Time slows as Franky sees the barrel glow a dark-purple. He senses the mana condense into the potent weapon and his heart rate quickens. Panic sets in, followed by a state of complete calm. Everything slows down to a crawl as a skill activates.

Without even having to think, his back straightens, posture perfects, and everything comes into focus. Franky stands not as a [Mercenary] or a [Guild Leader], but as one who stands among [Emperors].

He opens his mouth and utters a command.

“STOP!”

His aura, a psionic blast of will fueled by his great charisma, rolls out with the word. Everything stills. Fish drift into each other. Birds plummet from the sky. Every living thing within the entirety of the city stops breathing for a timeless moment.

The glow of Widow’s gun fades.

Beside Franky, Everlet’s jaw drops. A single word, a shouted order, and the [Storm Captain] felt frozen as though he stood before a rampaging hurricane.

“Ughhh,” Franky grunts in annoyance as he regrets his panic. “Come on! Let's see what's happening,” he says before Everlet and Russel have time to ask.

When he arrives, all eyes are on him, but the [Hero] ignores the stares and looks at the man cowering on the ground. The man wears rather nice, loose clothing, the folds of which leak playing cards.

“[Analyze]” he chants.

Reading it, he can't help but feel as though he knows where this is going.

Russel and Everlet arrive just behind him. Russel recognizes the man on the floor.

“Bruno, what happened?” he asks. He looks up and freezes, face to barrel with the giant construct of metal and bone.

“He cheated,” Jessa steps up to the hole in the wall with a cocky smile on her face. “he tried to get clever and switch out a card, but Gun here took offense,” she pats the barrel of the tank, “and he didn’t heed the gentle warning.”

Gun Widow’s barrel bobs slightly and recenters on the [Gambler]’s head.

[Lord] Russel stares at the girl, then stares at the tank, and finally opts to just suspend disbelief. He turns and glares at the town [Gambler]. “Bruno, skills are one thing, but cheating?”

“[L-[Lord] R-Russel,” Bruno hiccups. He points at Gun Widow, which the town [Lord] staunchly ignores. “I lost thirteen times in a row to that thing. Losing that much can’t be possible without cheating!” he argues, then cowers as the barrel starts to glow.

A loud, obnoxious giggling comes from deeper inside the pub. A woman with cheeks almost as red as her flowing hair stumbles through the hole in the wall. She takes a swig from the bottle she’s carrying in one hand while her other clutches a spear that she has repurposed to keep herself from falling over.

“Your,” the woman hiccups. She points the bottle at Bruno, “[Gambler] is too low level for Gun,” she burps and almost falls on the floor but catches herself with her spear, which gouges into a floorboard.

Franky stares at Calidi Flammenwerfer, the Scorching Star, unable to wrap his head around her extreme change in personality. After a moment, her words set in. He looks at Gun Widow.

“[Analyze].”

Franky feels his headache intensify. He shouldn’t have expected anything less at this point. Next they’ll transform into a ten year old girl with a sparkly wand, declare herself a [Magical Girl], and start shooting rainbow lasers. Because at this point, why not?.

He sighs, exasperated. He turns to Russel. “My guild will pay for the damages.”

Russel nods slowly. “And I will make sure that Bruno is punished for his cheating.”

“What? It wasn’t my fau-” the [Gambler] goes silent as [Lord] Russel glares at the man.

“Bruno,” Russel begins calmly, “you are more than free to dispute this with your accusers, but I won’t interfere when they decide to spread your remains across seven separate islands. Take the loss.”

Bruno finally looks around at the gathered crowd and those standing against him and wisely ducks his head.

Franky nods. “Alright then,” he finally looks at the large large crowd around him. All eyes are on Franky, the man who had ordered an entire town's population to freeze and the man who commands a gambling undead monster…

The front door of the pub, right next to the gaping hole in the wall, opens. A lanky man exits with a grimace. He notices the crowd and directs his frown at them.

“Who dares order the Bulwark to stop shitting?”

___________________________________________________________________

“So Lad, you don't have a map, just a general hunch of where it should be?” Turnock asks

Franky taps his head. “I have a memory skill, so I remember the description in the book.”

Turnock grimaces as he continues picking his way up the steep, rocky slope. The steep sided mountain is reminiscent of home, though it lacks the civilized amenities like stairs or a freight elevator.

“And the description said, what? Find the mountains that look like tits?”

Franky takes a moment to glance behind himself. A couple dozen men and women are following him with supplies while the rest of the guild stays back in the town in case any actual [Pirates] show up.

“Well, the entrance to the dungeon should be between two close mountain peaks.”

“So, it’s the asshole between the cheeks,” Turnock revises.

“Are you sure this old book is accurate?” Brock nudges into the conversation. “What's the chance that Atlantis wasn’t already found and looted?”

Franky shakes his head. “From the man's writing, he said the city is left in pristine condition. If someone else found that much wealth, they couldn't possibly have kept it secret. Tongues would slip and the world would know of the vast treasures.”

“It’s a bit hard to believe that the elves would divulge such a secret.” Brock comments. “I would think they’d want to take the treasures for themselves.

Franky sighs. “I’m not allowed to say much, but Alfheim is older and far richer than Atlantis ever was. In fact, if they did this expedition themselves, they might end up losing more resources than they gain.”

Turnock raises an eyebrow. “The tree huggers? They’re that rich?”

“All old, major powers are richer than Atlantis.” Franky raises a hand and ticks off his fingers. “Jotunheim, Alfheim, Svartalfheim, and Muspelheim are the oldest and most powerful followed by the major capitals of New Asgard to the west, Arcadia of the east, and Camelot in the center.”

“Muspelheim? You mean Luxor, right?” Brock asks.

Franky smiles and shakes his head. “The city of Muspelheim is directly underneath Luxor. It's the true capital of the nation and is a very closely guarded secret.”

“Which you are telling us,” Tunock adds.

Franky shrugs. “I’m not exactly sure if it's true, but that’s what my old elven tutors said. And it’s not the elves who want to keep it a secret.”

“[Guild Leader]!” Franky hears the call and the rattle of dislodged rocks. He pauses as Darius rushes up from below, his two adamantine tower shields in his hands. Before Franky can ask what he needs, Darius points up the hill, to the pass between the twin summits. “The Bulwark senses a large dungeon in that direction.”

Franky looks up where The Bulwark is pointing and rubs his chin. Turnock was right. The mountains do kind of look like teats.

______________________________________________________________

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Franky stares at the entrance, a long, narrow fissure opening directly down into darkness. The earth around it is barren and pebbly, like rock that hasn't been disturbed for ages.

Now that I think about it, it doesn't look like a dungeon entrance, or an entrance at all. More like a natural fissure.

“Are you sure this is a dungeon, Darius?” I ask the old man who frowns at my question as though his word alone should have been enough.

“The Bulwark does not jest,” he points, “the ground is unnaturally dense around the entrance. Five miles down and the earth is even harder, consistent with a dungeon.”

Franky nods to Darius. As a veteran and named who specializes in earth magic and defense, his words hold a lot of weight.

He blinks

“Did you say five miles?” Franky asks.

“The Bulwark did.”

“But that’s not all one chamber?”

“The Bulwark discerns that it is.”

“Shit,” Franky curses. He… did not bring enough rope.

He scratches the side of his neck and glances at the six odd adventurers he’d brought with him. “So, does anyone have an idea on how to get us safely down there?”

A lone [Aeromancer], who specializes in short range communication, raises her hand.

“Without flying!” he quickly adds.

The [Aeromancer] lowers her hand with a frown. “But it’s not flying if we’re falling,” she mutters.

He waits for a different answer, but no one else raises a hand.

Then Darius huffs. “The Bulwark was hoping to relax after locating the dungeon, but it seems the Bulwark’s greatness is needed once again.”

“What are you-,” Franky doesn't get to finish as his feet sink into the earth like he was standing in snow. At the entrance, the ground shifts and rumbles, transforming into a stairway that leads down the side of the fissure.

“The Bulwark hopes for a hearty meal when he returns.”

Darius starts down the staircase, unperturbed by the shifting ground.

“What the shit?” Turnock exclaims, breaking the momentary silence. “I thought dungeon walls were too hard to shift.”

“They are,” Calidi, another Named adventurer comments with a smile, “unless you’ve got a domain that softens the earth.”

“I was under the impression that what makes it difficult to manipulate the earth is the concentrated dungeon mana in the stone.” Franky explains.

“That's a misconception,” Calidi takes a seat on a rock. She folds one leg over the other. “Dungeon mana makes the stone harder and harder the more ambient dungeon mana there is. It's why old and powerful dungeons are harder than adamantium near their cores, even after they’re destroyed. Darius is able to do the same thing as a dungeon, except he can do it in the opposite direction as well.”

“With his domain.”

“Yes,” Calidi yawns, “with his domain.”

Turnock shakes his head. He’d been following the conversation, but it seems absurd to him. His home city of Svartalfheim is built within the corpse of a dungeon. Its walls are supposedly stronger than adamantium. It is the very reason that his kingdom has never been conquered or taken since its founding. The idea that someone could casually destroy the walls protecting his city isn’t an idea he would like to think about.

“That's a dangerous ability,” he comments, “but it must have limits.”

“Everything has limits,” Brock states confidently, which gets a nod from Calidi.

“You’re correct. Everything has a limit, even Domains,” she points at the hole, “Darius can make the dungeon stone easier or harder to manipulate, but only to the extent of his will.” She raises her hand and a ball of flame that shifts colors sprouts above the palm. “I myself can raise the temperature of any object, but not hot enough to melt dungeon stone.”

The flame puffs out and she lowers her arm. “His ability is probably only effective on weaker dungeons and the outer reaches of the stronger ones.”

Turnock calms down while Franky scratches the bottom of his chin. He looks at the sky and finds that the sun is still at its zenith. With Darius working on making a way down, it would be best to have something of a small camp ready.

“Maria,” he calls to the Aeromancer, “send a message to your sister that the entrance is found and to prepare for a dungeon dive.” He turns to Brock and Turnock. “I need both of you to scout the area around us. I don't want to deal with any surprises.”

Finally, he spies a large boulder near the entrance to the dungeon. ”Calidi, since you’re a [Magmamancer], you can manipulate earth. I need you to excavate that boulder,” he points at what could be considered a hill if it wasn’t one rock, “so we can turn it into a camp.”

Calidi hops off her rock, ready to do what he asks, then her eyes widen and she can’t help but smirk. “You’ve got a lot of Charisma, don't you?” she asks. He gives her a confused look but she quickly shakes her head and waves him off. “It’s fine. You’re the guild leader, so having a little extra something is to be expected.” She winks.

Franky watches her saunter off, confused by her reaction.

________________________________________________________________

Heating the water and pouring it into a cup filled with tea leaves, Jessa allows the tea to settle before adding a bit of honey. With a grunt, she picks up the drink, walks up the stairs of the inn, and enters her room. She sits on the edge of the bed.

“Are you still feeling sick?” she asks.

Sarena groans, curled on her side under the sheets like someone suffering from an intestinal infection.

“I hate water.” The elf curls a little tighter.

Jessa rolls her eyes. “You’re on the ground now, not on a ship. How long is this going to last?”

“Long.” the elf answers.

Jessa sighs and places the tea on the nightstand. She softly strokes Sarena’s head.

“When you told me that elves get sick on water, I thought you were just messing with me,” she brushes the elf’s hair back and gently strokes her ear. “When you said there was no elf ship [Captain], I thought it was because nobody was interested.”

With a dexterity afforded to an [Assassin], Jessa rolls her body and hops directly on top of the elf. She leans on Sarena’s shoulders, pressing her supine into the pillows. Sarena blushes weakly.

“I didn’t realize that all elves have seasickness,” Jessa flicks off her tunic to reveal pointed breasts, “anyways, you’re looking much better now…” she lowers herself so that her face is mere inches from the bright red face of Sarena, their breathes mingling, “so let’s have some fun before Franky returns.”

They kiss, the passionate exchange lasting for but a brief moment before being drowned out by the sound of a cannon firing at the port.

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