Chapter 127: Interlude: The Tomb of Furibon (2/2)

Carefully, wary of traps, Marty the orc opened the nearest lock, and then quickly backed away when the door opened. He raised his bow and aimed at whatever awaited beyond the threshold.

Only to find an innocent duck. The bird looked up at the orc, who frowned in confusion.

Jenny the elf’s eyes widened in horror. “Marty, shoot the duck.”

“What?” the archer asked back, as a sadistic gleam filled the bird’s eyes.

“Shoot the BLEEPing duck!”

The monster quacked and threw itself at the group. Much faster, the archer reacted on instinct and shot the bird dead.

BOOM!

A mighty explosion of flames and feathers threw Marty against the opposite wall, shaking the entire room.

“W-what was that?” Raptor asked, rushing to his ally’s side to heal him.

“A [Suicide Duck]!” Jenny shouted. “They explode on contact as a defense mechanism, inflicting around three hundred [Fire] damage!”

“Wait, they kill themselves as a survival mechanism?” Sarat asked. “Isn’t that self-defeating?”

“Predators tend to go extinct around them very quickly,” Furibon replied mirthfully.

Jenny sighed. “Marty, just shoot the ducks when you see them.”

Furibon pushed a button on his throne, a wall opening in the treasure chest room.

Dozens of bird eyes looked at the adventurer crew from the shadows, and ominous quacking sounds echoed through the dungeon.

After losing arms and eyes, after suffering wounds and humiliations, the team finally made it to the true treasure room.

A hoard worthy of Knightsbane’s awaited them, a mountain of gold, gems, and magical items, buried in a vault the size of a city district.

But as soon as they entered, the room’s doors locked up behind them. The adventurers prepared themselves for battle, as a mountain of coins shifted and adopted a humanoid shape. The treasure gained arms and legs, to better crush the thieves.

A [Mythical Coin Golem] miniboss.

“[Desperation]!” Marty the orc readied his bow, empowering it with all his might; his arrow became a searing missile of fiery light, hitting the golem at the speed of cannonballs.

Much to Furibon’s astonishment, the arrow pierced through the golem and blew it up in one strike. The projectile continued its course and fragmented the vault’s ceiling upon hitting it.

“I knew Furi would pull off something like this when we reached the hoard,” Marty boasted, as the miniboss collapsed, “so I brought [Artislayer] arrows in bulk.”

“I empowered them with alchemy before we came here,” Sarat added, raising her newly amputated left arm. “See? You’re so predictable, Furi!”

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Furibon admitted. One should never underestimate adventurers. “But you aren’t done yet.”

He clicked on a new mechanism in his throne, the layout of the entire dungeon changing. New areas replaced the old, traps rebuilt themselves, and the death course adopted its true form.

“For now, you have to get out of the dungeon,” the lich explained. “By braving its second half!”

“I lost an arm, Furi!” Sarat the ratkin complained. “That’s not funny!”

“I said I would cure you, physically and emotionally.” He had even set an enormous bank account—his entire fortune and all winnings from his adventurer days—aside to fund an emergency revival, if needed. Even if Furibon would never admit it… he had grown fond of this group of screwups. “But even if we are f….”

“Friends,” Jenny said. “It’s called being friends, Furi.”

“Yes, yes,” the lich cleared his throat, embarrassed. “Still, I must treat every challenger all the same, for the sake of fairness.”

“In that case…” Raptor the priest brought out a pendant, hidden beneath his robes. “You won’t complain if I use this!”

Furibon froze, upon recognizing the item. “No…”

“An [Amulet of True Recall],” Raptor explained. “It teleports us back to our sanctuary and ignores teleportation blocks! It cost me all my money!”

“Oh, could it be that the dungeon master forgot to patch out that one weakness?” the fiend commentator asked.

“I did not anticipate this,” Furibon admitted. The amulet was powerful enough to bypass his own wards. “It won’t change a thing.”

Although his last trick would have a bit less impact.

“Everyone, take everything you can carry, and let’s teleport out,” the priest told his team. “I set the teleport point right before the barrier.”

“Where is my [Bottomless Bag]?” Sarat complained, checking her bandolier.

“I think the ducks blew it up,” Jenny replied icily, grabbing all the gold she could in her arms. The others had brought two bags and filled them to the brim with gold. Having enough of the dungeon, they very much wanted to escape as hastily as possible.

The priest activated the amulet, its power bypassing even Furibon’s mighty magical protections. The group vanished from the treasure room, teleported back to the entrance.

Furibon had his scrying ball follow the group, just as his last trap activated.

“What the…” Raptor’s eyes widened in terror.

Much to the group’s horror, their hard-won gold had lost its luster.

For the second they had crossed the barrier marking the dungeon’s frontier, they had triggered a contingency spell. One last joke, meant to punish adventurers for their greed and teach them the value of prudence.

In a second, all their gold had turned dark grey.

“Lead.” Marty the orc’s eyes became empty pits of despair. “It’s all lead.”

“The gold turns to lead when taken out of the dungeon,” Furibon said. “The best items in the vault were the unremarkable ones.”

This trick was why he had developed the [Transmute Gold to Lead] spell in the first place.

He had expected the first adventurers to discover this feature to cry. But instead, they stood in silence around their worthless loot, their face white and their gaze devoid of hope. They didn’t make a sound or scream in frustration.

They just broke.

“Beautiful.” The fiend nodded to himself. “So what do you reply to scaled people accusing you of lead addiction?”

“I admit that it has become a…” Furibon struggled to find a word, “a guilty pleasure.”

Still, when he looked at his destroyed team, he felt pain in his ribcage. Which said a lot, since he didn’t have a heart left.

“I am treating you all to a trip to Las Veganos,” Furibon said through the scrying sphere. “I will pay for your gambling tabs.”

“And you invite us to Leviathan Sushi?” Jenny looked up, hopeful.

Furibon sighed. “Yes.”

“Aw, I have tears in my eyes,” the fiend commentator said. “If only for the sake of the camera.”

“I hope you enjoyed this demonstration of passionate dungeon design,” Furibon said. He couldn’t wait to win his first Deadie Award.

“Indeed, dear audience, this is the dungeon behemoth that will certainly smash all competition,” the demon said to his mirror, before turning back toward Furibon. “Since we have five minutes before the interview ends, could you could give us your thoughts on the new Dragon-Fomor war?”

Furibon pondered the question, before realizing that he had no idea of what the fiend was talking about. “Excuse me?”

“What do you have to say about Vainqueur Knightsbane’s decision to call a dragon Conclave and burn Prydain to the ground?”

Oh.

Oh, it finally happened.

Furibon’s first instinct was to ignore the matter entirely. Nothing good could come out of associating with Knightsbane and Dalton, even if they had their good times; he would have a lot less headaches by remaining in his own hemisphere, far, far away from Murmurin.

However, he had heard the rumors. That fomors had gained levels and gathered weapons for war. His experience with the Century War had taught him that pointless conflicts led nowhere productive, but he had the feeling that this time, things might end differently.

…

Maybe he should look into it, just in case.