The party passed through a rust-covered iron door and made their way through the second room of the miniature dungeon. As they pressed forward, the air at the far end of the corridor began to thicken.
The torchlight, normally crisp and bright, seemed to blur behind an invisible barrier, its glow dim and hazy.
Scattered across the corridor floor were a handful of corroded arrowheads. Dark, dried bloodstains clung to the walls.
Someone had clearly run into serious trouble here before.
Melina, walking at the front of the group, came to an abrupt halt.
As a seasoned wanderer, her instincts for danger were far sharper than most.
She sniffed the air, then raised a hand to signal everyone to stop.
Her right hand dipped into the leather satchel at her hip and produced a slender silver probe, which she pressed gently into the dust on the floor.
A moment later, the tip of the probe was filmed with a layer of grayish-green corrosion.
Melina's expression shifted. "Orum, there's lethal miasma up ahead."
Everyone tensed at once.
Melina turned and opened her pack, pulling out five simple gas masks stitched from animal hide.
"I picked these up at the black market in Port Zobek. They should keep the miasma out."
She handed them around as she spoke. Each mask was edged with thin leather cords for securing it to the head.
Orum took his and examined it carefully. Inside the nose and mouth section, the mask was packed with fragrant herbs, spices, dried flowers, and vinegar-soaked cloth, with two small ventilation holes on either side.
Orum fitted the mask over his face and adjusted the cords.
Raygore's was a specially made oversized version, just large enough to cover his broader-than-usual face and seal fully over his nose and mouth.
"Thanks," Raygore said in his low, thick voice, the sound muffled by the mask.
Once everyone was fitted, Melina moved back to the front.
This time she carried a short wooden stick with a strip of cloth wrapped around its tip, using it to sweep aside cobwebs and the pale, thread-like strands drooping from above.
Those strands were mycelium.
The corridor had somehow sprouted an abundance of fungi. Step on them without thinking and they crumbled underfoot, slick and yielding in a deeply unpleasant way.
"The corridor is narrow and the miasma may get worse further in. Stay close, and don't fall behind," Melina said, gesturing for Orum to follow directly behind her.
Because of the confined space inside the dungeon, Orum had left his heavy flame-steel glaive behind and switched to a flame-steel arm shield paired with a flame-steel longsword.
The flame-steel arm shield would let him react instantly to any sudden attack.
Orum gave a nod, tightened his left hand around the shield grip, and drew the longsword with his right, ready to fight at a moment's notice.
Once they entered the corridor, the mask filtered out most of the acrid smell, though a faint trace still seeped through, something between rot and damp leaves.
The fog ahead grew steadily darker, shading into a pale green. Visibility dropped to under ten meters. Within that murk, torchlight could fully illuminate only the three meters of ground directly ahead.
The floor was slicked with a greasy layer of moss. One careless step and you'd go down.
Melina probed the way ahead with her stick, placing each foot with careful deliberation.
"The humidity in here is extreme," Ronald said through his mask, voice flat and muffled. "The walls are practically sweating."
Felix's brow furrowed as he looked around. "Conditions like this breed toxic fungi and corrosive organisms. There could be slimes right ahead of us."
Even as he spoke, Melina's low warning cut through the silence: "Careful. Something moved."
Everyone held their breath.
Partway through the corridor, Melina stopped dead. The tip of her stick had struck something hard.
"Wait."
She crouched and used the stick to peel back the thick mat of moss on the floor.
Beneath it lay a desiccated, humanoid corpse.
The body was unrecognizable, deeply decomposed. Only the headdress and certain details of the clothing suggested it had once been a woman.
All fullness had long since left the flesh. The skin was a sickly gray-green, the color of rotting leaves.
More disturbing still was the fine white mycelium coating the surface of the corpse, dense as a spider's web, blazing pale in the faint torchlight.
"Good God," Ronald breathed through his mask in a strangled voice.
As he stared in horror, the mycelium began to shift, a slow, writhing movement, as though alive.
"Don't touch the mycelium," Melina warned. "It may carry toxins."
She used a knife to lift the hem of the corpse's tattered robe and checked around the waist.
A wanderer's instincts told her there was something worth finding on the body.
At the hip hung a rotted leather purse containing only a few coins so corroded they were barely recognizable as coins at all.
Someone had been through this body long ago.
Melina thought for a moment, then reached into her pack and produced several small vials of pale green liquid.
"These antitoxin draughts form a protective layer inside your body. For one hour, they'll boost your resistance to toxins. Even if you breathe in a small amount of miasma, you should be fine." She passed them out. "Everyone drink up."
Orum took his vial, twisted off the stopper, and was met with a sharp, bitter herbal smell. He tipped his head back and drank it in one go. The liquid settled warm in his stomach, then spread through his body in a slow, spreading wave.
With Melina leading the way, the group walked for roughly five more minutes.
Ahead, a faint glow began to show, and every heart tightened at the sight. It was not daylight. It was a deep, unnatural crimson.
Moving quietly under Melina's guidance, the party crept toward the source.
When they reached the edge of the opening, what they found stopped them cold: a monster nest.
"Myconids!" Felix recoiled inwardly with a shock of alarm.
Myconids were a unique species of intelligent fungal beings. They formed colonies, and the larger the colony, the more powerful the individual myconids within it.
The colony before them was far beyond the scale of an ordinary nest, stretching across an area the size of half a football pitch.
Overhead, dense white mycelium hung in curtains from the ceiling like an inverted web, occasionally dripping corrosive fluid.
The floor was carpeted in half a foot of black humus. Each step sank in to the knuckle, releasing a wet, gurgling sound that turned the stomach.
Around the perimeter of the nest, enormous mushrooms rose several meters tall. Their caps spanned more than two meters across. Beneath the caps, faint violet bioluminescence pulsed, bathing the entire cavern in an eerie, otherworldly glow.
The stalks of the giant mushrooms were ridged with deep folds. Embedded in some of those folds were tiny fragments of bone: the remains of creatures unknown.
Across the floor lay the desiccated corpses of several adventurers, their skin sunken and taut, with white mycelium visibly shifting beneath the surface. They had been converted into something terrible.
Melina looked at the scene and her brow drew tight.
She took a small magnifying glass from her pack and crouched to study the mycelium on the floor.
"This mycelium is still active. That means myconids are nearby." Her voice was tight. "Right there, inside the nest."
Before the last word left her mouth, a cluster of giant mushrooms on the left side of the cavern began to tremble. Several that had looked perfectly ordinary slowly straightened and rose.
These were the myconids the intelligence reports had described.
They stood between 1.2 and 1.8 meters tall, their bodies formed entirely from furrowed, layered mycelium. As they moved, they produced a low, unsettling scraping sound.
Each one had an enormous cap for a head. Beneath those caps, a strange blood-red light pulsed and flickered: the source of the crimson glow they had seen from the corridor.
The myconids were clearly in some kind of frenzied state.
Melina fell back quickly to Orum's side and spoke to the group in a tight, rapid voice: "At least eight of them. Watch out for their mycelium: it's laced with toxin. And the spore blasts."
She pointed to the rows of spore-ejection pores covering the caps. "Those spores are highly toxic. Avoid them at all costs."
As she spoke, she drew her dagger, eyes locked on the swaying myconids.
The first one surged forward without warning and swung one mycelium arm hard at Orum's face.
Orum didn't dodge. He drove his left arm shield upward in a powerful block.
The impact rang out sharp and clean. The myconid's arm struck the flame-steel shield face and was hurled back by the force, snapping off at the joint. Half the mycelium limb spun away through the air.
The loss of the limb seemed to cause it real pain. Its body convulsed violently.
In the instant the myconid froze, Orum swept his flame-steel longsword in a horizontal arc.
The blade shrieked through the air and sheared off the creature's other arm.
Ruptured mycelium sprayed a yellow-green fluid. The shield caught it all.
Orum flicked his wrist and drove the sword point downward.
It punched through a pore opening beneath the cap, directly into the creature's core, and split the myconid cleanly in two.
The severed remains let out a sharp, keening cry, thrashed wildly for a moment, then fell straight to the ground.
At the center of Orum's vision, a pale blue notification panel appeared:
You have slain 1 Myconid.
Claimable Stage Reward: Monster Organ: External Mycelium.
Next Stage Reward: Slay 10 Myconids to receive an Advanced Myconid Monster Organ.
Orum scanned the panel in a flash.
The Monster Organ: External Mycelium had a digestive absorption property, capable of drawing nutrients from soil and decomposing organic matter.
"This is a highly functional monster organ. In a place like the Underdark, even if you run out of rations, you could keep going indefinitely."
A second myconid was already lunging in from the side, its mycelium arm whipping toward Orum like a flail, but Raygore's warhammer came crashing down and flattened it.
The remaining myconids tilted their caps and prepared to spray their toxic spores across the group.
A rush of air. A flash of ice-blue.
Felix's Ice Blade struck the rear myconids before they could release a single spore. A massive burst of frost exploded outward and shattered several caps into fragments.
Since undergoing dragon-blood activation, Felix's Ice Blade had clearly grown far more formidable.
A deep concussive boom shook the near side of the cavern as the myconid front line was wiped out by the rest of the party. Meanwhile, Melina moved like a ghost along the edges of the fight.
She materialized behind a myconid that had just hauled itself back to its feet. Her dagger and short sword crossed simultaneously and plunged into its vital points.
The myconid never made a sound. Melina had ended it before it could.
At the rear of the group, one giant myconid suddenly exploded into motion and hurled itself at Felix's back.
"Ha!" Ronald bellowed, swinging his warhammer up to meet the charging behemoth head-on.
The cap burst open with a wet crack. Green spores erupted outward like a breaking wave.
Spores rained across Ronald's skin.
He hissed as the skin began to ulcerate on contact, wisps of smoke rising from the wounds.
"Damn it!" Ronald kicked the still-venting myconid away hard and leaped back, then, ignoring the searing pain across his body, launched into a rapid chant.
"In the name of my lord Lathander, soothe the wounds of this body. Let holy light flow and pain recede."
"In the name of my lord Lathander, drive the corruption from this flesh. Let dawn descend, and new light be born."
First-circle spell: Healing Word.
First-circle spell: Minor Restoration.
Ronald cast both healing spells in quick succession. Golden restorative light washed over him, sealing the wounds and suppressing the spread of the toxin.
The three-meter-tall giant myconid pressed its advantage, swinging its mycelium arms in sweeping blows aimed at both Ronald and Felix.
But Raygore, in full plate with warhammer in hand, drove one wide horizontal strike that snapped every incoming limb at once.
From the flank, Orum exploded off the ground and closed the distance in an instant.
His flame-steel longsword came down in a clean, savage chop.
It passed through the giant myconid's body the way a hot blade passes through butter: effortless and absolute, dividing the creature cleanly in two.
With its core destroyed, the giant myconid twisted feebly for a moment, then collapsed.
Myconid Kill Count +1.
One ordinary myconid remained on the field. It pulsed red, making strange, rasping sounds in its throat as it turned to run.
But Melina was already waiting in the shadows at its back, pressed close to its vital points.
Her dagger darted out like a striking serpent, a rapid sequence of precise stabs, each one finding the mark. The movements were almost too fast to follow.
The toxic-spore myconid let out a wretched, keening wail, swaying on its feet. Then Melina's blade swept across its mycelium neck and it crashed to the ground.
Working together, the party cleared every last myconid.
Orum sheathed his sword and checked his equipment.
The flame-steel arm shield was smeared with yellow-green slime but showed not a single scratch.
The longsword's edge was still sharp, coated only in myconid residue. Orum drew his chamois polishing cloth across the blade, and the jet-black luster came back at once.
"Flame-steel really is something else," Orum said with a satisfied nod.
Among a myconid's parts, the most valuable was the cap. The spore fluid it contained was a rare and potent neurotoxin. Each pound of myconid spore fluid would fetch three gold coins.
The Ice Hawks moved quickly to clear the field, stowing the spoils in their spatial pouches.
Orum noticed that with spatial pouches, the party's carrying capacity had improved beyond all comparison to what it had been before.
With the battlefield stripped, Melina guided the group into the tunnel that led out through the back of the nest.
Once inside, her voice warmed with faint relief. "The gas masks are nearly spent. Fortunately we're almost out of the miasma zone. Otherwise we'd be changing them."
As she spoke, she reached over and untied the leather cords on Orum's mask.
The moment fresh air reached his lungs, Orum felt the tension lift from his chest.
The masks had filtered out the miasma well enough, but wearing one for that long still left you feeling half-smothered.
The others pulled their masks off one by one, breathing deeply.
Ronald inhaled a long, satisfied breath. "Finally rid of that vinegar stench."
"We'll need them again on the way back," Orum reminded him.
"Oh, right." Ronald's expression fell immediately.
They pressed on through the tunnel behind the myconid nest. After roughly a hundred meters, the passage opened without warning into something vast.
Before them stood an enormous stone chamber.
At its far end rose two stone doors, each standing five meters tall, imposing in their scale and gravity.
The doors were cut from dark gray granite, their form austere and ancient.
On the lintel of the left door was carved a totem of Swiftness: a talon-spread eagle gripping a bolt of lightning.
The right door bore a totem of Cooperation: three weapons overlapping at a central point, a sword, a staff, and a hammer, standing for warrior, mage, and cleric.
The door handles were fashioned from twisted metal vines, crafted with extraordinary skill. At the tip of each vine was set a gemstone matching the runes carved at the base of the statue ahead. Both stones were dark for now, awaiting activation.
Between the two doors stood a stone hero's statue, rising more than ten meters in height.
It was carved from blue-black rock with exceptional craftsmanship.
The hero wore battered gilt armor, the cracks in the metal filled with dark verdigris.
One hand rested on a sword, its blade driven into the plinth.
The plinth itself held two key recesses, clearly requiring two objects to be placed within them before anything would open.
The statue's face was carved with strong, resolute features. The eye sockets were hollow, yet from within them a faint blue light drifted and shifted.
This hero's effigy seemed to hold its gaze on every challenger who came before it, and something in that gaze made every adventurer who stood there feel the weight of the moment.
"A Hero's Trial!" Felix's voice was barely above a whisper, a sharp note of astonishment running through it.
He turned to the others and explained: "Every Hero's Trial is a form of sealed treasure vault left behind by the great empire ten thousand years ago, designed to test the finest warriors of each era.
"The trials vary in form, but every one that is completed offers a generous reward."
"Look, there's a message board from other adventurers." Felix pointed to one side of the statue, where a wooden placard stood upright.
The group moved in to examine it. The placard stood half a meter tall, covered in close, careful writing: notes left by previous adventurers.
It was a longstanding and widely observed tradition among adventurers across the continent. When faced with a difficult dungeon or obstacle, those who failed would leave information behind for whoever came after.
The writing had faded somewhat, scratched in charcoal:
Year 458 of the Star-Fall Era: We discovered that both doors must be opened simultaneously. The keys must be retrieved within the time limit, and the party must split into two groups.
We didn't have enough people, and were forced out before we could claim either key. This Hero's Trial may seal itself now, and who knows how many centuries will pass before it opens again. The Silver Wing Adventuring Company.
The group gathered in close and studied the precious information carefully.
"This entry is five hundred years old," Felix said quietly.
"If we fail the trial, the dungeon may sink back into the earth and not resurface for another five centuries."
"So this trial is genuinely no small thing," Ronald muttered, turning the problem over in his mind.
"A time limit, instant failure if it's exceeded, and both teams must move at once." Felix studied the two stone doors, and a plan had already taken shape. "Then we split into two groups and enter the trial together."
"Orum, you're with Melina through the left door. She's a professional wanderer: scouting, speed, burst damage, all solid. You have the flame-steel arm shield and longsword, and the two of you have more than enough individual combat strength to handle serious threats."
Felix turned to the remaining two. "Ronald, Raygore, you're with me through the right door. Our three-way combination covers warrior, spellcaster, and cleric."
"We complement each other well. We can handle whatever the right door throws at us."
Felix turned the groupings over in his mind one more time, found them sound, and made it final.
He pointed to the two recesses at the base of the statue, his expression serious.
"The message board says we need two keys, placed into these two recesses, to unlock the treasure. So whichever team retrieves their key first comes immediately to support the other. Help the slower team get their key. Understood?"
Orum and the others nodded. "Understood."
Once assignments were settled and supplies divided, everyone was ready.
A taut, charged energy filled the air.
Felix walked to the statue and reached out to touch the rune carved directly below it.
The moment his fingertip made contact, the rune blazed with pale blue light.
The glow spread outward like ripples on water. The gemstones in the door handles caught and reflected it, flickering, then gradually brightening.
When the gemstones reached their fullest radiance, a glowing hourglass icon appeared above them and began its slow, silent countdown.
Felix gave the final command, urgency sharpening his voice: "Orum, Melina, left door. We take the right. Get your key and get back immediately. Do not linger in combat."
A deep, rolling rumble filled the chamber. Both stone doors began to swing inward.
The grinding of stone on stone as the massive doors moved was low and resonant, like the slow exhalation of something ancient.
From behind both doors came a cold draft carrying a smell of damp and rot, heavier than anything in the tunnels above.
Both openings revealed a staircase descending into darkness, the steps cut from the same blue-black rock.
As Felix's team of three filed through the right door, Orum and Melina passed through the left and started down the steps, their torches held out ahead of them.
The wavering light threw long, shifting shadows across the stone walls and gave the descent an unsettling quality.
The staircase was not long, dropping roughly the depth of three floors.
Orum noticed that the edges of each step were etched with fine, dense runes that caught the torchlight and gleamed.
"What do those runes mean?" he asked quietly.
Melina studied them and shook her head. "Can't make them out. Ancient script, maybe."
Orum moved with greater care, the shield held ready at all times.
Partway down the steps, Melina stopped without warning. Her animal ears snapped upright, and wariness flashed through her eyes.
"Something's moving."
Orum went still and listened.
She was right. A faint scraping sound rose from below.
It was barely audible. Without Melina's sharper senses, neither of them would have caught it.
"Something's moving down there," she said under her breath.
Orum gave a small nod and tightened his grip on the flame-steel longsword.
They continued down, every step deliberate.
At the foot of the staircase, a square stone chamber opened before them. The walls were thick and solid, their surface the same deep brown as weathered clay.
On the left wall, the far wall, and the right wall, each bore a single raised stone panel.