Dungeon Duel (Rogue Dungeon 5) - Chapter Twenty-One

The CEO’s throne turned out to be a bit of a letdown after the various thrones Roark had claimed in the Cruel Citadel. It was little more than a stark if comfortable chair with sleek black upholstery, though it did preside over the head of an ostentatiously long, smooth table. It rolled on a set of silent casters, but then so did every other chair in the room.

It hardly seemed fit for a king, much less for the god of Hearthworld.

Here, too, in what should have been the most fortified room of Frontflip Studios, where the seat of power resided, an entire wall had been constructed from glass. Roark couldn’t decide whether it had been hubris or idiocy that had persuaded the former ruler of Frontflip to have his stronghold built from such destructible materials.

Down on the quickly darkening green below, he could see Lowen’s army building fires and settling in for the night, and beyond that the sprawling city. Though the light was quickly fading, Roark could see the jagged teeth of mountains silhouetted far in the distance—the San Gabriel Mountains, according to Randy. The sight gave his mood an unexpected boost, while making him long for the sheer peaks backing von Graf Manor. He’d scaled their heights often as a child, running in the grassy meadows during the summer and braving the biting winds in the mild autumns.

He, Talise, and their cousins had often played there unattended, pretending to be knights or powerful mages, all the while waving around sticks and building fortresses amongst the trees. Just the games of youth. Though, glancing around, Roark had to admit that most of the forts he’d built as a seven-year-old were more secure than Frontflip Studios. He missed those days badly. A carefree time before he had to worry about where he would sleep or where his next meal would come from. Before the fight against Marek’s evil had taken over every part of his life. Before it had become his life.

“All the more reason to finish this,” he muttered. “For better or worse.” Either he would return to the mountains around Korvo victorious, or he would die in another failed attempt to kill Marek, and his lost soul would wander for eternity.

Roark turned back to the CEO’s throne, casting a final suspicious glance about the room. Could there truly be no trap or contact poison or defense of any kind? He found none. Bracing himself, he pulled the glorified chair away from the table and took a seat. Unfortunately, the “throne” was so small in comparison to Roark’s bulky frame that it felt like trying to wedge himself onto a child’s seat. It let out an audible groan as it accepted his weight.

A moment later, however, the groans gave way to a series of triumphant notes, which rang out from the air itself. Power washed out from Roark in a ring, suffusing the walls, ceiling, and floors. A Dungeon Lord’s Grimoire appeared, complete with maps of every level of Frontflip Studios.

[Congratulations! Unclaimed dungeon location Frontflip Studios successfully added. Would you like to name your expanded territory? Yes/No]

Roark thought for only a second.

“Shieldwall.” Once, long ago, just such a fortress had existed back in Traisbin—a domineering mountain fortress that had stood valiantly between Marek’s forces and Korvo. The Tyrant King had thrown away more lives than could be counted taking the stronghold. Likewise, this place would stand as the barrier between Marek’s forces and yet another world.

As soon as the word left his mouth, the World Stone Pendant burned against his chest. Not the icy fire of the Vassal-creating process, but a blistering heat as hot as a forge’s coals. Roark was certain if he hadn’t been covered in scales, the pendant would have burnt through his flesh and into his bone. He palmed the stone, but that offered no relief from its terrible heat.

A separate piece of parchment filled his vision, obscuring the Dungeon Lord’s Grimoire.

[Temporal Resonance detected! Compatibility: 32%. Would you like to attempt to bind Temporal Location Shieldwall with Prime Temporal Location, Cruel Citadel? Yes/No?

Warning: The higher the compatibility, the greater the stability of the final location. The lower the compatibility, the lower the stability of the final binding. Attempting to bind incompatible locations could destroy both locations.

Warning: Binding Temporal Locations is irreversible.]

Roark read through the text several times, then selected No. He couldn’t take the chance on destabilizing Shieldwall with Lowen at its door. Now was the time to fortify and strengthen its defensive capabilities.

Mac trundled up to him and nudged Roark’s hand with his oversized head, glancing reproachfully at the throne. There was no room for the Adolescent Turtle Dragon.

“Sorry, boy,” Roark said, patting his snout. “This place isn’t much like home, but perhaps I can rectify that.”

Mac snorted, then plopped onto the ground on top of Roark’s feet.

Roark turned to the Dungeon Design page in the Dungeon Lord’s Grimoire and set to work.

His fingers flew over the grimoire with practiced ease; he’d constructed a hundred dungeons. He’d designed and redesigned rooms and floors and doors a thousand times for the Cruel Citadel. By now, it had become second nature. First to go were the pointless glass walls—of which he learned there were many throughout the building. Nearly every façade had at least one. Madness, he thought, shaking his head. In their place, he reinforced each wall to double its thickness and changed the building material to Quarried Stone.

While Roark made his modifications, Randy brought up magickless fighters from each of the bands defending Shieldwall. Roark was loath to pause his work, but he couldn’t see a more efficient way to complete both tasks with the necessary haste.

From the little conversation Roark paid attention to during these interruptions, it seemed his Cursed Obsidian Glass weapons were proving quite effective, and the sudden addition of powerful magick users to the defense had Lowen’s troops perplexed as to how best to proceed.

That would be a mere drop in the bucket compared to the alterations Roark was making to Shieldwall.

He tried to add a battlement, but the Dungeon Lord’s Grimoire refused to allow it.

[Your enemy is encamped inside area required for battlement. You must repel your enemy before adding battlement.]

With that option unavailable, Roark turned his attention to altering the overall shape of the stronghold, bringing the walls in at sharp angles until the top-down view resembled a stylized sun with rays radiating from the center. He lined the top of the walls with hoardings held up by stone corbels and fitted each corbel with a machicolation in the floor that dropped open to allow a defender to fire arrows or spells or drop any number of dangerous or lethal substances from.

“There you are, you bloody tosser,” he dared Lowen under his breath, “fly into that.”

With the exterior of the building largely redesigned, he turned his attention to the interior of the complex. It was crucial to keep Lowen and his flunkies out, but the overwriting bastard was tricky in his own way. Roark had to assume his outer fortifications may well be breached. Glancing over the interior, he decided to leave the cafeteria alone, along with the break rooms and the “team workspaces,” of which there were many. Those would help confuse and slow any Heralds who managed to make it inside and provide the defenders with places to fall back to and attack from. Chances were, too, that Randy would need the strange machines for his work. But that still left numerous possibilities.

Roark added a bevy of interior traps to the hallways: false floors, filled with spikes and acid pits. Dangling chandeliers on hair triggers that would crush an opponent passing underneath. Cursed floor plates that would explode in the presence of Divine forces. He had the option to create new customized rooms, such as an armory, a smithy, and an alchemist and enchanter’s laboratory. He cannibalized any unnecessary space, gutting a variety of storerooms and offices that served little purpose. There was a corner suite marked Danny Lopez, Vice President of Marketing. According to his grimoire, the space had no practical purpose whatsoever, so Roark turned it into his own private quarters.

The most interesting feature, however, was not the changes he was able to make, but rather a new tab in the grimoire that strobed with angry violet lettering, Seed Dungeon.

When he selected it, a new page unfurled before him.

[Shieldwall Dungeon, creature status: uninhabited! This dungeon has not been assigned a type or seeded for life. To continue, you must first select a primary race to inhabit it! In your current form, you may choose from the following race types: Troll, Necrotic Revenants, Draconic. Select a type to continue.]

Roark though about it only for a moment before choosing Draconic. Although he was fond of his Troll brethren, they were among the weakest creatures in Hearthworld, and Necrotic Revenants were only one step above that—as was evidenced from the undead shamblers that inhabited the bailey above the Cruel Citadel. But dragons were creatures of myth and legend that were universally revered. In Hearthworld alone, the most powerful mob of all had been Aczol the Eternal, often referred to by the heroes as the Endgame Dragon.

[Congratulations! You have selected Draconic Dungeon. Would you like to seed Shieldwall with Dragonoid Hatchlings at this time? Yes/No]

He selected Yes but received a flashing failure prompt for his trouble.

[Error! Unable to complete action. Since Shieldwall is a secondary dungeon location you must appoint an Arch-Overseer to rule on your behalf before seeding the dungeon with life. Arch-Overseers will be able to modify the dungeon and give orders on your behalf while you are absent from the dungeon. Please select an appropriate Arch-Overseer to proceed.]

Roark read and reread the requirement, mulling it over in his mind as he looked through a list of potential candidates. All were either his Vassals or his current floor overseers. That made a certain sense. Marek was Tyrant King over all of Traisbin, but he couldn’t be everyplace at every time. He had a series of magistrates and governors that executed his will while he was away. This was no different. The question was, who should he appoint to the position? True, he’d brought along many capable floor overseers, but they were monstrous creatures of Hearthworld. Leaving them behind to rule this world, when they understood so little about it, was a recipe for disaster.

The best option—the only option, in truth—was to appoint one of his human Vassals. Of the two, Randy was far more reliable, yet PwnrBwner had proven himself to be a capable warrior and a surprisingly thoughtful and inspiring leader. He’d convinced heroes to risk their lives and follow him into battle, which was no small feat. It was a gamble, but the longest odds were the wagers that earned the largest returns. Before Roark could second-guess himself, he chose the rash Ranger-Cleric from the list of candidates.

[PwnrBwner_OG has been appointed Arch-Overseer of Shieldwall. In your absence, he will be able to alter the dungeon configuration and command the forces of Shieldwall. Would you like to seed the dungeon at this time? Yes/No]

Roark held his breath, feeling a thrill of excitement. Yes.

The floor rumbled beneath him, and shimmering black eggs, each the size of a human skull, appeared throughout the room in clusters of three and four. A quick count revealed there were thirty eggs in all. Hanging above each was a countdown timer. Three hours—though seconds were already whirling away. Hells, but the magick of the World Stone Pendant was powerful. It was creation itself.

Roark had no idea how much time had passed, but it was full dark outside by the time he finished his work. He checked over the improvements once more and nodded.

[Accept changes to Shieldwall? Yes/No

Warning: Once accepted, Shieldwall cannot be altered again for 24 hours!]

“We’ve got a problem!” Randy said, bursting into the boardroom. “PwnrBwner just called. Lowen’s troops have closed ranks, and the cops are down to a skeleton crew. He and his guild can’t get back through the line. We’ve got to do something.”

Roark grunted, turning back to Shieldwall’s design, poring over every option.

There! Dirtworks.

“Tell him to hold where he is,” Roark said, getting rid of a few machicolations on each wall to free up additional resources.

When he had reclaimed enough points, he selected the Dirtworks option and dragged a model of a tunnel from the basement of Shieldwall, under the image of Lowen’s troops, out past the green and into the street. An emergency exit, not so different than the secret tunnel that ran from the throne room in the Cruel Citadel. Most dungeons in Hearthworld had such an exit, though it was meant primarily as a quick departure for heroes who had defeated the Dungeon Lord and didn’t wish to wend their way back out through the whole dungeon.

Roark nodded to himself, then accepted the changes. Twenty-four hours would be plenty of time to repel his enemy. Then he could add that battlement. Or, perhaps, have Pwnr add it.

The stronghold rumbled once again, but this time it was because the entire structure was shifting around them. When it finished, the motion stopped. The wood floors, long table, and comfortable rolling chairs of the boardroom remained the same, but the tall, thin windows Roark had added had been filled in with stained glass rather than clear, and the ceilings were vaulted—though still low enough that an infiltrating Herald couldn’t take flight.

Satisfied, Roark turned to the former Dev, who stood, mouth agape, looking at the changes.

“How…” Randy muttered softly.

“Magick, of course. Now, tell PwnrBwner we’re on our way.”

Randy fumbled a thin box from his pocket—a device he called a phone.

“Where should I tell him to meet us?” he asked, still sounding rather breathless.

“He’ll see us,” Roark said. “Just have him keep an eye on the sky.”