The next day brought a mass of gathering. The meadow was full of chamomile flowers, yarrow being mixed in as well. Both of which Archer wanted to do some tests on.
The moment they stepped into the clearing, Archer felt as though he had wandered into a perfumed sea. Chamomile stretched out in soft, golden patches—tiny daisy-like blooms nodding in the breeze as if greeting him personally. Their sweet, apple-tinged scent drifted across the meadow in lazy waves, calming even before he touched a single plant.
Elenor explained to Volkan what I was doing, painting the picture of me wandering the field plucking flowers like some distracted herbalist. Volkan, restless and itching to push on toward the dungeon, looked ready to drag us there himself. Elenor had to talk him down, reminding him—firmly—of the value of proper preparation. He found my task so utterly pointless that, with a dramatic huff and a roll of his eyes, he volunteered to test whatever medicine I brewed from the "pretty weeds."
Not only that, Volkan produced three cork-stoppered spirit bottles from his pack—scuffed, travel-worn things that clinked like they'd seen more taverns than roads. He claimed he usually had them topped up whenever he passed through a town, then admitted with a crooked grin that they rarely stayed full for long.
Archer had no reliable way to measure precise amounts of the plants he'd gathered; everything was guesswork and hopeful estimating. Elenor advised using only the chamomile flowers—its leaves, she warned, carried a bitterness that overwhelmed most mixtures. As for the yarrow, she knew of no part that was "bad," a fact she delivered with calm confidence while Archer eyed the plant as though it might still be hiding secrets.
Taking the bottles and a water bladder from the warrior, he carefully placed a single chamomile flower and a roughly equal pinch of yarrow into one of the glass containers. The herbs drifted and swirled as he filled it to the brim with cool water, the mixture turning faintly cloudy as the plants released their first hints of colour and scent.
**New Potion Discovered**
*Healing Elixir Crafted.*
**Grade:** Poor
**Effect:** 10% HP Healing
**Portions:** x4
**New Crafting Ability Discovered:** *Alchemy*
Well, that was easy. The mixture barely resisted at all—no bubbling, no sparks, no ominous smoke. Just… a slightly herbal bottle of water. It's not very potent, though. Archer studied the pale liquid with a shrug. Only the first try, after all.
Archer emptied the bottle, watching with mild fascination as the inside was left spotless—the flowers he'd added earlier completely gone, as if the elixir had quietly devoured them. For his next attempt, he packed in four times the amount of both chamomile and yarrow, stuffing the bottle until it looked more like a leafy bouquet than a potion base. When he poured in the water, the herbs dissolved in an instant, and another notification flickered into view.
**Healing Elixir Crafted.**
**Grade:** Common
**50% HP Healing**
**Portions:** x4
**Alchemy Skill Level:**
*Apprentice (05%)*
"Much better result this time. Volkan, try this. Don't take more than a quarter, though."
Volkan grabbed the bottle without hesitation and took a swig far larger than advised. The moment the elixir hit his tongue, his eyes went wide—then he threw back his head and roared with laughter, the sound booming across the field like a man who'd just discovered his new favourite drink.
"I misjudged you, Ranger." He said this while bending and stretching. "This potion of yours has fixed many aches and pains I was too proud to admit having. Here, Fae, try for yourself if your own pride will not stop you."
Elenor took the bottle and drank. The effect on her was just as potent, with an aesthetic change to her hair. The deep red now looked more vibrant. Even her skintine looked healthier.
Archer looked back at Vulkan. Seeing similar effects, though, much more subdued. Less grey filled his hair and beard. Maybe his muscles looked a little more toned, Archer could be sure.
The Ranger spent 10 minutes trying to improve the elixir and failing to do better than Common grade. After the water from the bladder ran out, all he got was 5 more points to his Alchemy Skill and 3 bottles of common grade healing elixir. Maybe the Apprentice level only let him craft certain grades. Or better materials were needed. He'd have to wait till he found a professional Alchemist in a town to find out.
With Vulkan leading the way across the meadow, Archer gathering more Chamomile and Yarrow as they went, the group made their way towards the Dungeon the Warrior claimed was there.
"It is an undead crypt I was told. Corpses are beginning to appear outside it already, not in large groups, though. The whole area has been abandoned by any being smart enough to leave. The Goblins and their kind are trying to claim the area, the fools that they are."
Vulkan continued his commentary of the region. About fights he'd had, politics he considered stupid, families he was saddened for when passing through leaving the areas around this one. Archer found that the seemingly simplistic Warrior had many hidden depths.
Passing through meadow and forest, the group walked on for half a day. Only occasionally interrupted by Caerbannog rabbits and homicidal hedgehogs. Vulkan found the looting quite amusing, Archer let him take what he pleased.
The high point was finding a Ginseng plant.
Ginseng
Primary Uses:
Mana Rejuvenation
Archer finally had the last ingredient for his basic elixir set. He gathered as much as he could from the shaded spot it grew.
Refilling the water bladder at a stream they were passing, the Apprentice Alchemist broke 4 leaves into a bottle he had emptied the healing potion from. Refilling the bottle with fresh water granted him a new notification
New Potion Discovered
Mana Elixir Crafted
Grade: Common
50% MP Rejuvenation
Alchemy Skill Level:
Apprentice (15%)
So, there are no points for discovering Alchemy, 5 points for new potion, and a point for each common potion I make.
He swapped the Mana elixir with the healing that Elenor had, figuring she would need it more. Archer also wondered about the Faes' sword skills. And his own for that matter. He had all his eggs in one basket with the bow.
"Elenor, how's your sword work? I've got a stack of blades in my Inventory, and one hanging from my belt that I haven't used once."
Vulkan halted at this statement. "You need training with a blade? This is my profession, Ranger."
That statement was followed by hours of swordwork and footwork. Vulkans' contempt of the shortswords available was only blunted by Elenor, stating that Vulkan could hardly expect everyone to have the muscle and skill to use a greatsword like his own.
"Good enough! From this point, a soldier would begin intermediate sword and tactics training. I have no patience for that. Combat will be the fire in which you training will be forged."
With that statement, Vulkan ended Archers lessons. The Rangers stamina and dexterity leant themselves to training harder and for longer, accelerating the amount he learned. The Warrior was correct, though. He had the basics only. It would have to do.
Still a few hours from the area the Dungeon was supposedly located in, the group decided to break for the night. It was late afternoon, and getting near to when they would make camp. Archer wanted to make more elixirs, but he decided it would be mostly pointless. The quality would be the same, so he would just be wasting materials for a few points in the skill.
An uneventful night brought the new day. The day that Archer had to explain his plans for the Dungeon to Vulkan as the marched.
"What has 'farming' to do with a dungeon for the undead?"
" When I said farming Vulkan, I meant killing some of the undead, leaving the Dungeon which will cause the killed undead to respawn. Or regrow like a farmers field. Then we can go back into the Dungeon to 'harvest' the respawned undead of treasure. This will give me experience points to grow my strength and an unending supply of coin for yourself."
Elenor offered her own details to Archer's plan, her voice steady as she folded her hands behind her back.
"Dungeons do not operate the same for this world's citizens as they do for Contenders," she explained. "Rewards are greater for you, the resident creatures grow stronger in response, and the entire structure resets itself the moment a Contender departs." Her eyes flicked toward the distant hills, thoughtful. "For us, there is no Dungeon Lord to conquer, no rare treasure waiting at the end. We walk the same halls, but the Dungeon does not see us the way it sees you."
Volkan sighed, the sound deep and theatrical, resigning himself to do as they asked. He clutched his axe with a restless hand, clearly hoping their claims held truth. If they were wrong, he'd be bored stiff by weak monsters and wasted effort. But if they were right… then he'd have the chance to test his strength properly—and maybe walk out of the dungeon heavier in coin and pride.
It was after this conversation that they began encountering the undead. Undead, as it turned out, meant zombies—slow, rotting figures that shambled through the trees with vacant purpose. Archer had wondered about this distinction for a while, but he had no reasonable way to explain to his companions the variety of undead his old world's stories described. Skeletons, wraiths, liches—trying to outline the differences would only earn him puzzled stares. Here, a corpse that moved was simply a zombie, end of discussion.
A stumbling figure moved through the woods towards them purely for the reason that the undead happened to be heading in that direction. Vulkan took its head off with disgust. Separating the head from the body, in this world, was sufficient enough to kill the creature. The Warrior asked to claim the killing of the undead outside the Dungeon. To 'warm up' in his words. They sighted the Dungeon structure an hour later but chose to circle the area to clean out any creatures that had spawned. 'Securing their backline' seemed a smart tactic from Archers point of view.
An hour of this brought them back around to the structure. A reasonably sized mausoleum stood before them—an aged, crumbling block of a building roughly five metres square. Depictions of the dead were carved into the grey stone, their faces worn smooth by wind and time until they seemed to watch with hollow, featureless stares. Four uneven steps, the edges softened by centuries of weather, led up to an iron-banded wooden door set between squat stone pillars mottled with lichen.
"Now this is a building that just screams 'go away' to me," Archer muttered, mostly to himself, as he approached the door.
**The Ashen Fane (Dungeon)**
**Recommended Contender Rank:**
1–5 (Easy) — *Uncompleted*
3–5 (Intermediate) — *Uncompleted*
5+ (Hard) — *Uncompleted*
**Select Dungeon Level and Enter**
Stepping away from the door, Archer exhaled and turned to the others, the faint ghostly glow of the system prompt still lingering in his vision. The mausoleum felt even heavier now, as if the stone itself was waiting for their choice.
"We've got three different difficulty levels to choose from, folks," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "And I have *zero* interest in trying the harder two before we've taken a peek at the first."
Archer's companions simply nodded at his choice. If either of them disliked the decision, they hid it behind unreadable expressions and quiet patience.
He stepped back toward the weathered door and focused, triggering the dungeon.
**The Ashen Fane — Easy.**
The door didn't creak open or swing inward. Instead, Archer's vision wavered, the world washing out to grey before collapsing into complete, depthless black.