Chapter 126: On The Nature Of Dungeons

Morning light settled gently over the Adventurer Guild. Tall windows along the hall filtered sunlight into pale slants, painting the marble floor with hues of gold and white.

The air was calm, almost lazy, carrying faint scents of coffee, ink, and polished stone. Beyond the thick walls, Gryphon District was already alive, vendors calling out, hooves striking the road, distant chatter rising and falling like a tide, but inside the Guild, there was a rare stillness.

The lounge area remained quiet. Steam rose from a porcelain cup resting on the low table between two sofas. Bonsai plants stood in silent symmetry at the corners, their tiny leaves unmoving. Everything about this space radiated comfort, stability, and order.

Sage sat alone on one of the sofas. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes were unfocused, fixed somewhere far beyond the hall and beyond the city.

“Dungeon detected.”

The system notifications still echoed in his mind.

Sage slowly lifted his cup for a small sip before setting it back down untouched. He had anticipated this day; he just hadn’t expected it to arrive so soon. Dungeons were not new to this world, they weren’t myths or rare miracles; they were simply… treasures.

They were part of reality, and because of that fact, they held power.

Sage leaned back slightly, interlocking his fingers over his stomach.

“Boren,” he said quietly.

Behind the reception desk, Boren nearly jumped out of his skin. “Y-Yes, Boss?!”

“Send someone to bring Gregor here. Tell him I need him in the lounge.”

“R-Right away!” Boren practically bounced as he hurried off to deliver the message.

Sage exhaled slowly and waited; excitement wasn’t what he needed right now, he needed clarity. It didn’t take long before Gregor appeared at the entrance to the lounge area.

Still clad in light armor with his two long swords secured across his back, Gregor’s presence felt steady and familiar. Upon seeing Sage seated there, something in his expression sharpened.

He approached and inclined his head. “Guildmaster? You called for me?”

“Yes,” Sage nodded before gesturing toward an empty seat opposite him. “Sit.”

Gregor complied without hesitation.

For a moment neither spoke; it felt as if this lounge was insulated from all outside noise, as if even sounds from within the Guild knew better than to intrude here.

Finally breaking the silence, Sage said: “I want to talk about dungeons.”

Gregor’s expression didn’t change much, but his eyes grew more alert at those words.

He looked at Sage with curiosity and asked: “Why this sudden interest in dungeons?”

Sage shook his head slightly and replied: “Tell me what people believe dungeons are.”

Gregor leaned back thoughtfully before responding slowly: “To most people? They’re opportunities or threats, depending on who you are.”

Sage gestured faintly with his hand for him to continue. “Explain further.”

Gregor nodded and began, “To civilians, dungeons are just rumors, places where people either strike it rich or vanish without a trace. They hear tales of glowing crystals, rare minerals, precious treasures, and ores that can’t be found anywhere else.”

“To warriors like us,” he continued, “dungeons are accelerators. They’re the quickest route to gaining strength, combat experience, and resources. No training ground compares; no battlefield teaches faster. Every serious warrior wants access to dungeons.”

“And what about the nobles?” Sage asked.

Gregor’s expression tightened. “To nobles… dungeons are assets.”

“They represent territory without borders,” Gregor elaborated. “Sources of mana crystals, rare minerals, monster materials, relics, alchemical components. Controlled dungeons generate wealth for generations.”

He paused briefly before continuing. “That’s why most known dungeons are monopolized.”

Sage nodded slightly. “I’m curious, how are they usually discovered?” he inquired.

“Dungeons appear randomly as portals,” Gregor replied promptly.

“Almost always.” He leaned forward a bit. “A dungeon doesn’t start as a cave or a ruin; it begins as a spatial breach, a distortion or a door that wasn’t there before.”

“Sometimes it forms in open land; other times inside old structures or underground, or even floating half a meter off the ground. But when it appears, there is always a threshold.”

“A visible entrance,” he explained. “A boundary. Cross it, and you’re no longer in the world.” Sage’s fingers slowly clenched together.

“How are they detected?” Sage narrowed his eyes and quickly asked.

“Mana fluctuations, unstable readings, beast migrations, sometimes sheer accident. A hunter steps through mist and doesn’t come back; a caravan vanishes; a farmer finds a glowing arch where his field used to be.”

“But most of the time,” Gregor added, “noble networks find them first.”

Sage’s gaze sharpened immediately. “How?”

“Observation posts, mage towers, contracted scouts, mana surveyors, they monitor the land constantly. The moment spatial distortion occurs, someone is notified; when that happens, whoever has authority moves to secure it.”

Gregor’s tone remained even but carried an underlying weight: “They establish control by building defenses and restricting access, setting fees and assigning guards.”

He paused for several seconds before continuing. “Anyone who enters a controlled dungeon must pay to enter…and surrender most of what they retrieve.”

Sage listened intently as he nodded; he already knew how nobles operated their dungeons, anyone who entered had to surrender at least ninety percent of their loot, that was one of the first things he learned upon arriving in this world.

Shaking his head slightly to refocus himself, Sage gestured for Gregor to continue.

Gregor leaned back slightly before continuing. “Independent dungeon exploration is nearly impossible. Any dungeon worth entering attracts attention quickly, from nobles, major clans, merchant groups, and sometimes even royal interests.”

He met Sage’s gaze. “Without power, you can’t hold onto dungeons.”

Sage absorbed this in silence. “Why,” he asked, “is there no proper ranking system for dungeons?”

Gregor frowned slightly and shook his head. “Because dungeons are unpredictable.”

Sage tilted his head, confusion flickering in his eyes. “What do you mean?”

Gregor spread his hands faintly. “Some dungeons are small with just a few floors and weak monsters. Others are sprawling labyrinths with dozens of floors, complex environments, and bosses that don’t behave like typical beasts.”

“But size doesn’t always equate to danger,” he continued. “A five-floor dungeon can wipe out a team, while a twenty-floor dungeon might be farmed safely for years.”

Sage listened intently without interrupting.

“Some dungeons change their internal terrain or alter monster types; others shift layouts or spawn new floors. Some become unstable and collapse, while others stabilize and remain unchanged for decades.”

He shook his head. “Every time scholars try to classify them, exceptions undermine the system.”

“So how is danger assessed now?” Sage asked.

Gregor exhaled softly before replying solemnly. “Trial.”

Sage’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“Teams are sent in to measure survivability,” Gregor explained. “Monster behavior is observed, floor depths tested, if casualties are light, the dungeon is deemed low risk; if losses are heavy, restrictions follow.”

“And what about casualties?” Sage pressed.

“Constant,” Gregor replied simply. “Dungeon exploration is the fastest way to grow, and also the quickest path to death.”

He paused for a moment before continuing. “Every major power has graveyards filled with the remains of failed expeditions.”

Sage let that sink in. “Why do some dungeons change?” he asked.

Gregor hesitated briefly before answering. “There are theories: mana accumulation, core evolution, environmental absorption… Some believe monsters adapt based on what enters; others think cores evolve in response to resistance.”

He looked thoughtful. “My personal belief? Dungeons aren’t static; they’re active systems.”

Sage’s gaze sharpened slightly as he repeated quietly, “Systems?”

Gregor nodded emphatically. “They generate monsters, regulate environments, recycle mana, store resources, maintaining their own internal rules.”

“And no one controls them,” Sage noted.

“Not truly,” Gregor replied. “Nobles control access but not the dungeons themselves.”

Sage leaned back slowly as another question surfaced: “What happens when a dungeon is fully cleared?”

Gregor considered it for a moment before responding thoughtfully. “Sometimes it collapses; sometimes the core dissolves; other times it stabilizes and becomes dormant… Occasionally… nothing happens.”

“Some dungeons reactivate. Some never do.”

Sage’s gaze flickered to the distant wall. “And what happens when a dungeon is left untouched?”

“Monsters gather, mana density rises, and internal threats grow. If left unchecked, dungeons can spiral out of control. That’s when a Dungeon Break occurs.”

“A Dungeon Break?” Sage tilted his head in confusion.

“Exactly,” Gregor nodded, continuing. “A Dungeon Break happens when a dungeon remains unexplored for an extended period. Monsters accumulate, mana levels increase, and eventually, the stability of the Dungeon Portal falters. Once it reaches its limit, the protective barriers fail, allowing the monsters to escape, and those creatures are incredibly bloodthirsty. When a Dungeon Break occurs, countless lives are lost.”

Sage listened intently, surprised by this new perspective on dungeons.

But one question lingered in his mind. He turned to Gregor and asked, “If Dungeon Breaks happen because dungeons are left alone for too long, why do nobles charge such exorbitant fees for warriors to enter? And if you guys could just let a Dungeon Break occurs without any involvement from,then why even bother entering at all?”

Gregor pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head. “It doesn’t matter whether we warriors go in or not; the nobles have their own agendas figured out. They’re all sly foxes, they can easily send their soldiers in to maintain control and hoard all the treasures for themselves without sharing a thing.”

He leaned forward slightly as he continued. “They know how crucial dungeons are for us Warriors; no matter what we’ll have to venture inside eventually. So they don’t care if we enter or not, because of that, Dungeon Breaks rarely happen anymore. Historically speaking, they tend to occur only when a dungeon hasn’t been discovered yet.”

Sage furrowed his brows at this revelation about the nobles’ motives. It seemed clear that they were playing a deeper game than he initially thought. According to Gregor’s explanation, these nobles didn’t mind if a Dungeon Break occurred since they could simply dispatch their soldiers into the dungeons instead of relying solely on Warriors like him.

The nobles would keep all loot from these ventures since their soldiers were already under their command while also preventing potential disasters like Dungeon Breaks from happening altogether.

In reality, it seemed that they didn’t need warriors at all; rather than being seen as merciful benefactors granting access to treasure troves. Sage is even sure that some Warriors might even feel grateful towards them, a sentiment that played right into the hands of those same nobles.

“Sly foxes,” Sage muttered under his breath with newfound respect for their cunning nature.

Silence enveloped the lounge again as Sage closed his eyes momentarily.

Then he spoke up: “People think of dungeons as treasure vaults.”

Gregor nodded in agreement. “They are.”

“They also view them as danger zones.”

“Yes,” Gregor replied with a nod.

“They think they’re power accelerators.”

“Yes.”

Sage opened his eyes. “But they aren’t just that.”

“They’re unregulated ecosystems,” Sage said softly. “Resource-producing environments without oversight, growth systems lacking governance. Power engines with no one to manage them.”

Gregor furrowed his brows, puzzled by Sage’s point.

Sage leaned in slightly. “And anything like that… eventually becomes unstable.”

He exhaled slowly. “That’s why the nobles monopolize them, not just for wealth, but because whoever controls the dungeons controls growth itself.”

Gregor studied him closely. “You see something,” he remarked.

Sage didn’t deny it. “Dungeons aren’t merely locations,” he continued. “They represent infrastructure.”

Gregor’s eyes widened a bit.

“Mana flows, monster cycles, resource emergence, combat training, alchemical supply and economic leverage.” He gestured toward the hallway beyond the lounge, where adventurers laughed, argued, and strategized.

“And yet, no one has ever unified them.”

Gregor fell silent.

Sage reclined again, resting his hands on his knees.

After a moment of hesitation, Gregor asked, “…Is something going to happen?”

Sage paused before responding. He watched the steam rise from the cup on the table.

“Something,” he finally said, “already is.”

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