CH- 2 THE FIRST ROYAL BLOOD
Rumors spreaded quickly.
Grabbing the attention of even royals.
The celebration below went unnoticed.
Trumpets rang as the king's carriages climbed the mountain road, banners snapping in the wind, knights riding proudly at the front. Scholars argued loudly. Priests rehearsed sermons. Greed wore the disguise of ceremony.
None of them looked up.
But something did.
The Watcher
Clinging upside-down to the jagged arch above the dungeon entrance was a black bat—its body unnaturally still, wings folded like a shroud.
Its eyes were not animal eyes.
They were dark red, deep and intelligent, reflecting the torchlight below like drops of fresh blood.
It watched the king's procession arrive.
Counted the carriages.
Measured the guards.
Noted the pride in their posture.
Then, without sound, it moved.
Its wings unfolded—too wide for its body, edges serrated like torn shadows—and it vanished upward, melting into the fog that clung to the mountain peak.
The Hidden Structure
At the summit of the mountain, far above where no human path reached, the stone gave way to a perfect circular pit.
No erosion.
No rubble.
No natural cause.
It was carved with intent.
The bat slipped inside.
The pit descended endlessly, walls smooth and black, swallowing light as if the mountain itself were hollow. Mana pressure increased with every meter, thick and suffocating, a pressure that would have crushed a human mind long before their body failed.
At the bottom, the pit opened into a vast chamber.
The Throne Room of the First Dungeon
The room was colossal—far larger than the dungeon floors humans had mapped.
A dark throne room, carved from obsidian-like stone veined with slow-moving crimson light, as if the mountain itself had veins and blood.
The Silence here was absolute.
No echoes.
No wind.
No life sounds.
Only awareness.
The thirty Silver Seats .
Along with two hundred bronze seats.
Arranged in a wide semicircle were thirty silver thrones.
They were not ornate.
They were functional.
Each seat was engraved with faint symbols—unfinished, waiting to be claimed. Some radiated heat. Others cold. A few distorted the air around them subtly, hinting at abilities yet unborn.
These were not decorations.
They were:
Seats for Kravex's elite monsters.
Thrones for future sub-dungeon bosses
Positions reserved for commanders who did not yet exist
All empty.
All patient.
The Throne of Kravex
At the far end of the chamber rose something far worse.
A monstrous throne, towering above the rest, grown rather than built.
Black thorns erupted from its frame, veins of dark crimson pulsing within them like a living circulatory system. The thorns dug into the floor, the walls, the very concept of the room—as if anchoring reality itself.
And in the center of the throne…
A large eye.
Open.
Unblinking.
Not glowing—but aware.
This was not an ornament.
Not a symbol.
It was a conduit.
Kravex did not need to sit upon this throne.
The throne existed so that the world could feel him watching.
The Table of Conquest
In the center of the chamber stood a long rectangular table, carved from a single slab of black stone.
Upon it rested a miniature structure.
The dungeon.
Perfectly replicated in scale.
Corridors. Floors. Chambers. Even tiny moving lights—representations of human presence—advanced slowly through its pathways.
When one light dimmed, a corresponding ripple passed through the model.
When a light vanished entirely, a new mark etched itself into the stone.
Data.
Learning.
Evolution.
The Report
The bat landed silently on the edge of the table.
Its body shuddered.
Flesh folded inward, bones shifting with wet, unnatural sounds. Wings dissolved into shadow. Limbs lengthened. In seconds, the bat became something else entirely—a tall, hunched creature with elongated fingers and a bowed head.
One of the thirty seats pulsed faintly.
Not claimed.
Not yet.
The creature spoke without lifting its head.
"The king has arrived."
The eye in the throne contracted slightly.
The dungeon model responded—several corridors subtly rearranged themselves.
No anger.
No excitement.
Only calculation.
A presence filled the room—not a voice, not a sound, but an absolute certainty.
"Begin Phase: Exposure."
The silver seats trembled faintly.
The bat-creature bowed lower.
Below, the king stepped through the dungeon entrance with confidence.
Above, the throne room remained empty.
Because Kravex did not rule from seats.
He ruled from systems.
And the system had just been fed its first crown.
END OF THE CHAPTER.