were.

Corvac's blade and awareness proved itself to be sharp and keen, his familiarity with the Dungeon nascent, but still there. He knew how these creatures acted, and knew to keep his wits about him.

His blade cut down goblins with a single strike, the creatures screaming their lungs out in utmost agony as the opposite spore of The Bane of Pain injected its neurotoxin into the flesh and blood of the creatures with each strike and slash.

Blood that splattered onto the blade fed the spores hungering within the weapons he wielded, causing even more growth to cover the weapons in a transparent layer of mycelium networks that gathered on the flat of the blade where they weren't likely to be destroyed.

Each strike and swing of his weapons left a plum of spores that infiltrated the air, a warding gesture of his blade posed not just a danger to the blade itself that goblins gleefully ran into, but also an invisible spread of spores that were sucked into the lungs of rushing goblins.

They promptly collapsed, throat, lungs, mouth; everything burning as if it were on fire.

The Eye of Agony fed hungrily on these squirming enemies, their suffering feeding the magical artifact, revealing a new boon that the witch was either ignorant of, or made no mention of. Corvac felt his Mind regenerate, his body warm with the feelings of non-negative pain that infected every inch of his body. With no wound to regenerate, the Eye of Agony instead fed his Mind.

Corvac laughed at the feeling, the slow drain that Sovereign of Ruin brought to his reserves being counterbalanced, and now allowed him to freely exercise his reserves however he sought fit.

The Adventurer found no challenge within the First Floor, and so delved deeper, escaping to the second and finding Kobolds and Goblins working together.

His blade ripped through the tough hide and scale that Kobolds used to ward off mundane weapons and glancing blows; like tissue paper to his unnaturally sharp bone sword and mace, infested Kobolds rotted in dark corners of the Dungeon. Here, he knelt and took from these corpses eyes, fangs, and cuts of hard hide. He tucked away these spoils into his cloak and bag, opening jars of preservatives to keep the organs he harvested healthy.

An ironic thing to do as a purveyor of rot and decay, but Corvac felt that experimentation with rotting ingredients could be done at a later date.

He advanced through the second floor with his blade and mace dripping with rotting blood, black sludge reduced into simple nutrients that the bone infested with fungal growth fed upon with ravenous glee. He found no great foe to practice his blade against here, save for those of superior numbers that he mulched through with deft swiftness and lethal blade.

Coming upon the third floor, Corvac was hit with a sense of nostalgia and wary foreboding. He felt as if he arrived at an unseen barrier of entry. Less foreboding than the mouth of the Dungeon that he descended down weeks prior, but now he felt as if he was truly beginning his journey within the Dungeon.

With a deep breath and raised weapons, Corvac entered this floor, desiring to grow past it.

-

Chapter Three: The Decayed Sand Snake

A gray club of rough wood swung towards Corvac's skull, seeking to decapitate him through sheer force.

Corvac moved with deft swiftness as he hopped to the side, his blade slashing out against the extended arm of the Orc, carving a line of blackened blood onto the wrist and forearm of the Orc. The rush of air from the Orc's weapon, a simple club of wood ripped out of the ground as a Landform weapon blew his hood; his crown thankfully kept the hood's line away from his face and prevented him from losing vision.

The Orc backed away, its bellowing voice screaming in utter agony as blackened lines crawled up its limb, fungal growth spewing from its wound and crawling into its body; soon it found bone, and from then on the Orc just fell to its knees, twitching and spasming as its nervous system was butchered and its bones were devoured by the fungal infection.

Corvac cackled, having long since forgotten about the Orc as he clashed with a trio of Imps, his mace crushing the skull of one, and then the spikes carving a deep gouge in the flesh of another. The third met a harsh chop of his blade, the weapon carving through its shoulder and ripping into its chest.

With a brutal kick he threw it off his blade, returning to brutal combat as two Orcs stopped towards him. From the sideline, watching his back a third Orc, this one infested with thick fungal growth covering its body rammed into the second, pinning it down as it breathed foul spores into the confused and struggling Orc's face.

Corvac's deft and swift form swam through five Imps, his blade carving light lines on three as he passed them, while his mace swung twice; killing two others. The cut Imps fell to the ground, the poisonous blade crippling them in mere seconds from the intense agony and pain, and the moment the rapid growth of the carnivorous fungi met bone, it sealed their fate.

He darted towards the confused Orc that watched its fellows maul one another, blind to its coming demise as a blade of bone gutted its protruding gut wide open. Blackened flaps of muscle and skin spilled open to reveal its internal organs that flopped onto the ground, the creature spasming with agony as a puff of spores infiltrated its internal organs and wreaked havoc on any nerve within.

Corvac crashed into yet another crowd of Imps, their claws swiping at his nimble figure, ghosting along his billowing cloak that seemed to be just as intangible as the shadows themselves; their clawed fingers failing to find grip or purchase on the cloth no matter how hard they tried. Corvac's blade carved into their forms like a methodical butcher, his blade aimed towards crippling, his mace guided towards ending. Together they worked like an artistic machine of bloody work, chopping imps into rotten piles of blackened blood, crimson mycelium of the rapidly evolving and ever deadly Vita Carnis wrapping their bodies inside its net. The Vita Carnis released digestive fluid that rapidly accelerated the decay and rot of the bodies they enveloped, and once the corpse was no longer alive, the Vita Carnis would kill itself, targeting itself with its own digestive fluids and burrowing into wounds created by Nergal's Rot.

As the battlefield calmed and Corvac stood alone, a blackened figure within a misty world of gray mists standing atop a field of crimson growth and blackened blood; he sheathed his blade and slammed his mace into the dirt, falling onto one of the Orcs that had finished being 'digested' by the engineered Vita Carnis. His gauntleted hands ripped into softened hide and meat, the aura of The Sovereign of Ruin effective even now as he slacked his gluttony on the rotten carcass. He fed mouthfuls of rotten meat and crumbling bone into his shadowed hood, dribbles of blackened blood leaking from the shadow that hid his mouth.

A deranged laugh and giggle left his form as he continued to dine on the practically addicting flesh of the monsters he'd just slain, exalting in the feeling of Excellia filtering into his Divine Blessing, his mind racing with the effects of the Adrenaline High that came with brutal and bloody combat. As his teeth crunched through hardened bone, the effects of The Sovereign of Ruin softening the hard material to be as clay within his blood stained maw, he shivered with knowledge that more came!

He stood up, not bothering to wipe at his black stained mouth, hidden as it was from the world by the unnatural shadow his cloak cast onto his face. He frowned as he heard the cry of a most annoying creature, one that caused no physical pain to Corvac, due to his Existence, but was merely just annoying.

The Bad Bat was a flying bat creature with an overly large mouth filled with needle-like teeth. It was relatively fast, but any adventurer worth their salt in ranged options would be capable of facing these creatures with ease. However, their most dangerous feat was attacking with their ground-monsters, the Orcs and Imps, while using their supportive ability to scream.

They were sonic attack enemies, and they had a certain scream that annoyed the shit out of his over-sensitive hearing. It wasn't even painful as it was distracting, while also often messing with his balance.

Corvac sheathed his sword and drew from his belt his whip.

Prior to coming to Orario, Corvac's experience in using whips would be in locker rooms using towels to sting people's asses red. He did still remember videos and demonstrations from YouTube that stuck inside his mind, and was what attracted him to using a whip.

The deadly weapon uncoiled around his feet, the bone spines on the whips end cords clacking against one another. With a professional wind up, Corvac cracked the whip forward, the weapon snapping forward and causing the air to crack dramatically; the weapon was well-aimed, although Corvac felt that his stance was still amateurish and his skill was nowhere near proficient enough to claim the weapon as a primary or even a secondary weapon yet. Especially in this world of freaky fantasy people who were crazy good at one thing. Like using a whip.

The weapon sliced through the air and velocity and momentum carried it through, his supernatural strength and accurate flick causing the bone spines on the end of the whip to slice through the fog of the Floor and reave their way into the skull of a Bad Bat.

Corvac twisted his torso, calling the weapon back to himself, before promptly cracking it once again; the weapon splitting mist once more and ripping a Bad Bat's wings off its ball-like body, sending it to the ground to die a lonely and long death.

With a mace in one hand, Corvac advanced with keen focus on directing his body, visibly growing and becoming more proficient in cracking the whip; learning how to strike at different angles, and soon striking at increased rates.

Orcs stormed out of the mist with a cohort of Imps at their side, like tanks followed by supporting infantry; Corvac met them with a savage grin.

His whip slashed out horizontally, the weapon slashing at the exposed feet and legs of the creatures, creating gashes or even snapping bones of a good half dozen Imps and two Orcs.

The whip slammed down, splitting an Orc's skull in twain, before cracking to the left with a twist of his wrist and snap of the arm, the whip's bone spines wrapping around the fat throat of another Orc and the contracting; blood spurted from the suffocating creature's nose and mouth, before its eyes popped out of its skull and then the head itself was removed with a harsh yank.

Corvac laughed as the bulk of the wave crashed into him, his whip dancing around his body and warding off swooping Bad Bats, all the while his Mace pulverized any who dared reach him in close physical combat.

As he waded into this brutal slaughter, Corvac's lips sung with Eldritch voices, "Hosted within the recesses of the mind, grow and twist within their rotting flesh." He intoned the short chant for Lord of Spores. A host of gray spores left his mouth, billowing over the battled field and blending into the thick mists.

The fallen creatures that had been slain within the battle twitched, the Vita Carnis trumped by the other fungi and quickly devoured to hasten its spread. Within mere moments flesh bulged and regrew, limbs merged with crude welds of fungal matter, while those without eyes or entire heads grew fungal blobs with disgusting looking eyes and twitchy feelers and appendages.

The fungal undead rose and sprang at their fellows, their fists pounding into the soft flesh of those that they once called allies and kin. Softened bone and hide parted to their rampaging hunger, tendrils of digestive fungi grew networks between strikes, feeding on the bodies even as they were ripped away by the struggling monsters.

Corvac laughed between strikes and cracks of his whip, his hands working entirely autonomously, only periodic corrections of his body to better exaggerate the force of his blows being made between each strike. However, with his supernatural strength and the relative weakness of his foe's defensive strength, even grazing or half-assed blows were enough to score a wound.

And a wound was all it took to kill.

Like a gunshot, his whip cracked out and ripped three fleeing Bad Bats from the skies in a single strike, their corpses falling away for the reanimated Bad Bats to fly towards and retrieve.

Corvac sat on a butchered corpse of an Orc, his mace falling into the dirt and a hand reaching into the exhumed guts of the Orc. He feasted on a line of digestive tract, eyes ghosting over the distant fogs that dominated the tenth floor. He rolled his shoulder, feeling the limb settle from its previously dislocated and fractured form that a clip from an Orc's club caused. The meal he now ate regenerated the slight bit of numbness that coasted through his entire body, and he now felt he knew what 'being a zombie' would be like if he let himself decay to a great degree. A slight numbness would become a complete dissociative feeling from all sensation that told him he was alive, and then he would start breaking apart; being more fragile and prone to causing even more damage to his body.

A slippery slope, but one that allowed far more leeway in the amount of punishment his body could take than someone without such a skill. He just needed to manage his health better, lest he crumble away into ash.

A distant roar caught his attention, and Corvac frowned, his mind racing for what could make such a sound. He wrapped his whip away and drew his sword once again, recanting the soon to fade enchantment on his weapons. He felt his full Mind dip slightly, and turned his gaze around to any creature that still lived as to feed his Amulet of Agony; but found no such creature in sight. He sighed, and instead prepared for the steadily growing thumping sounds that came from distant mists.

Two shadows soon caught his eyes, and he readied himself, only for his brow to furrow as he caught sight of two Adventurers charging his way with fear and desperation in their eyes. "Ammon! Go left! Go left!" One of the men called.

Ammon skipped left, losing a bit of momentum but dodging a blast of fire that scorched where the man was previously running. Corvac stood up and readied himself, taking a deep breath and softly chanting Lord of Spores.

More reanimating spores spread through the battlefield, the surviving undead crawling back to life as they readied themselves for the coming battle.

"M-Monsters!" The one named Ammon called, reading his twin Khopeshes, the ax-like blades gleaming bronze in the soft and dim light of the Dungeon.

Corvac stepped forward and narrowed his eyes towards the fading mists, only for them to widen as he spotted the bobbing and speeding form of the Infant Dragon.

It looked more like a Salamander to Corvac, but regardless of its name the creature was a dangerous threat. A known Level Two monster that spawned on the upper-floors, it was known as the Rookie Killer such was its deadly threat to all Level Ones who liked farming within Floor Ten.

Corvac frowned, knowing that he wasn't prepared to face such a creature as he was.

As he was…

Corvac grinned and softly meditated, his body tensing with new strength, his Mind expanding rapidly with greater power! He grinned savagely towards the creature that charged him, lowering his body and charging forward.

The two fleeing men's eyes winded at the dark shadowy shape that darted out of the crowd of mutated monsters, the mass of creatures that they could now make out as brutalized and butchered creatures with fungal masses growing through their bodies; keeping them intact in some cases. The creatures lumbered forward, the two men skidding to a halt and waiting for combat, caught between a hard place and a flaming rock. However, to their surprise, Bad Bats and Imps raced past them, followed by lumbering Orcs.

"What the hell?" Ammon uttered.

Hathor, his brother shook his head, "A Tamer?" He wondered.

Corvac meanwhile caught the eye of the Infant Dragon, the apex monster of the Upper Floors growling at the coming horde and a fire burned within its throat. Only for Corvac to start to chant, "Hosted within the recesses of the mind, grow and twist within their rotting flesh!" He cast a wave of blinking orange spores, the magical creations bleeding into the inhale of the creature's fire, and igniting violently.

The Infant Dragon's breath nullified with blackened smoke choking its lungs, Corvac pounced onto its retreating form. He slammed his mace into the shoulder of its forelimb, all the while his sword gutted through weakened hide and softened flesh, injecting horrible poisons, toxins, and fungal infections into the side of the creature.

The Infant Dragon bayed, its breath coughing out as smoke, roaring petulantly and without effect as it slammed its tail to the side, trying to slay the creature that caused its growing agony.

Corvac leaped back, flipping and twirling through the air like a blackened revenant ghost; the wild sweep of the tail passing by his form, the winds brushing against his tightly wound cloak. He twirled in the air, landing in a squat; then darted immediately to the side to avoid the pouncing thrash of the Infant Dragon, his blade raising up and slashing up against its lip and cheek; carving a bloody glasgow onto its maw.

It screamed again as vines of Vita Carnis bound its maw together, fusing the flesh it consumed together. The scream snapped the Vita Carnis, releasing gouts of toxic fluids that were swallowed into its bloody mouth.

Corvac's mace advanced on the retreating creature's skull, slamming into its jaw and shattering it loose.

A tongue flapped loosely as the numbing and paralytic effects of an entirely different strain of fungal toxin went into effect, before Corvac continued to press the attack with a flurry of strikes against its soft neck. He struck no immediately fatal weakness, but the creature's face and extended neck was a mess of nasty wounds. It pounced forward, realizing that the human that attacked it was too fast and nimble to escape from, using its bulk to try and crush the punny creature.

Corvac laughed at the attack, skipping back before flipping into the air. While in air the Salamander's neck extended, its maw opening to swallow him whole, only for a charging Orc to slam into the Salamander's side and send it skidding away, missing him entirely. Corvac rolled and darted back, the Orc being squashed under a clawed arm, as the distraction it served was amplified by a dive bomb attack of Bad Bats suicide bombing their fungal infested forms into the head of the dragon.

Pasty and sticky phlegm covered the creature's face and blinded it, opening it up for Corvac to dive forward and thrust his blade along the esophagus, drawing the entire length of the creature's long neck, before plunging the length of his blade into its chest.

Ripping the weapon out, Corvac smiled as the pain, agony, and neurotoxins of his various weapons finally became too much; the creature slacking entirely and falling limp. Corvac's small laughs of amusement finally crescendoed into hysteria, his blade hacking into the creature's skull and removing from it the brain. He feasted on the rotting remains, each cut only hastening the process as he snacked on prime bits of foul gray matter. Soon he turned his attention to the eyes, then carved his way into the chest to exhume the heart to consume as well.

The gluttonous rampage did not go unwatched as two young men stared with wide eyes, swallowing deeply as they walked forward. "Th-thank you, sir!" So said Ammon, the young man bowing to the feasting adventurer who was guarded by slumbering and visibly rotting forms of Orcs and Imps resting around his butchered throne of blood.

Corvac's attention snapped towards the two young men, a frown on his face as his meal was disturbed. "Thank you for bringing this delicious prey to my attention." He said instead, "Now off with you, I am eating." He went back to his feast, ripping out organs and ordering his undead to start butchering the rest of the body.

Ammon nodded, breathing a sigh of relief as he turned to leave, however, Hathor seemed to stay stubborn about something.

"What familia are you from?" He asked, his voice slightly hostile.

Corvac paused once again, licking the remains of an unknown organ from his hands. "Yahweh, Elohim, Kronos, Chaos, Gaea, Adonai, Robulus, Satan. Pick and choose, I care not." Corvac grunted as he took from his side a one of the goblin skulls he used as foci, having cut off its crown it formed a portable bowl. He slit an artery open, draining blood into the skull and then chugging it back. The thick black blood went down easily, and he let out a sigh of near orgasmic ecstasy.

Ammon pulled his brother, wanting to get away from this freak, but the man seemed pissed. "Are you from the Zeus Familia?" Hathor asked with narrowed eyes, resisting his brother's tugs on his shoulder.

Corvac frowned, "I believe I've made it clear; get lost. I have no interest in your petty concerns, especially as the man who just saved your lives. Make haste, lest I turn my blade on those who seem to enjoy refuge in sheer stupidity."

"So you are." Hathor growled.

Ammon pressed his hands into his face.

Corvac tugged his sipping skull back onto his belt by lacing chains around the pygmy skull. "You court death, as those of the Eastern Lands would say." He said with a firm frown, "I am not of the Zeus Familia, boy, now get lost before I lose my patience with you."

Hathor relaxed, but a guise of suspicion was still on his face.

"Hathor, not now!" Ammon hissed, "We shall get our revenge, but lashing out at anyone will not serve us in this pursuit."

"Zeus will pay." Hathor growled, turning on his heel to storm off.

Corvac's eyebrow raised, "You have demanded the identity of my familia, yet you give none of your own. My appetite for blood has been wet, now I desire knowledge. Tell me, who are you and what grudges do you have against the Hero Kings of Orario?"

Ammon groaned, while Hathor spun around with a pump in his chest, "We are the sons of Set, Lord of Desert Sands, and true King of Orario!" He proclaimed, "Zeus long ago dethroned our Familia from the rightful seat they now proclaim. We will make it right."

Corvac listened to the speech and couldn't help but snicker. He waved them off, "Sure, sure." He turned back to the rotting Salamander, "You do that." He ripped off a flake of hide and gnawed on the flesh.

The dismissal had Hathor growling again, and even Ammon seemed a bit pissed off. "C'mon." Ammon whispered, draggin his brother back, but the hot-headed man seemed intent on pursuing conflict.

"You mock us?" Hathor growled.

Corvac paused once more in his feast, "I do. You run from an Infant Dragon, yet desire to face the ones who seek to challenge the Black Dragon. You are as a toad seeing from the bottom of the well you yourself carved out of hatred and slighted pride, forged out of entitlement and misguided perceptions of worth. A complex innately inferior, yet delusionally superior. How droll." He chuckled.

The two men's faces grew red with rage and anger, and Hathor drew his bow and knocked an arrow.

Corvac drew his throwing knife.

Hathor fell dead, a knife in his throat; while Corvac's head tilted, an arrow embedded into the flesh of the Infant Dragon behind him.

Ammon growled and pounced, twin blades flashing towards Corvac who merely smiled as a nearby Orc came to life and threw a mutant fist into the man's hip. He folded to the side, hitting dirt and rolling away. Imps crawled towards his broken figure. His screams sounded while he desperately swung his blades through their flesh, finding his leg utterly paralyzed. His attacks held no reaction as claws and limbs started to claw and rip him to pieces. The man's screams echoed into the Dungeon, Corvac watching idly as he ate, walking over to Hathor's corpse and picking up the knife buried in rotten flesh.

He paused seeing the rotten flesh, his stomach churning at the deliciously sweet smell that rose. His mouth watered and he dropped to his knees.

He drew his dagger and started to methodically cut and carve away at the man's body, soon coming out with a blackened heart, sodden with disease and riddled with poison. He took it into his mouth and the tender meat fell apart within, he groaned in delight, moaning as he ate the heart, moved to the face, then the eyes, then cracked open the skull and continued to eat. He shivered, lapping at his fingers with reverent desire, before growling at the imps who feasted on the other brother. He snarled at them and drew his dagger, cutting them apart in a fever of rage and wroth.

As he calmed, blade thrusting in and out of a long dead Imp's carcass, he licked his lips and lumbered back to the Infant Dragon's corpse. He picked up his mace, sheathed his dagger, and drew his blade.

Cracking his neck, Corvac marched deeper into the Dungeon. Ready for more.

-

The flapping of wings rode in the high caverns of the fifteenth floor, a pink wyvern with fungal growths of black mycelium strings covering its body flew within the high caverns. It was tumorous in appearance and flew over the throngs of monsters that roared at the skies; baying for the blood of the Adventurer who rode on its back.

Standing on the back of the Wyvern, Corvac held a length of mycelium wire that lashed into the creature's mouth and jaws. He controlled the creature with pulls and tugs of the wire, laughing as he did. In one hand he held his whip, diving bombing the crowds of roaring Minotaurs and Liger Fangs with gunshot cracks of his whip that removed heads and ripped open throats; or cracked spines and disemboweled the powerful Level Two creatures.

Sovereign of Ruin truly shined as he fought higher level creatures, allowing his Level One statistics to utterly crush and ruin the weakened defensive abilities of the higher leveled creatures, ranging down from the natural nests that Wyverns spawned within to hunt and rip creatures from their patrolling squads.

The Mid-Floors were truly his favorite location to be. Wide ranging with plenty of space, a whole host and buffet of creatures to consume; from dungeon worms, wyverns, ligerfangs, rabbit warriors, hellhounds; how he loved the mid floors!

Corvac tucked away his whip as he flew with expert skill in guiding the zombified Wyvern through stalactites and the creeping caverns that dominated the large floor. From his hip he channeled magic into the length of the chain that surrounded his belt. The chain started to dramatically lengthen, and with a soft spin, a large meat-hook at the end of the chain began to gain momentum.

Corvac spotted a distant Ligerfang pawing at itself at a distance from its pack, and with a diving swoop, Corvac passed the Ligerfang and swung the chain with well-practiced skill honed over the past week he'd been practicing being a Wyvern Rider.

The hook planted itself directly into the creature's collarbone and with a tug, Corvac ripped it off the ground and into the air.

It thrashed and yanked itself around, only hastening its quick death as it bled into the skies.

Corvac yanked the lead on the Wyvern, bringing the creature to rest on one of the many alcoves within the Dungeon's roof. There he started to hoist the Ligerfang up and placed the dead creature onto the ground. Already starting to rot, Corvac licked his lips and started to feast, and once full, he patted his gut and laid back on hard stone.

Closing his eyes, Corvac fell asleep. Like a switch being clicked off, he went unconscious, and in four hours he woke completely rested and ready for combat!

Corvac skipped away and went to piss and shit off the ledge of the alcove, using hide and fur taken from the liger fangs and minotaurs to clean himself, knowing that even then he smelt like a rotting butchery shop.

With a yawn, Corvac scratched at his chin, wondering if he should go deeper.

Floor Fifteen was a perfect area to hunt for him, having the most diverse range of creatures possible, and he could always just challenge a Minotaur and Ligerfang pack mano-e-mano if he ever wanted a challenge or to grind his Endurance Statistic higher.

With an expression of focus, Corvac meditated and updated his statistics, not having done so since he'd slain his first Minotaur within the thirteenth floor. While monsters spawned and usually kept to certain floors, it wasn't unheard of for monsters to flee or range to higher or lower floors; with the Mid-Floors being infamous for having rogue Minotaurs escaping to higher floors. Like some sadistic game design from a Developer who let higher leveled enemies escape into the newbie zone.

Corvac, since his last update, was at A Rank stats across the board, besides his S Rank Magic. He'd also been prompted to level up, but obviously wanted to grind and max out his statistics. He wanted to head back to the surface for a resupply of magic potions, his attempts at brewing potions down inside the dungeon within hollowed out skulls having gone poorly. Then he also wanted to repair his armor, the fists of Minotaurs and their landform weapons doing much to refine his martial skills in facing monsters; but it did work on his armor. He'd been forced to use rocks to bash out dents, or even just remove sections of plate from his armor entirely as shattered as they became. His chain armor too came under heavy attrition, and it told him that spending several weeks within the Dungeon without a dedicated supporter was a dangerous idea.

Dangerous if one cares about such blase things like Attrition. Corvac was likely the most resistant Adventurer against the dungeon's Attrition, such was his ability to recover and bounce back from even the most grievous of wounds.

Corvac was soon awash with his new knowledge, and raised an eyebrow at the sheer amount of statistics he'd last gained.

[Status]

Corvac Vex

Level 1

STR: 1199 SSS

END: 1199 SSS

AGI: 1199 SSS

DEX: 1199 SSS

MAG: 1199 SSS

DEVELOPMENTAL ABILITIES:

-

MAGIC:

Sovereign of Ruin: While this magic is active, all entities -save the caster- within a hundred meter radius are affected by this spell. Those that are, are weakened dramatically with the Strength and Magic statistics falling 300 points. Fatigue becomes exceptionally apparent, and pain flares twice as intensely. Magical weapons and items fail and are drained of their energies, slowly becoming mundane within the radius. All forms of defense, whether they be physical, divine, or magical weaken dramatically within the aura; the Endurance statistic drops a total of 1000 Points, reducing the statistic into lower levels.

"The ruined lord stirs within his castle of entropic desire and the calpa shortens. So dreams the Sovereign of Ruin, he who desires the end of all things, just as he desires an end to his own existence."

Nergal's Rot: Imbues a weapon with the concept of Rot, causing Necrosis to spread rapidly from any wound it creates. Those affected by this curse become a perfect breeding ground for disease, their immune system becoming utterly shot while preventing magical methods of healing to any wounds or diseases. The Enchantment lasts one hour. The Curse lasts a week. The more magic pressed into a weapon, the faster the rot spreads and the longer the effect lasts.

"When the scent of sweet rot lingers in the air, forgive no slight or grievance. Hold your bitterness deep within, and there let it fester. Let it roil and squirm and churn, until you are filled with bile so poisonous that all you touch falls to ruin. Thus shall you serve Nergal best."

Lord of Spores: Releases a cloud of toxic spores that spreads to a maximum of thirty meters. All creatures infected with the spores will be mystically inundated with rapid fungal growth. These creatures will become controlled by a parasitic Cordyceps species and will follow the caster's every command. Abnormal Resistance will resist the toxic effects of the spores, but does nothing against the rapid fungal growth as the fungi merges with their nervous system in an unthinkably agonizing process. The Caster is immune to their own spores. The Cordyceps Servus will continue to spread their spores at a reduced rate by using their controlled host's respiratory system. All Cordyceps Servus, even those of extended generations, are loyal to the Caster.

"Hosted within the recesses of the mind, grow and twist within their rotting flesh."

SKILLS:

Decaying Existence: Damage you take will regenerate at absurd rates, healing fatal wounds in mere seconds. These wounds are not gone, however. Instead they will be delayed through this skill, but over time your body will slowly start to decay. Seek healing methods to avoid becoming an undead husk or pile of dust from accrued damage. Enough sustained damage may rapidly advance the decay and cause enough to kill the user. Poison and Disease do not affect you. You feel pain, but it is not processed as a negative sensation.

Rotten Meat: Foods that are fresh are utterly repugnant to you, while those that have rotted and started to decay become first class meals in all aspects. Eating rotten foods and meats causes you to rapidly regenerate and heal supernaturally fast. Eating the rotten corpses of monsters grants you a dramatic boon to Excelia gain.

The Gift of Growth: So long as you continue to want to grow, you shall do so at an extreme rate.

Monarch of Stagnation: Within a fifty meter radius you project a field that affects all those who reside within it to cease to regenerate Mind. Excelia gain is stagnated by those who are within this field. This affects everyone save for yourself, even allies.

The Black Tongue: When chanting Magic, you whisper in an unknown tongue that grates at the mind of all who hear it. This prevents others from chanting magic who hear your words, lest they cause an Ignius Fatuus. As if an eldritch god is speaking through you, your words are obvious to all that whatever you speak holds foul consequences if let to twist reality. Furthermore, you can now effortlessly chant while moving and will never face an Ignius Fatuus.

Corvac grinned at his maxed out statistics, well fought and hard won in the slaughter and consumption of high-leveled monsters; even if he'd done so by taming a monster and cheesing the hunt. However, even if what he'd done was 'cheesing', it still took a lot of skill to replicate. Truly, the Ganeshe Familia should be the Number One familia if they tamed the right combination of monsters; mainly aerial monsters that could carry them as mounts. Using monsters as beasts of burden should, to Corvac, be just second nature and common sense.

Corvac had an advantage over other Tamers in that he raised his from the dead, or outright infected them with a mind altering substance that turned them into slaves; but still, the fact was Monsters were overpowered and there was a Developmental Ability that allowed one to turn them into pokemon. Capitalizing on that would be a huge boost to a party's power, with mounts, beasts of burden for carrying supplies, and combat capable pets just being too useful to not pass up on.

But no, the leading parties and familias used wagons to transport their gear into the Dungeon.

'I'm getting entirely too worked up about this.' Corvac thought, centering himself once again as he mentally willed himself to Level Up.

He shivered, being prompted with a list of Developmental Abilities that he'd unlocked.

Several popped out to him as useful, but a few were just too valuable or rare to not pass up on.

Hunter, Abnormal Resistance, and Strong Defense, were to him, the least useful. Hunter seemed to have some form of 'Prestige' attached to it in that it could only be obtained during the second level up and it was hard to obtain. However, it only affected monsters one's slain before. Which, Corvac could understand from the perspective of someone who wants to utterly dominate previously common enemies, but only if those enemies were native to every level of the Dungeon. As it was, it just made heading deeper into the dungeon less of a chore, or facing tough foes that one could barely edge out a win into a less difficult fight.

Corvac didn't need that as he had Sovereign of Ruin, which invalidated the need for increased damage against foes. All together, Corvac would give the Developmental Ability a D-Tier for Disappointing.

Abnormal Resistance was utterly redundant to Corvac, however, if he didn't have Decaying Existence; absolutely required and effectively a fundamental ability. S-Tier for Situational.

Strong Defense was a tanking ability that enhanced the defensive properties of things like shields, armor, and the Endurance Stat. Useful for a tank, but Corvac would rather take Strong Body than Strong Defense as it implied one was defending in the first place; which Corvac's first method of avoiding damaging was to avoid the damage.

The next few Developmental Abilities were rather interesting. Initiative would foil surprise attacks, giving him a sixth sense for danger and generally allow him to nap inside the Dungeon without a body guard. Only someone with a stealth Developmental Ability with a higher rank would potentially be capable of ambushing him. Useful certainly, but not critical as it was. A-Tier for Assassin's Bane.

Crush was a relatively useful ability, but only for those who used a blunt weapon as their primary. For Corvac who used several weapons dependent on his foe's defenses, he'd have to place that in the C-Tier for Circumstantial.

Strong Body was an immediate S-Tier for Super! It basically added an additional 100 Status Points in all physical stats per Rank it has, each Level one was. So if Corvac was a level five with Strong Body Rank I, he'd have Five Hundred extra Status Points in each of his Physical Stats. At Rank H, he'd have 200, and it only went up from there.

Absolutely critical, but Corvac was attracted to another Developmental Ability.

Before he got to that one, Spirit Recovery was S-Tier for Sorcery; very vital that he obtained the Developmental Ability. Just like how Mage too was S-Tier for Smash, as Mage effectively Leveled Up one's magical effectiveness and decreased the cost of the magic dramatically, something that would turn his already relatively cheap Magic into practically worth dirt.

Next was Magic Resistance, which also was a huge Developmental Ability to have; and lastly, Chain Attack which was A Tier For him, but not super critical.

However, for his first level up, Corvac chose Mystery.

RNJesus rolled in his favor, and he must've met the hidden requirements for the extremely secretive and super speshul Developmental Ability.

Upon taking the Developmental Ability, Corvac shivered as his brain-meat was assaulted with an unnatural sense for ambient Mind. He gazed down at his daggers on his belt and pulled one off, inspecting the weapon, Corvac started to trace the patterns of Mind that Nergal's Rot gifted the weapon, weaving it into the very fabric and idea of the weapon; conceptually imprinting the magic onto the blackened bone, before being drawn to the mystical fungi that lived within the bone.

Mind started to rapidly pour from his body, the skulls on his hip had their sockets light up with ghastly flames as they worked over time to assist his control over his magic. The skulls on his crown glowed a Fel green flame, and with a final squeeze of his hand; Corvac swallowed as he created his first Magical Item.

Corvac took a shoe off, and brought the black blade to his toe, before cutting it off. The toe fell away, and he grinned as what would've been a swift regeneration of bone and flesh slowed to a visible crawl. He also felt the effects of magic racing up his veins, causing non-negative pain throughout his entire leg and then swimming up his spine and bursting like an explosion within his brain. He blacked out briefly, only to shake his head and walk over to the remains of his Ligerfang. He ate to recover from the entirely magical poison he'd created.

As he ate, he once again checked his Status, this time to his utmost shock he saw that his Mystery had…Ranked Up?

"The fuck?" He muttered around a mouth full of soft bones.

He swallowed and started to manipulate the cosmic concepts of certain magics, magics that had bound themselves into his very soul and he started to gain a certain perception of what allowed him to easily enchant his weapon and rank up his Mystery so quickly.

Whatever force had brought him to Orairo and granted him his Skills had done so in a way that overwrote his very soul, edited it in very fundamental ways that bound him to certain concepts that even now he'd been adapting to mentally. Mystery seemed to connect people to the concepts and laws of reality, allowing them to bend them and bind them to certain objects by way of myth, magic, or sheer metaphysical willpower; creating magical items with programmed or crudely stitched concepts working as a means to alter reality.

His proximity and intimacy with these foreign concepts that now composed his very soul granted him the unique disposition to allow understanding of them. He figured that a practitioner of Mystery grew their Developmental Ability as they comprehended and learned of new concepts and laws; developing a host of tools to infuse into new objects and items.

Corvac closed his eyes and meditated on several concepts that were close to him.

Gluttony: The ravenous hunger, the hollow pit inside his heart and gut.

Undying Death: The Decaying Existence that violated reality, the baying of rot that slowly caused him to decay, and the gluttony of the refuse of the world that kept him anchored to reality.

Rot: The decaying stench of the world, the slow decay of microorganisms digesting and decomposing organic material into simpler forms; and the slow infesting rot that bred disease that culled the weak and supported the strong.

Concept after concept pressed itself into his mind, Rot, Decay, Gluttony, Deathly Immortality, Hungering Voids, Conceptual Space, Contorting Dimensions, Alternate Realities; he dreamed of home, of another world, and another life. He dreamed of the soul, of life, of growth, of stagnant realities and the nature of death and in the cycle of life. He dreamed deep and long of the many concepts that bound himself to the mortal sack of flesh he called life, the blood that beat through his heart, the patchworked soul that he called his own; on and on his mind swam and grew as it flexed and stressed itself with the proximity to heavy concepts of reality.

It bent.

It broke.

And it got back up stronger than ever; for he knew Growth.

Corvac's eyes fluttered away, he breathed deeply, the cavernous air hiding a musk of blood and rust, of decay and rage. He contemplated the Dungeon and its monsters for a brief few moments, but knew he'd be lost in yet another long period of contemplation if he did that. He stood and cracked his back, once again updating his Status to find that his Mystery had Ranked Up to the C Rank. He chuckled, drawing his sword and impressing the Concepts of Life, Growth, and Decay onto the blade. He infused it with these fundamental concepts, arranging them in a structural pattern that would cause them to Hunger and Devourer, to create the utmost competitive environment locked away within a small world of bone. He gave it a lust for Blood, and the desire for battle and the growth through it.

As he exhausted the remnants of his mind, reaching for his last Mind Potions and gulping it down, he imparted the concept of Soul, before his vision blackened and he fell to the ground. He blinked, fighting back against the Mind Down, before unsteadily standing.

His blade hadn't changed physically, however now there was a metaphysical weight about the weapon, a certain danger to it that had him charmed.

Corvac cracked his neck and stood up, slowly getting the hang of his not-pained mind that was certainly in a heavy degree of pain. Mind Down seemed to be a very spiritual form of agony that surpassed even his Skills, but not fully; just enough for him to not like it.

He sighed and sucked out the last few drops of his Mind Potion, before climbing up the wing of his Wyvern, grabbing onto the mycelium leash, before whipping it into action. Corvac fell, a wide smile on his face as he soared through the cavern, darting down and then ghosting along the cavern's floor, rising to fly into the holes leading to the higher floors.

Corvac ventured up through the Dungeon, ditching his Wyvern on the tenth floor, before climbing the rest of the floors on foot. He couldn't have an unregistered mount within Orario, and if he did bring it there, the Guild would start asking questions he couldn't answer.

He crawled out of the Dungeon and held a hand to the bright noon sky, wincing at the vibrant lights that glared down onto his form. He grumbled and navigated himself to his home, soon finding the humble church that was still overgrown with a dozen and a half different species of highly hallucinogenic, delusionary, or psychoactive mushrooms. He opened his gate and dropped his satchel filled with the best cuts of all the monsters he'd hunted. From Blue Papilio Wings and pouches of their dust, to eyes of Ligerfangs and teeth of Dungeon Worms.

Corvac started to decorate the crenulations of his crypt with the jars, cracking his back and humming a soft tune to himself. Now that he was back up on the surface, Corvac needed to gather some more money. His new sword was a growth item, and he could, and would do that with a good deal of his gear. However, his weapons were a thankfully organic substance that could be pushed and evolved further; unliving metal was not like that and so his armor would need to be revamped with at least mythril quality plates.

He also wanted to purchase greaves and quality leggings of similar make, before then obtaining reagents and materials to further reinforce the enchantments of mystery that he'd create with his armor. His weapons did well with his currently learned concepts, growth, life, death, rot; all of that was good stuff. However, his armor would need more than those things, and he also had some ideas for other unique items that drew on his nature as an Otherworlder.

Sadly, despite his profitable Dungeon Run, Corvac was effectively broke. He couldn't reasonably sell any of the reagents and materials he'd obtained from the Dungeon, and neither did he have the reasonable education to craft them into unique potions by his lonesome. Corvac had tried his hand at Potioneering, but with Mystery, Corvac felt that obtaining Mixing as well would leave him short on Developmental Abilities that were truly useful.

Corvac wanted a lot of Developmental Abilities, stuff that would make his already rather strong build to a whole 'nother level. However, sacrificing a limited slot on a critical path of growth would leave him potentially crippled or dead if he truly needed a certain level of power to continue with his rate of growth.

Money was what spoke loud and proud, and for that, Corvac would need to speak with Satar again and see if the old man was willing to cough up some more wealth; or knew anyone that did.

Corvac cracked his neck and started to shop around his backyard, finding several old wine barrels that he'd stored away inside the Crypt filled with some of his older produce. However, in the week he'd been within the Dungeon, Corvac had made some obvious advancements in his development and now saw the spirits within these barrels as swill.

He scoffed at this product and started to rummage around for empty casks and barrels, soon finding a collection of fifteen, some of which he just emptied of several hundred year-old wine.

Corvac then started to work the process of creating his spirits, growing and harvesting mushrooms and spores, and adding a new secret ingredient in Enchanting The Barrels. Concepts of Flavor and Mind were comprehended in the short few hours of him managing his garden to a reasonable order; Flavor was a no-brainer, but Mind was the interesting contender.

By comprehending the mystical energy, he tied it with the already comprehended concept of Soul, then tied it with Life, Death, and the Cycle thereof. Next, he bound it to the concept of Energy, tying that concept with that of Mind; and then took a sampling sip of a quickly brewed spirit that he hoped to have Mind restoration properties.

The moment his Imp Skull trophy touched his lips and a bit of residue entered his mouth, Corvac's soul and brain-meat shivered.

He started to methodically swallow the divine brew, his mind expanding and reality flowing away and out from under him.

The DMT Universe is real…

Then reality crashed back, Corvac was still dressed inside his armor, but now he was staring at a vibrantly oil-spill colored liquid that shimmered like shale that high-him had brewed inside an enchanted vat. A mere whiff threatened to send him back and past the DMT Universe, and he truly wondered what the hell he was doing with his life. He shrugged and continued, sloshing back a cup and once again going on a bender.

The backyard of the church grew and morphed as day turned to night, and night turned to day. Seven more days went by, until a man garbed in shambling combat armor covered in mycelium growth with bottles and flasks of suspicious liquids and extracts hanging on his belt stumbled out of the biohazardous fungi-infested location. Towering stalks with watching and intelligent eyes followed Corvac as he stumbled out onto the streets, coughing and hacking as his mad-science finally started to bite him in the ass.

Behind him, a lumbering giant Mushroom Man groaned as it stumbled towards him, blasts of magic zapping Corvac from its mutant eyes with the creator twitching out from the Illusionary magic that trapped him into yet another false reality of eternal bliss.

The mushroom monster's cap opened to reveal a cavernous hole filled with deadly teeth, the spores of its spawn spreading out as it lumbered to consume its creator.

"Sike!" Corvac cried as he stabbed his blade into the creature's neck and pulled, its oversized cap-head pulling the creature to the other side and ripping it in half. It died with a horrible scream and shriek, Corvac grumbling as he stormed back into the backyard, grimacing as the fungi started to expand all over the walls of Orario and infect other Churches.

'Time to fix this mess…'

He advanced through thick carpets of mushrooms eating other mushrooms, unique flowers and hyper-evolving flora that started to mutate in fauna through the inclusion of his DNA and the DNA of the various foods and snacks he had inside his Crypt.

Corvac scythed through the thick towering mushroom trees that hung with mycelium vines, pushing his way through fat flowers that puffed out dense fogs of spores that started to grow even thicker as he reached his main laboratory. Soon he found the vat that was overcharged with the Life Concept, consuming the Mind of the entire forest of Mycelium to fuel its life-giving creation.

Bubbling froth spilled over the vat, spewing onto the grass and being consumed by the symbiotic mycelium network that took the liquid of life and transported it elsewhere in the garden. Corvac willed the barrel to stop its production, and felt the forest tremble, suddenly hostile. He gulped and held his blade tight, ready for the fight of his life.

Monstrous creatures of fungal life stormed out of the church, charging him with blasts of strange mutagenic magics that gave whatever they hit cancerous growths or rapidly decaying wounds. Corvac dodged and weaved, scything through the hordes and grunting as he culled great swaths of these creatures with superior physical abilities and martial skill, their deadly magics being countered by his anti-magic enchanted whip that snapped out to crush or destroy the projectiles that dared threaten him.

Flasks of potions were thrown out, acidic substances consuming tough monsters as Corvac charged into the church where they seemed to originate from. Here he remembered that he'd brewed a vat of intelligence enhancing spirits that was grown within a Soul Enchanted barrel.

"Shit." Corvac grumbled, rushing down into the cellar, ripping his way through the undead and drawing his 'All-Killing Dagger', ending their existence with a single cut as he barreled into the cellar.

At the end of the cellar, fungal men guarded a hole in the cellar wall, extending deep into the earth.

Corvac slew them and charged into the hole, and was promptly faced with dozens of fungi within what to him looked like a stereotypical boss-arena.

A barrel with a huge brain-looking fungus was guarded by the fungal warriors, and with a growl, Corvac charged them with a blade and dagger drawn.

The brain fungus within its barrel floated into the air, glowing with a corona of magical energies and started to blast Corvac with lasers that caused random and chaotic growths of mushrooms to spawn. He dodged and weaved, slicing his way through the fungi warriors as he came closer. The barrel flew around the arena, forcing Corvac to sheathe his blade and draw his whip, a battle being waged as Corvac snapped and cracked his whip; destroying any projectile spell that the fungi created using its foul and twisted magics.

Yet, eventually the Fungi couldn't defend against the far stronger whip that invalidated its defensive magics, the whip striking the barrel and cracking it open.

The fungi fell out of the destroyed barrel, its brain-flesh throbbing in anger and agony as it crashed to the ground; weak and vulnerable. Yet another crack of his whip had the fungi split in half, the warriors that were slowly surrounding Corvac halting still in all movement.

With a sigh, Corvac sheathed his blade and shook his head. "Third time." He muttered as he walked up the cellar, ready to get back to work.

As the week came to a close, Corvac had raided the Religious district of all its cellars and obtained hundreds of barrels and bottles of wine or spirits; which he'd emptied and replaced with his fungal shroomshine, a hundred different flavors, a hundred different effects.

"Let's go visit Satar." Corvac muttered, his hooded gaze directed towards the city proper.

Chapter Five: The Enigmatic Shroomshine Monger

"Any word?" Yataro asked bluntly as he slid up onto the bar.

Satar grimaced, "I've looked around, but the guy's a mystery. Asked for his general description, but only got one from Zalk. Said he bought some supplies and weapons, likely left to purchase other things within the tower, but my connections only go so far." Satar answered.

Yataro let out a despondent sigh, "Shame, how much are we left with?"

Satar grimaced, "It's gone. We drank the last bit of it yesterday." He said mournfully.

Siegard's loud boots came to Yataro's side, and he saw their dower frowns, "No dice." He muttered, "I haven't heard of anyone mucking about with the description you gave me within the forge districts." He glanced towards Yataro, "How goes your search of the Pleasure District?"

"Nothing." Yataro said with a deep frown, "Ishtar is a parasite like always, with Freya and her battling it out that place is going to get messy; that is if Hera doesn't put her foot up Freya's ass like she always does." The group snorted, a bit of pity in their gazes for the Goddess that was ruthlessly bullied by the Queen of Orario.

The door to the bar opened, with the party glancing over to find Selovin rushing over.

"Selovin?" Satar asked with a raised brow at his grandson's haste.

"I think I found him." Selovin whispered. "I saw a guy around the Religious District; I was checking there because of the robes, right?"

"Huh." Yataro muttered, "Seems obvious in hindsight." He grumbled.

"Guy in a black robe, covered in fungi; looked really dangerous. He was hanging around this overgrown church; strange sounds were coming from the place and well…" Selovin grimaced, "I was getting woozy just by being around the church. I think we found our guy."

"Woozy, from just…being around the place?" Yataro asked with doubt, Siegard following suit.

"You'd have to see it to believe it, but the place was covered in overgrowth with plants that I've never seen before." Selovin reported with a bit of awe in his tone, "It was like the Great Tree Labyrinth, but on the surface." He added.

The group hemmed and hawed at the report, "Sounds like our guy." Siegard gave his part, shrugging his shoulders, "I was never one for this recon and investigation though."

"The Religious District is a very unpopulated location, practically deserted in certain areas." Satar muttered, with Selovin nodding his head.

"Yes, the area where I found this strange building was entirely because of an odd growth of vegetation climbing up the walls that I spotted from a bell-tower. The building itself was built against the walls of the city, some of the most desolate locations due to their remote location from any form of commerce. Not to mention it being a part of the Religious District." Selovin stated.

"Hmm, well, if even Selovin gets doozy from merely being near the building; what chances are we to even dare get close to ask for a shipment of fading spirits or lemonboy shroomwine?" Siegard asked with a pinched expression.

"A difficult dilemma we are faced with." Satar said with a grimace. The Adventurers all nodded, stewing with ideas as they drank solemnly.

The door opened to the bar and Satar went to greet the customer with salutations, only to pause, "Erm, Selovin? This our guy?" Satar whispered.

Selovin and the rest of the group turned their heads to find a figure garbed in fungi-covered armor, a ragged cloak made from War Shadow Essence, and tattered armor. His belt was filled with weapons and flasks, and just from the gust of wind that blew into the establishment, the group balked at the intense scent that this man produced.

Blood and iron; he'd seen combat.

Floral and Spice, strong and mind twisting with a hint of earthiness to it; the fungus that was so attached to his body was beyond merely just being hallucinogenic.

Something that was only proven as a random section of mycelium mutated before their very eyes, becoming some twisted spider-shroom that jumped off the man's body. With a blitz of skill and speed that was at the very peak of what a mid-level two could produce, the blade at his side stabbed out and impaled the fleeing fungal creature. The creature started to rot, twisting into itself as the previously vibrantly colored flesh of the spider-like creature blackened. The blade was raised to the man's shadowed hood and briefly disappeared inside, coming back without the creature to be seen on the blade save dark green blood that stained the weapon. The man sheathed the wavy sword back onto his belt, the creature's blood leaking onto the floor of the bar as he stepped forth, crunchy chewing sounds evident as he waved to Satar.

"Satar." A familiar voice called, the man sauntering up, "Are you looking to purchase some of my shroomshine? I've expanded my merchandise in the past week or two; a hundred new flavors and brands to try!" He leaned forward onto the bar, "If you have the coin to buy." He chuckled darkly.

The group of Adventurers swallowed, licking their lips as their attention focused entirely onto the man who claimed he had even more Mushroom Grog, Shroomwine, or Shroomshine as he called it. The group would admit that Shroomshine seemed to be a name that rolled off the tongue, and they'd be keeping it in mind for later reference.

"Corvac? That you, lad?" Satar asked as he got past his shock.

"Aye, I put your first investment into my products well, wouldn't you say." He spread his arms open and revealed a kit of gear that a veteran Level Three Adventurer would be pleased to proclaim as their own, and not just a mere Level Two as the man was shown to be by the speed and power of his thrust. This was only more shocking to Satar, who was damned near certain the lad was a low-level-one just a few weeks ago! It was an insane rate of growth, utterly shattering any record if word got out. He kept his mouth shut for now, and focused on the wants and desires of what was being offered.

"It'd be my pleasure! Corvac, meet my friends; fellow Adventurers of powerful Familias. I've shared some of your products with them and we've been looking for you for more all week!"

Corvac nodded with a grin, directing his attention to the collection of Adventurers inspecting the man who to them seemed like a dangerous Battle-Mage. Lower-Level or no, Mages were always tricky foes, and a Mage that decided to focus on physical strength as well as magical strength while doing it correctly? Truly the most deadly of them all.

Selovin too recognized many of the items on the man's body as being enchanted, having familiar relations with his own Familia's Mystery user. The man swallowed at the feeling his weapons gave off, deadly and lethal to an extent that sent shivers down his spine. A Level Two should have no ability to combat a warrior three levels above his own, yet here he sat, wary of a Level Two who he could kill before the man could blink. For he was almost assured that the Level Two wouldn't be going down that easily; not without retribution.

Yataro hummed as he stroked his blades, comparing them with the man's own and how he held himself. A combatant used and familiar in fighting monsters, but less so in facing men and adventurers. However, Yataro could see the stance of hidden lurking energy that he placed himself within, one that was ready to react in the most deadly way possible if pressed. Like a rat cornered by predators, it foamed at its mouth concocting the most deadly of rabid diseases to infect the stronger and more powerful predators that threatened it.

Siegard hummed, inspecting the man as a warrior and found him lacking in experience, but knew that this man was by no means some green bearded soy-boy off the fields. No, he'd seen the Dungeon and it was yet still shaping him to be a strong warrior worthy of skill and challenge. All he needed was time and effort, and Siegard could see this wise-man shaping up to be a warrior of great renown, which spoke greatly of Corvac as not only was he a nascent warrior; but he was also a wiseman of learned knowledge. His brews likely spoke to him great knowledge whispered to him by the ancient voices of the world; respect could easily be given to a man with such potential and respectable acclaim.

"Well, if you want to sample my products, then I'd like to invite you to my Garden." There was something off about the way the word Garden rang off the walls and reverberated through the air. The Adventurers all passed it off as something about the acoustics and their senses playing tricks on them.

"Your Garden, hmm. It wouldn't happen to be the one located on the walls of the Religious District?" Satar asked.

Corvac's body language jolted in surprise, "So you've found my home. I thought it was well hidden, although in retrospect it seems I've been a bit blatant in my activities." He mused.

"Nothing too unusual to warrant inspection, but we were looking for a man with religious garments who grew potent mushrooms. It is embarrassing how long it took us to find your home in retrospect." Selovin replied with a grin.

Corvac nodded, agreeing with the man. "Well, if we could establish a time…" He offered.

The men glanced around, shrugs being taken while Satar smirked, "I could close the bar for today, if you'll have us?"

The cloaked man chuckled, "Splendid!" He gestured to them to follow him, "I'll wait outside of the bar and then we'll go. It's a bit of a distance." He warned.

The Adventurers all nodded and started to help Satar close his bar down, soon walking out to find Corvac waiting for them by the doorframe. "Ready?" He asked.

The group followed Corvac to his home, with questions and conversation being had on their way.

"Corvac, if you don't mind me asking, what Familia are you a part of?" Selovin asked.

"I am a part of the Nurgal Familia," He replied to no recognition, "I am its sole member, and my God is absent at the best of times, and present at the worst; he's even refused to register with the Guild, leaving me practically destitute." The man sighed despondently.

The group blinked, "Then why don't you leave?" Selovin asked, sensing opportunity.

"Because I am faithful to my God." He replied without hesitation. "No offerings or better treatment could compare to the loving embrace of a stern, yet proud, Grandfather." Devotion decorated his tone, with the group nodding in muted understanding; Selovin glancing towards his own Grandfather who gave him a firm smile.

"When did you arrive in Orario?" Satar asked, "My old mind remembers you as a young naive man, lost in this city."

"A few weeks ago. My Falna was sealed for most of my wanderings. My natural proficiency with my magics allowed me to get by, but it was a hard time waiting for my God to unlock my Falna and update me to my former status of a Level Two."

The group hummed in common understanding, not pressing for details on why that might be the case, Corvac's tone cagey around the subject. "Would you happen to have the Mystery Development Ability, Corvac?" Selovin's question caused a bit of a stir among the group, while Corvac merely chuckled.

"Keep it quiet between us, and I'll give you a free cask, yes?" The man stated casually, but the entire group seemed to change around him, looking at him like he was a rare specimen; which was undoubtedly true. Those with the Mystery Development were unfathomably rare, with Orario merely having five within all of its thousands of Adventurers. Now, however, it seems that number has been increased to six. A fascinating discovery all told, but one that the four men were willing to keep a secret.

"Fascinating." Selovin uttered, "Would you be willing to sell your services?"

Corvac hummed, seeming to not have thought of that, "If you want something Enchanted, then you must purchase a keg of Shroomwine. I haven't the time or willingness to go over the variety of enchantments I've learned, such things I image being exceptionally personal to a learner of Mystery; but if you request a general enchantment of 'protection', 'healing', or 'damage' then I will see what I can do." He tilted his shadowed head to the side, "Be warned that my enchantments tend to be…gross." He gestured randomly.

"Rot and Disease based, I imagine?" Yataro questioned, remembering the sight of the strange fungal spider.

"Among other things, those would be but a few of the enchantments I've learned." He seemed to be avoiding certain terminology, although Selovin was experienced with interacting with Mystery Development users that they all did a similar thing.

"And how would you price such an enchantment?" Satar asked.

"However I feel." The enigmatic man shrugged.

The group laughed, "Finally, an Enchanter who speaks truth!" Siegard laughed strongly.

The group devolved into simpler conversations and small talk, and it didn't take much longer for them to reach the fungi infested building. "Woo, that's strong." Siegard chuckled nervously.

Corvac paused as he led the way, turning back to several unsure individuals. "Something the matter?" He asked.

"We're getting a bit…er, woozy from the intensity of this place." Selovin said with a strained smile.

Corvac cocked his head and took a deep breath, and hummed, "I'll be right back." He ducked into an alleyway and a gate creaked, the men resting a distance away off wind as to escape the pungent odor that'd put mundane people off their rocker at a mere sniff.

Corvac soon returned with several bandanas that all four of them noted were enchanted. They fixed them around their mouths and quickly came to the conclusion that these tattered clothes filtered the smell and effect. Following Corvac, they entered the alleyway and entered what could only be described as a Dungeon Floor on the Surface.

Skittering fungal creatures bounced around towers of mushrooms; caps grew mosses and dripped with lichen of a multitude of colors, all the while magical lights that reminded them of stories of the Alf Royal Forest drifted through the backyard that encroached and completely devoured five other backyards and then climbed up the Orario Wall.

Corvac navigated this jungle of fungal festivity with ease, however, each of the men felt like they were one bad slip of breath away from a fatal incident. Their hands clasped around their masks, hearts beating rapidly as their instincts screamed at them to run away from the toxic clouds and spores released into the air every odd second, or the spewing fumes coming from spore-geysers that have dug expansive underground networks deep into the earth.

Soon they came to a small stone Crypt, a small living area housed within the wild and magical place, with Corvac guiding them deeper into the Crypt. It was as they entered the second layer, did all understanding come to mind.

Barrels, Kegs, Vats; some crudely made and manufactured, others ancient and old, or some even purchased recently with the branding marks of the barrel maker still etched into the wood.

Corvac's words of brand names and effects went into one ear and out the other as the men wet their lips, an alluring siren's call being whispered by each keg and barrel; all of which the men noted were enchanted. The aura and mystic feeling emanating from these barrels that called to their souls and primal instincts alluring to an extreme degree.

"He's surpassed Soma…" So whispered Satar, a man who was relatively famous for tasting undiluted Soma that was brewed for the Gods and turned away from the drink willingly. Without even tasting the drinks within this sacred hall, Satar so easily declared that the pungent scents that penetrated an enchanted filtration mask were greater than a divine's work at hand. "A dwarven holy site." He added, derangement leaking into his eyes as they were guided deeper.

Siegard gazed at Corvac like a man who was seeing a legend. The Wiseman, Lord of the Shroom. He respected this man who undoubtedly gazed farther into reality than any man ever could, seeing such things that would break the lesser and greater of mortal kind.

Selovin joined his Grandfather in his mutterings, whispering to the man how much money he had in his accounts; plotting their way to obtain as much from this sacred vault as possible.

It was Yataro who kept his wits about him, yet even he fell to his desires. "Corvac-dono, would you happen to have a spirit that raises one's creative energy and passion?" He asked, "I have recently begun delving into artistic passion, creating artworks that bring me great joy in developing. Having a drink to focus my mind, freeing it like the Fading Spirits Shroomshine did would bring me great joy."

Corvac hemmed, "I have around seven different kegs of shroomshine that do similar things; what is your art?"

"Painting, lately. But I've also done carving, mosaique work, and statue carving. All amature, but my God states I have talent."

"Not Vulcan's Breath, then." Corvac muttered, his eyes drifting towards Siegard, "You look like a smith; I'll have you sample some of Vulcan's Breath, see how you like it. As for you…you look like an Assassin. Lots of old ghosts haunting you, troubled memories and a distant past. Yes, you've fled, and done so correctly and without shame. Good. That means you are capable of moving past things, capable of becoming more than just a blade or tool." He uttered to the growing shock of the party, "Tortured Artist would be your best bet, and if that doesn't work, Enlightened Age would be good too." Corvac muttered, leading the party deeper into the crypt and brought them to several kegs labeled with the dates and names of the mentioned drinks.

He pulled from them flasks of each, tossing Vulcan's Breath to Siegard, and Tortured Artist and Enlightened Age to Yataro.

"Sample it, and tell me how you think." Corvac instructed.

Siegard went first, sniffing the drink, then putting it down. He lowered it from his mouth, and started to cry. "...Oh." He whispered. "So that's why…" He chuckled, dropping yet another shot back and shaking his head. "How much is a keg?" He asked.

Corvac looked at him with curiosity, "A two point five million a keg, but if you tell me what you discovered I'll lower it to two million."

Siegard chuckled, "A deal." He uttered, "The Blacksmith Developmental Ability desires many things; Effort, Talent, Creativity, Inspiration, and a sheer force of creative will." He snorted, "It showed me everything I lacked, and now I feel a fire in my heart; to become better. To innovate, to advance!" He laughed, "Yet, I am not a craftsman. I am a warrior at heart, and it has been stolen by the forge." He shook his head and glanced down at the bottle in his hand, "What a wondrous thing. Frightful, but wondrous." He shot down yet another drink, chuckling merrily.

Corvac then glanced over to where Yataro was, only to find the man sitting down, leaning against the cold stonewall of the crypt. In his hand was Tortured Artist, practically drained. His gaze was entirely vacant, living an old life he left behind. His hand twitched for something to write on, to capture the essence of his relatable pain onto a visible medium of expression. The artist inside of him raging, but finding no such thing to elaborate its expressions upon. To drain the pent up and repressed emotions of a broken childhood, a sacrificed life for a greater cause, and the ultimate rejection of that cause.

He then turned to Selovin and Satar who gazed up at the taller man like he was their lord. "Well, let's start talking business." He grinned.

…

Chapter Six: A Breath of Foul Air

The calm peace of the Religious District couldn't be understated.

Her Familia was her home, and she loved everyone within it. She was wanted, she was loved back, and she felt home there. Even with her weakness, even with her disease and doomed existence; she was still loved. Yet, in a way, she understood her sister all the same.

It was all just noise. Too much noise to calm and think, to become lost in one's thoughts and try to find a way for her doomed fate to not be so. All of those thoughts were merely fantasy. And where her sister forged that fantasy into reality within the Dungeon, she was too weak to do anything except take risky walks within a dilapidated environment that gave her a semblance of false peace and hope. Her lungs weakly pumped air into her burning chest; the pounding heart within beating like a thousand drums which only worked to ruin the calm peace of a beautiful world away from the noise.

She hummed, the only way to distract her mind from the agonizing pain that infected her chest, that weakened her legs and made her want to crawl back home to her simple bed and apologize for worrying her Familia.

She'd be scolded, her sister would look at her with self-hatred and scorn, her Goddess would cry and bawl; only to quickly act and manipulate the chaos of her disappearance to her utmost advantage or direct entertainment.

She sighed. Dark thoughts beget dark words, and those words inspired dark actions which determined the worth of a person. Her thoughts were plenty dark enough already, filled with the gleeful ramifications of death and the painless void she'd be left within -nigh heaven to her currently earthly existence- and the jealous envy of those superhuman beauties who loved her so, and were all she wished she could be.

The sister that convinced herself she'd stolen all her talent and ability within the womb, the goddess who jealously guarded her being like a prize or trophy to be coveted; mocked in the face of Zeus. Her familia who all offered pity, yet the reality of her situation was plain and simple; how she wished she could live free without the need to laugh and smile. How she wished she could dance and move without her breath catching in the strum of a note. All impossible things, even in a world such as this.

A hint of the breeze caught her hair and she frowned. Her pain…had gone away? She followed the breeze deeper and deeper into the Religious District, the scent growing stronger and making her chest calm and ease. Her lungs breathed, her heart beat calmly, her legs had feeling, and her nerves no longer burnt. She smiled and laughed truly, not the pathetic laugh of a small little girl who hid within a bed to be coddled and pitted, but that of a young woman who wished to live and saw the dawn after a blackened night that lasted since she was first born.

Her steps picked up, and she breathed and breathed, joy living within her heart as for the first time since she was a girl did she run! Her steps picked up, her balance was uneven, but her feet eventually found themselves once again. Her laughter ruined the calmness of the world around her, and so she quieted, her heart's thumping beats calm, her thoughts were no longer stained with agonizing pain, and her steps slowed from her brief sprint into a calm and sedated walk as she caught her winded breath.

The scent only grew more pungent, smelling of earth and…purple? Why did something smell purple?

She kept following the scent of purple and now orange, and maybe a bit of red? Now there were tints and colors of dotting her vision that she couldn't even name! The pain was long forgotten, and now she just followed the ever more pungent scent, stumbling between walls, blacking in and out of sight and a twisted world of imagination and unreality.

She dreamed in this walk, a short small little walk and she dreamed lives. Lives where she was married, had kids, had a family and a job. Lives where she was alone and walked into the Dungeon to find a Dragon nestled deep within. Lives of herself and her sister, simple children living a simple childhood out in Altena's backcountry.

She kept following the scent, and only stranger and more intense did her visions grow, more wild lives did she live.

She found a gate. Iron, wrought, and rusted. Covered in odd growths and white vines laced red. She jostled it, frowning as it failed to move. How did gates open again?

She found the latch. Oh.

Opening the gate, she stumbled into Heaven on Earth. Playful things danced in a world of mushrooms and moss, she was quickly lost. She ran and darted around this quiet world, the creatures here silent as could be, soft rains of spores and clouds of mist covered the world. She found the great wall of Orario, once protective walls, but now she felt them as a prison.

She tugged on a vine growing up this great wall, and started to climb. She climbed and climbed, and when the vine went no higher, it grew to allow her to climb even more.

The sun was setting as she climbed to the very top, her fingers raw, the soft skin removed from her hands, but pain didn't exist anymore. She sat on a crenulation, overlooking the city and the sun setting distantly. The cold came quickly, and so she slowly lowered herself back onto the vine, climbing down carefully, and soon the night came as her bare feet rested on soft grass and mushrooms.

"Hmm, did the mushrooms mutate into people again?" A voice called, masculine in nature. A form, dark and foreboding appeared from the foliage. "You're no mushroom man." It stated with amusement.

She giggled. "Mushies!"

"Let's get you inside."

The man took her hand and gently led her into a cold room that smelled a bit funky. But, old and rotten, but also fresh and full of life. Like the mushrooms? Like the mushrooms.

He gave her a clip of a mushroom, and she thought it was medicine. They always gave her medicine.

She took the clipping…

"Where am I?" Materia asked.

A man with a face clouded in shadow leaned forward, "You're in my Garden, Isha madam." He took off his iron crown infested with fungal growth and drew off his hood, revealing a handsome face that had gone wild, growths of red mycelium decorated his form, growing into his beard and onto his face; around his eyes, and over into his hair. He looked a bit mad, off, or even insane; intense, was the word she was looking for.

He reminded her of her sister.

"Now, what are you doing here?" He asked.

Materia thought back, feeling her chest and finding no pain. "I'm sick. The air…it cured me." She whispered, pressing at her chest and taking blessedly clear intakes of air.

The man looked thoughtful. "Can you do me a favor, madam. Turn around. I'm going to listen to your chest."

She'd sat on an old bed built into a crenulation within a crypt, and he sat next to her. Twisting, she felt his ear rest against her thin dress. "Breath deep."

She did so.

"Breath out."

She did so.

"Again."

"Again."

"Again."

"Hmm." He lifted his face from her and frowned. "This is worrying. I am afraid you have some form of cancerous tumor without your lungs, and it's spread to other parts of your body; I assume the heart and arteries around it."

"Cancer?"

"Karkinoma. A potentially magical variant of it, but I'm no true doctor." He hummed in deep thought, "Some of my products could potentially halt or help fight against your ailment, but you're something of a Stage Three or Four if I remember the classification correctly. Here," He stood and walk over to a shelf where he drew a flask, "Here's a calming remedy, it should help with your nerves and bring you into a state of relaxation; I'll go see if I can't bash together a shine-batch that could be oxygenated for lung-dispersal. I'll also need to get some disinfectants and then surgically remove the tumor itself once the cancer has been killed…or rely on the body to remove the dead tissues. A powerful enough healing remedy could help as well. Hmm, solutions and more solutions. I'll be back." He waved and left down deep into the cellars.

Materia glanced down at the flask he'd just handed her, and for the first time in a long long while, she felt hope. Simple hope.

She nodded, and decided to trust herself into the hands of this strange man, for good or ill.

-

Corvac

"I'm back." He called to the woman sitting on his bed, looking utterly stone. Maybe giving her the sleep-juice was a bad idea, but the woman was practically a deadman walking at this point. Corvac could think of several ways to help her, and a potential culmination of those ideas had come into genesis within the five hours he'd been tinkering down inside the deepest layers of the crypt.

He drew out the most potent Death Rot draught of Shroomshine he had, then took off his Amulet of Agony. He latched the amulet onto the woman's stomach, making sure it had him in the frame, and then prepared the remaining few Shroomshine batches he had prepared. Lifegiving Remedy, Out-Of-Body-Experience, Painfuck, Painkiller, Death of Pain, Spiritual Exodus, Spiritual Odyssey, and Black Voodoo Magic.

He then waved his hand and a newly created Mushroom man holding a sharp stick in its hands prepared itself.

Corvac then started to feed the woman the mixture of potions, letting his own Mad Doctor's Brewski guide him with unnatural and spiritual skill. Death Rot and Life Giving Remedy were applied last, while all of the other drinks were applied first.

He watched as the woman's body started to rapidly decay and reform, new life taking over old life, and while that happened he had the mushroom man start going to town in his naked form. The spear stabbed into his heart, lungs, and organs the most, the eye of agony repairing the damage done to the woman's body; her mind and spirit outside of her body at the moment and currently on a nice little day trip.

One of the drinks he didn't give her yet was the Black Voodoo Magic. As the effects of Death Rot were balanced out and eventually overcome by Lifegiving Remedy, Corvac stepped away and fed the girl Black Voodoo Magic, and did the same with the Mushroom Man.

He saluted the Mushroom Man as Black Voodoo Magic drew out any lingering harmful effect and cursed the Mushroom Man with the same. Once the magic had done its job, Corvac waved the Mushroom Man away to see if anything happened, and started to get dressed. Once dressed back in his armor and healed up from a nice snack of moldy cheese, Corvac started to inspect the girl. He listened to her breathing and felt no abnormalities. He checked her pulse, and lastly took another shot of Mad Doctor's Brewski; calling on the afterlife and spirits of medical men to find any lingering issue with the woman spiritually or mentally.

He found none, his Out-Of-Body Experience, Spiritual Exodus, and Spiritual Odyssey saving her mind and soul from the 'clean slate' he gave to her entire body. As they came back, the scrambled neural connections within her mind that generated her memory were being rearranged to coincide with the saved memory-slate stored on her spiritual soul.

With a smirk, Corvac cracked his back and grabbed a Lemonboy off the shelf. "Good Deed of the Day, hell yeah." He threw one back and got back to work on completing the massive order that the four adventurers had pooled their wealth together to create.

A total of Eighty-Five million Valis was dumped on Alcohol, with the four adventurers outright signing contracts and building themselves a business agreement before Corvac's very eyes to expand Satar's Bar into a Shroomshine Only business; selling the best of the best, which required a massive amount of funds. Mentions of loans were being made for renovations, but Corvac wasn't going to dictate how they did their business so long as he got his eight-five big ones.

Work went by quickly as he ran into town quickly to purchase new barrels, having obtained a downpayment from the four men of sixteen million of immediate cash. With that cash he'd started an upscale business, using mushroom men and fungal networks to expand the underground tunnels into livable spaces that he could store or brew Shroomshine. His business had been going well, all told, and he'd even purchased the deed to the various buildings and plots of land; making it an entirely legal business.

After he got the license to produce and sell alcohol, of course; but that was just a period of waiting and bribery.

Right now, Corvac was going to make his Moonshine actual moonshine, by adding the Distillation aspect of the brewing process. Magical Distillation, preserving all of the actual flavors and effects of the spores and mushrooms, while dramatically increasing the alcohol content, and even the intensity of the trip.

To meet his needs, Corvac needed to go on a trip around town to find good distillation set-ups, while also requiring entirely unique processes and equipment to be made by hand from various blacksmiths who accepted that kind of work.

The city was relatively peaceful as he made his way through the Industrial District; save until it wasn't.

From one shop to the next, Corvac was negotiating with a smith regarding the pricing of a specifically sized and shaped cooling vat; negotiations that were rudely cut off when the earth rumbled and a building fell to pieces.

Corvac and the shopkeeper bolted to the window, finding the crumpled form of a famous Hephaestus Smith, the former Captain of the Familia. The current Captain of the Familia, Tsubaki Collbrande crouched over the man protectively, her nadachi extended over the bloody form of the dazed Level Five. From the collapsed building three men fell onto the Earth, their forms inspiring hissed exclamations of surprise.

"Zeus Familia." The shopkeeper whispered next to him.

"Collbrande! I told you, we won't be paying those damnable prices any longer! You crafting familias think you're so superior?! That you can charge tens of millions of Valis for weapons, and millions more for repairs when we have our noble tasks at hand? We gave you time to reconsider, and yet you spit on our offers! No more! No more I say!" The leader gesticulated wildly, his voice and charisma giving him the air of a rebellious man of justice, but Corvac could clearly see from the demeanor of those around him that this was just a glossed up display of power and strength.

Extortion.

"You come into my Familia Home, demand prices be reduced to ten percent, and when refused; what do you do? Throw a tantrum like the child you are; murdering dozens of our members in the process," She seethed, shaking her head as if in disbelief, "And act like you're a hero." Her whispered remark of fascination at his delusion carried in the winds. Veins tensing and blood boiling; she growled. "You'll have your prices; once you claw them from our dead fucking hands!"

A combat appeared to break out, only for a feeling to press down onto Corvac's soul. He grit his teeth and stood despite the pressure, staring with narrowed eyes onto the figure that burned with the fires of a volcano. Hepheastus, the Goddess of the Forge flared her Arcanum as she walked at a slow and calm pace into the rumble. "Enough." Her voice was calm and sedated, despite everyone knowing that the Earth wouldn't be shaking if she wasn't angry. "Tell Maxim that he'll choke on his daddies cock before he'll get another weapon from my Familia. Another attack on my members by the Zeus Familia, and I don't care that I'll be returned to Heaven; I'll smite your pathetic familia from existence, souls and all." Her eyepatch fell away and the world was brought to its knees by the gaze of the Cursed Eye.

The leader of the bunch grimaced and broke gaze quickly, spitting on the ground as he turned tail, "Maxim will not have this." He vanished in a leap, joined by his three followers.

Corvac frowned deeply, immediately reminded of Siegard. He didn't know the man perfectly well, merely an acquaintance, but he was also a connection to the four adventurers who were hoping to purchase his supplies. If Siegard died within this attack, then he could potentially be losing out on a lot of money. He accepted the last price the merchant sighted and hopped down into the wreckage.

The goddess and her Captain were conversing quietly, Tsubaki seeming to not be satisfied with the stance that Hepheastus had taken. Corvac walked over towards the fallen and forgotten old dwarven smith and former Captain of the Familia. He knelt by the man's side and found his shoulder was nearly torn off, while he was suffering extreme internal bleeding. Corvac pulled from his belt an emergency flask of Lifegiving Remedy, nursing the man's head up and feeding him the elixir while the two women fought to the utter ignorance of his actions.

He rolled his eyes at the predictable argument, Hephaestus showing her experience in ducking their heads when faced with an overwhelming force that just over-reached, while Tsubaki wanted to fight or lash back; showing inexperience.

The old man coughed and grinned up at Corvac, "Damn, that tastes mighty good." He croaked. "Who're you, young man?"

"Corvac Vex, old timer. Know if a man by the name of Siegard was involved with the attack. He owes me money." Corvac said bluntly.

The old man coughed with a wry smile, "Ha. Ol' Siegard owes someone money, what's not new? Name's Valk, Corvac, and thanks for that elixir of yours. Must've cost a pretty penny."

"I price a flask at around two point five million, undercutting most other Elixirs." Corvac gestured to the man's shoulder, "You're shoulder won't be lost, an upside to this elixir is that it can somewhat restore limbs, or at least bones and the like."

"A mixer? Hmm, Siegard hasn't mentioned one of your lot lately; a new friend of his?" Valk asked as he was pulled up and away from the increasingly shouty women.

He was set on a bit of rubble by Corvac who nodded, "A business acquaintance. He and a couple of buddies of his are working together on a business project to sell my products and to establish more lucrative relationships with myself. Likely hoping to get at some of my products a bit more cheaply."

"Satar, Selovin, and Yataro, right? Those boys have been hoarding mushroom wine from me, I knows it!" The old man coughed harshly at his shout, blood splattering onto his hand as he groaned.

"Funny you should mention that." Corvac wagged the elixir.

The old man blinked, and grabbed the offered elixir, hesitantly sampling it more intensely. "Oh. Oh my." He whispered, "Fascinating flavor profile, yet still earthy, and the effects!"

"It's not yet at its most potent state. I've yet to obtain the Mixer Ability, which I'm honestly hesitant to obtain in the first place, while I'm working on getting a distillery set up for more potent Shroomshines." Corvac revealed.

"Holy Brewah." The dwarf whispered, looking up at Corvac like he was his guardian angel.

"If you ever want to purchase a keg of your own, just head to Barrow Street within the Religious District. Bring something that can resist the effects of a Dark Fungus as well. I'm working on reducing the effects on the air-quality around the area before the Guild can stamp me with fines, but it's a work in progress."

Valk nodded greatly, "Of course, of course. I'll stop by as soon as I can, after this entire mess with the Zeus Familia calms down, and we bury our dead." He sighed.

"Take your time; don't let this predatory business man keep you from your troubles." Corvac said with a wry smile.

Valk laughed, "Thanks for your help, lad. Keep safe." Valk stood up and marched towards the two women, ready to put an end to their bickering.

Corvac backed out, satisfied with obtaining a new customer and obtaining the information he needed.

Heading back home, Corvac arrived as the sun was setting. He found that the woman he'd saved from her cancer was gone, and assumed she'd left back home. He set himself down and fell back into his bed, ready for a few hours of rest before he continued on with his work, only to blink awake a few minutes later as he found the cancer patient from before leaning over him with a wide smile.

"Erm, hello?" He asked.

"You cured me." She said.

"Yeah." Corvac sat up and swung his feet off his bed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. "Do you feel any discomfort, missing any memories?" He asked.

The woman giggled, "Nope~!" She cheered.

Corvac got a good look at the woman now, and it seemed that she's been playing within his Garden. Her hair was decorated with various knots and grasses, fungi grew on her skin and clothes much like they did his own; although she seemed to pick off those that he knew were poisonous. How she knew they were poisonous, he didn't know, but only beneficial ones were left on her body.

Corvac was brought to the attention of just how dangerous his garden was, and sighed as he rubbed his eyes. "Why are you still here? It's dangerous in the Garden."

The woman smiled, "But it's so quiet and safe! Plus, I haven't paid you back for saving me!" She seemed to be a very chipper lass.

Corvac sighed, "Don't you have a family to return to?" She must have; she'd have died years ago without someone caring for her in the state he found her.

"Well, maybe, but I want to live here now! Please! It's so fun!" She vibrated, reminding him of a rabbit such was her vibrancy.

"...You want to live…here?" Corvac gestured to the wild and dangerous jungle of fungi. "You'll die, you know?"

"Only the dangerous plants live away from the safe ones, and I already know the good ones that counter the bad ones; so if I'm sick or weak then I'll just go snack on them. Then there's the yummy ones over by the cathedral, those ones fill me up and are really tasty!"

Corvac let out an aggrieved sigh, "There's no way I'm getting rid of you, is there?"

"Nope!"

He frowned, rubbing his temple, before shrugging. "Do you have any skills?"

She frowned, "No, but I can learn! Please, I promise I'll be a good student!"

'Well, she's cute…fine, fine. Apprentice Getto!'

"Fine, you can stay. I'll teach you all about Mycology, or at least as much as I know; then we can scrapbook and brew potions and shroomshine." He decided, "Are you an Adventurer?" He asked, wondering what familia she was in if she was.

"Yeah, but I've never gotten my Falna updated since I joined."

Corvac raised an eyebrow and gestured to her to turn around. She did without hesitation, and then he lowered the back of her dress down to peek onto her back and saw a woman's head with a scepter placed by her hair. The woman yelped at the action, with Corvac frowning in deep thought.

'Hera.'

"..."

"Well, I'm going to bed." He ruffled through his things on his person and tossed her a hundred thousand Valis. "Use that to buy bedding and stuff, find anywhere you want to sleep; I'm not in charge of your safety." He shook his head at the wide smile that comment brought to her face. "Have fun." He waved to the grounds.

"Thank you!" She bowed, "I erm, my name is Materia." She introduced herself with an unsure handshake.

Corvac smiled, his gleaming red eyes reflecting into her one blue.

"Corvac Vex. A pleasure, I'm sure." He took her hand and gave it a gentle shake.

…

Chapter Six: The Peacock And Its Sodden Feathers - Part One

Hera

"We can't find her." So stated the Vice-Captain of the Hera Familia, ever prideful Alvenya was forced to kneel before a frowning goddess who bit her nails. "We've checked every inch of ground on the Zeus Familia members trek, we've gone over her room a thousand times yet no sign of forced entry was seen. We've asked anyone who was around during the time of her disappearance, and they all stated that she merely walked away!" The level eight winced as Hera stood from her throne within their manor, stalking towards a window that overlooked the city.

"We've deployed anyone who could spare time, and Alfia has gone on a warpath in her investigations! But everywhere we look seems to be a dead-end. For all intents and purposes, no-one has seen her since she's left."

"Who were the guards watching during that time?" Hera asked.

"Jelna and Alquit were the north gate guards. Wynfrir was the west gate guard."

Hera frowned, "None of them are the type to slack off…" She mused.

"We did find evidence of the window leading from the north hall bathroom being left open. Nearest to Materia's room, and with her bedsheet missing…" Alvenya sighed.

"She snuck out." Hera said with soft shock and disbelief. "What is that girl thinking; she's likely dead in an alleyway somewhere!" Hera wiped at her eyes, struggling with the feelings of what felt like the whimsical suicide of a dear daughter. She knew that the girl was still alive, she'd have felt her blessing return to her otherwise, but the worry ran deep inside the irrational goddesses mind.

"We haven't found a body." Alvenya countered.

"Then someone found her." Hera noted, "She's too weak to go alone, her illness would have her return."

"A bleeding heart?" Alvenya wagered.

"In this city…the chances are low, but not zero." She mused.

Hera sighed, closing her eyes and focusing intensely, before opening them and changing topics as she centered herself. "Things are just falling apart, aren't they? First the Sobek Familia attack, then Maxim is ramping up his actions. The Zeus Familia is just falling into tatters with their leadership splintered between Zald and Maxim's factions, while the old fool just stares at breasts all day instead of managing that clusterfuck of a familia!" She seethed with restrained hate towards Zeus, her rival and 'brother' familia that caused so many headaches.

Sitting back down, Hera frowned and turned her attention to Alvenya, "How has the city reacted to Maxim's attack on the Hephaestus Familia?" She asked.

Alvenya sighed, "Not well. The attack didn't just affect the Hepheastus familia, but the demands that they tried to leverage using them as a message seemed to trickle out to all crafting Familias. This in turn has led Dian Chet to look elsewhere for his business, moving outside of Orario while keeping a skeleton force of Adventurers to manage his shops within the city. Merchants and Craftsmen are weary of sending their caravans and supplies for sale, citing unstable political events as a reason; prices are rising, even food as Demeter seems to be worried for her own familia being targeted by Maxim's goons." Alvenya shook her head, "It's an unmitigated disaster that has utterly halted and crashed the economy of Orario. The Guild is doing their best to run damage control for this crash, but for now it seems that shops and centralized businesses have gone under; we're seeing a rise in freelancing and job-questing at the base of Babel."

Hera tapped her manicured hand against her chin in deep thought, "Do we need anything for the coming expeditions deeper into the Dungeon? We're aiming for floor seventy this week, and I want it to go well; so even if we need to spend extra, get what we need." She bit her nail, "Lupa is just nearing Level Nine; with two level Nines; Lupa and Alice, paired with Alfia, we'll have a force that could utterly crush the Great Quests!" Hera said with a wide smile of vindictive glee.

"The Expedition is going under way, however, the Horus Familia has been showing signs of arming themselves as well." Alvenya frowned, "We expect hostilities within the Dungeon."

Hera clicked her tongue, "That bitch Iris down in the desert is using her toy to bother me again. What a bitch." She scoffed, "They'll come and they will be crushed. Nothing else to it, my dear." Hera shrugged.

Alvenya nodded, "We will continue to update you on the efforts to locate Materia; without that closure I fear for Alfia's sake and her mental health."

Hera nodded and waved the woman away, leaving her to her thoughts.

…

Materia

Materia's eyes went wide as Corvac held a mushroom up and introduced her to Psilocybin Oxintoreprobine, her hands quickly taking notes on the thick notebook she'd purchased for her lessons. The man's voice ghosted into her ears, solidifying knowledge and fact into her mind as he waxed on poetically about the nature of mycology and the complex biology of mushrooms and fungi, the fourth and last kingdom of life on within the world; not counting monsters which were a magical form of life by Corvac's understanding.

Both of them were utterly high.

They were filled to the gills with Scholar's Mentats Vrooming Skooma. An utterly bizarre name for a drink, but one that was one of Corvac's first successful prototype distilled Shroomshine. He thus separated the two drinks he'd previously brewed, those that were merely fermented were 'Shroomwine', and those he distilled were 'Shroomshine'. Using complex enchanted laboratory equipment, glassware, and other devices, Corvac was able to enhance and amplify the effects of certain drinks; which he called extracts, and were dangerous in certain doses as one could easily overdose on these potent extracts.

However, with Corvac nearby and a life-saving elixir a gulp away, the two abused the extracts of various Shroomshines to study and learn; to formulate organized sciences and studies on the mushrooms that randomly evolved and mutated within their backyard.

It'd been a week since she'd decided she was going to stay in Corvac's garden, and the man had been surprisingly easy to convince. Her desire to stay within the Garden came from her initial fascination with the organisms that gave her relief and reprieve; that opened her mind to life beyond the room and bed. And the things that through Corvac's work and magic, saved her life.

The man was a blunt creature, frank and unwilling to pity someone for misfortune or hardship; he even struggled to empathize with those going through those struggles. He claimed that something was simply wrong inside his head, that he found loving and caring hard and difficult, but understanding and empathy came easy; just caring about that empathy was the hard part. Chronic Apathy or 'Autism' was what he called his state of existence, a trait he attributed to a skill called 'Decaying Existence'; whatever that was.

Despite his hardships, she could see the man was a good soul on the inside; capable of being just as wicked and deadly as his blades, and likely a killer just as her sister was. But, such was life within Orario. The strong ate and lived, while the weak died. Only through her sister's strength did she survive, although she doubted her sister would ever see it like that.

Thoughts of the Hera Familia had her pausing in her note taking, something that Corvac immediately noticed. "Something the matter?" He asked in a clinical tone that the Shroomshine they were on enforced.

"There is. I think I am homesick from my familia. I miss my sister and my familia members; I feel like I'm hurting my sister from withholding your ability to cure her. I feel selfish." She stated casually, the open and free analytical view the shroomshine granted of her emotions truly something to behold.

Corvac frowned and hummed, "I have no say in what you do, although bringing the Garden and my studies in risk of threat from your familia members brings risk and trouble just the same. I do profess that I worry about your absence emotionally, and will likely head to the dungeon to grind for further strength in a futile effort to resist the forces your discovery will bring upon my head. That, and I'll miss you."

Materia smiled, "All true. I just feel like I am an extraordinarily selfish girl. I just…take. Constantly."

"You are worth giving." Corvac responded immediately, "My thoughts and emotional state have been within a steady decline lately, and your presence has allowed me to focus on the present instead of rushing the dungeon for power. I recognize that I have wasted time and that I could be well on my way to Level Three by now, but even then I would find myself impossibly weak compared to those that are strong within this era. Rushing strength seems to be impossible, and so I must find comfort and power within other areas; such as social connections, mushroom cultivation, and business endeavors."

"Ever pragmatic." Materia noted.

"A suitable thing to be within a world such as this; filled with emotion, yet direly requiring someone with a straight head."

"You? A straight head?" She said with a wry grin.

"Why, it's quite rude to point out someone's disabilities like that, Materia." Corvac said with a grin, pulling out from his cloak a cutting of Reality Check.

He consumed some and passed some to her, her mind's focus and sharp acuity fading and she shivered; smiling like a person again instead of some mechanical construct. Poking Corvac's side, she saw the man grin back and poke her side. They then kept poking one another, wanting to see who'd get tired of the other. Eventually Corvac started to laugh, which caused her to laugh, and they shook their heads.

"If you miss your sister, then find your sister. I am not your keeper, Materia, and you have no desire for one. Find your own desires, and chase them with the passion you keep hidden away titled 'selfishness'. My own safety is meaningless when I have you to protect me from the nasty girl-bosses holed up inside the Hera Familia." He joked softly, poking her side once again and quickly backing away from retaliation.

Materia giggled at the childish act of the man, falling quiet as the two wrapped up their study session, heading back to the crypt. There, Corvac started to prepare his dinner, while she prepared her own. The disgusting mess that Corvac ate due to one of his Skills had her shaking her head while she enjoyed a hearty meal of mushroom stew. Eating such a thing for an entire week hadn't gotten old yet, and had quickly become one of her favorite meals; and she's eaten divine-class meals worth tens of thousands of valis, if not hundreds of thousands.

Materia sighed into her meal, idly glancing over at the drying cutting of mushrooms; she idly wondered which one she wanted to try today.

She'd become immensely fascinated with the chemical experience, living with Corvac was a literal dream come true a thousand times over; the unique experiences and feelings that his shrooms inspired were only the added bit of spice that his own presence and brutally sharp intellect inspired. He told stories, educated her in ramblings of science and mathematics, he criticized the crude governmental structure of Orario that was effectively ruled in truth by gangs of criminals loosely following the rules of a game; the man was ever a mouth worth listening towards.

She'd always wondered what the 'wisemen' were like when Wynfrir told her about them. Now she knew; wise as could be, and just as knowledgeable as the oldest sages.

Even if Corvac tried to tell her he was just nineteen.

"-right? I mean, just the thought of living within this city with such shitty means of immigrating means that the wealth gap between immigrants and normal residence would be extremely stilted! This should inspire a revolution from the native populations that were born citizens rising against the immigrants who were coming in to steal the higher and more well-paying jobs; but no, might makes right and the big stick gets waved around!"

She sighed, immersing herself into yet another rant about a facet of life within Orario that set him off into a tirade of words that she nodded along; inspiring thoughts of her own of reforms and new ways of governing that she'd never even heard of or thought about. Corvac was ever the 'Devil's Advocate', always challenging her words with questions of his own, playing thoughts off thoughts, welcoming ideas; but also shutting down ideas brutally that he thought were 'childish', 'impractical', or just plain impossible.

She knew by now to not take such rebukes seriously, and instead engaged deeper into the conversation; challenging him why he said those things, and so the intellectual debates within an old crypt behind a church unfolded into the late nights as dinner came to conclusion.

The two continued to argue and debate, continued to learn and educate, continued to spar with words and wisdom until Materia was yawning and nearly passed out. The moon high, and she was taken into Corvac's arms, the man carrying her off to the loft within the nearby church, setting her down and softly humming her off to sleep.

She'd wake up, find her way down the loft, and see Corvac enchanting, brewing, or off shopping with a note left on his bed.

He was enchanting his skulls now, the strange goblin skulls being covered in glyphs most strange, words and languages that she had no clue of. Whatever they were, they were doing something right; flames greener than the grass around them glared at her from the eye sockets of the foci.

"I think I'm going to see my sister." She said softly.

Corvac tilted his head and nodded. "I will be heading to the Dungeon then. Before then I'll be meeting and delivering my spirits to my associates." He turned to her, "We likely won't see each other for a bit." He gave her a grin.

Materia nodded and opened her arms.

Corvac laughed and pulled her into his own, spinning her around and ruffling her messy hair. "Have fun, Materia; live life, and don't let anyone tell you not to."

Materia tilted her head and leaned up, softly pressing her lips against the man's cheek. She giggled as he backed away, looking entirely out of place and staring down at her with confused eyes. Then he grinned and chuckled, letting her go.

"Freedom, free will. The free life is the dream. Science, Magic; All things in between." He hummed as he turned away, singing a distant song as she gathered her things and left the garden.

…

Corvac

He didn't want her to leave.

That woman had grown on him since she first showed her cheeky little smile, and since then they got on like a house of terpinolene and a fire.

Chemically interested, a practical innocent doe just finding the forest it was meant to live within.

Corvac felt like she was meant to live within his Garden, such was her familiarity and growing interest within it.

However, if you love something; let it go. Corvac hasn't had a long-lasting relationship before, and he didn't even know it was one until that last little bit of affection she'd given him. However, he wasn't about to ruin something good in a fit of childish possessiveness and attachment. He wasn't that far gone yet, although there was a growing part of him that had already claimed the girl as his.

He rolled his neck and watched as the men he'd hired, mere civilians, worked to load up the barrels onto carts and wagons. He'd taken care of the pungent odor of spores leaking outside of his garden by placing enchanted wardstones around his property. This limited the growth and spread of his mushrooms, although he figured that any location within Orario that could grow his mushrooms was growing his mushrooms. One would need a truly astronomic amount of mushrooms to brew even a liter of Shroomwine, let alone Shroomshine, and so he was entirely unworried about the effects it would have on his business. However, he was somewhat concerned about introducing hundreds of highly mutable mushroom species into the city environment.

They were likely going to easily adapt to the environment, and the effects that had were going to range from entirely benign, to deadly.

It wasn't his problem now, and instead he was more focused on making fat stacks of cash.

As the last load was pulled onto a cart and secured, Corvac gave the go-ahead and hopped into the lead cart heading for Satar's Bar.

Last he'd popped by, renovations were still ongoing as only two weeks had passed since their deal, but the renovations were nearly complete and the newly opening Divine Grog was having its grand opening once he'd delivered the shipment and they got the staff all orderly. So, likely in a few days, if not next week.

The trip went by quickly, the train of carts lining up before the shop, and soon they started to offload the barrels of shroomwine, branded marks of what each product was burned into the wood of the kegs or barrels.

Satar came out looking sharply dressed in a fitted suit, and Corvac could tell that the building was redesigned from the casual pub, to a more classy environment fit for an upper-brow private setting. Satar waved to Corvac, beckoning him down. Entering the establishment, Corvac found that he was correct, reminding him of a nightclub, but with less open space and more private rooms.

In retrospect, that was effectively a whore-house, but this one could likely be called an escort house at best. If they served ZestyZests, then Corvac was damned well sure that this place was going to be attracting a crowd that didn't want to head to the Red Light district to 'get some'. Those that headed to that district had a reputation, and there were dangers there associated with it. Having places outside of it was good competition and diversity in Corvac's eyes.

"I've gone ahead and deposited the wealth into your Guild Account, Corvac. Many thanks for arranging transportation of all the barrels." Satar handed him a clipboard with a place to sign and Corvac did so after scanning the document. He returned it to Satar who smiled widely and started to direct the men lifting the barrels.

Corvac started to wander the establishment, soon finding Siegard and Yataro by the bar nursing a drink served by Selovin.

"Siegard." Corvac waved, "It is a week late, but I saw what happened. Not entirely, but I witnessed the Zeus Executive talk down to Tsubaki. My condolences for your losses."

Siegard chuffed, "Many thanks, Corvac. It is not the first time I have lost friends, although never in such a disgusting way. Honor is worthless in this city, I have known such for years; yet it is always surprising the angle at which the dagger bites."

Corvac grinned, "Warrior Wisdom's most wise, Siegard." The man gave a respectful nod to the wise man who caught a seat himself. "I head to the dungeon after this shipment, I wonder what my newest business associates will do come the following days."

Siegard hummed, "Get smashed on Vulcan Breath, make an Ax that will taste Zeus Familia's blood. Vengeance!" He cheered.

Corvac grinned, "I will enchant an ax of such quality free of charge my friend; Thor's Wroth, I imagine its name."

Siegard's smile turned savage, "Thor's Wroth; a good name. Zeus will see not all Lighting bends to his name. As will Maxim."

"How about you, Yataro, how have your crafts gone?"

Yataro smiled, "I have sold many of my works for tens of millions to various nobility; it has allowed me to purchase a commission from my friend here for many blades. Blades that I have promised to taste Lighting Blooded Children."

"A worthy goal and target." Corvac bowed his head respectfully to the assassin, "The Zeus Familia is needlessly arrogant; I feel they need to be humbled, but such is not easy for those stuck within the clouds of glory and fame." Corvac noted, "To truly crush them, one simply needs to do as Icarus did; wait till their wings burn out within the sun's glare, and pounce. The time will come for your vengeance, I am sure; for I doubt these Great Quests the Hera and Zeus Familia so proclaim themselves capable of rallying against will go smoothly and without casualty."

Selovin smiled, "Bleed the enemy on a foe, watch them exhaust themselves, then strike; are you a Hunter, Corvac?"

The man chuckled, "I've hunted Minotaurs and Ligerfangs on the back of a Wyvern I tamed; so in a sense, I am a hunter."

The men looked suitably impressed by the feat, whistling as they claimed it a grand spectacle.

"How deep do you think you are delving, Corvac?" Selovin asked.

Corvac hummed, "I seek to head into the Great Tree Labyrinth. Maybe find a Vouivre." He joked.

Selovin hemmed, "Vouivre, huh. Have you seen the one that the Zeus Familia once put out on display?" He asked.

Corvac's brow furrowed, "Huh?"

"The Zeus Familia one captured a Vouivre; they put it in a stock and challenged anyone who could make it submit to them by sexually conquering it would be capable of keeping it. Orario was a dark place when that thing was around." Selovin said grimly.

Corvac frowned, finding himself oddly disgusted with the act of public free-use. 'What is this world, some kind of hidden hentai universe? Nani da fuck?'

"I find that topic grim, let's change the subject." Corvac said. He found eating people fine, but the causal mention of the brutal violation of a creature; even a monster, was a crossed line that knotted his stomach something fierce.

Selovin nodded with an apologetic smile, "Be wary of the Firebirds, they're rare but-"

Corvac found himself listening to the men around him give capable advice to use within the Dungeon. He smiled in gratitude, and was clapped on the back by the experienced Adventurers as he left.

He swung by the bank to pick up a decent amount of wealth, before quickly heading back over to the Tower of Babel.

There, Corvac started to purchase a few pieces of gear to complete his set.

First, he picked up a repaired set of fitting and similar mail and plate-mail that replaced his otherwise tattered and broken set. These items were of higher quality, made for Level Three's, which was the floor-level that he was headed for. He also picked up some tougher pants and some grieves that fit with his armor; lastly, he picked up the largest coin-pouch available, before running back over to his Garden.

Within his Garden, Corvac started to enchant his gear with concepts that came with himself being an Outworlder.

Understanding the concept of Space, Corvac expanded the space of the large coin pouch. He further added the concept of Time, halting time of objects and items placed within the bag. Once finished, Corvac felt at the bag using his mystical senses, and grinned as the bag was fifty times as large as it was on the outside; more than larger than a heavy supporter pack. He did the same thing to the few pockets and pouches on his person and woven into his cloak, dramatically increasing the amount of materials and goods he could carry up from the Dungeon.

He made a note to head to a hardware store and pick up an Adamantium Tipped pickaxe, used by supporters to mine veins of valuable metals found within the Dungeon.

His other alterations to his kit would be the enchantments done on his boots, granting them what he called a 'Spatial Step', allowing him to effectively cast 'Blink' to teleport a short distance away with a thought.

With the last few pieces of his kit done, and nearly a hundred million valis inside his bank account, Corvac headed to the Dungeon; ready to dive.

…