I fairly quickly fell into a pattern. Elenn would bring me books written in Cretan and I would spend three hours with her reading aloud while she corrected my pronunciation and translated the words I didn’t know.

“No, no.” Elenn said, her voice cracked with age. “‘To like’ in the subjunctive future is an irregular verb. You can’t just treat it as if it had a standard suffix. Try reading the passage again. I know they look identical in print, but this time remember the rules I taught you this morning.”

After my lessons with Elenn, I would wander over to Petunia’s shop to learn about the various herbs and uses of herbs.

Petunia was actually surprised at how much I knew. Wilmette, whatever his flaws was a um… effective… memorable… emphatic… teacher. There was a wealth of plants and roots that he hadn’t bothered to cover, however, especially with regards to finding and preserving plants from dungeons.

I would pull out my books, and we would sit go over each plant, and she would explain in detail where they were found, why they were important, how much they would sell for. And if she had any in stock, she would show me what they looked like.

Petunia also taught me a couple of basic runes for preparing and preserving plants. Which were extremely mana intensive. It turns out that while I could do nature magic, it wasn’t one of my stronger affinities.

Which was why after four sessions working with Petunia I had depleted most of the overload capacity that I had stored from draining goblins. If I got into an actual fight, I would have to rely on my actual fighting skills.

“You have been so helpful over these last few days.” Petunia said.

“Yes?” I replied.

“Well, I was just wondering if you wanted to help me with one of my weekly tasks. Two of us would make the whole process faster. And I could give you some first-hand experience farming dungeon plants that you would not be able to get anywhere else in the empire. Maybe not even anywhere else in the world.”

“You have my curiosity,” I said. “Do I need to bring anything? You did say this is a dungeon. Should I bring some weapons?”

“No. That would be completely unnecessary. You’ll see when we get there. Wait, you’ll need at least a silver coin for the entrance fee.”

The two of us made our way through the city taking a winding road towards the mountain. The street we were on made a turn into the park near the pool and waterfall. I looked up and saw that a stream of cold clear liquid poured out of the top of the mountain nearly eight hundred feet up. Mana was thick in the air here. Ducks swam in the pond and I there were scattered people who had taken time out of their day, to come down and take a break by the water to feed the fish and the birds bits of bread.

The road then ascended a hill directly into the mountain. As I approached I saw that there was a cave into the interior of the rock face that was guarded by a tower, a portcullis, and in my mage sight, more concentrated magic than I’d ever seen.

About a hundred feet above us was the walled inner city that surrounded the plateau, where the homes of the wealthy looked down upon the park and the rest of the town. This couldn’t be the entrance to those homes. Not only was there the main entrance off of the central road that was much more casually guarded than this fortress but looking past the troop of guards keeping watch over the gate, the road continued inward, into the mountain, not up to the higher levels above.

Lady Petunia Petunia-eater Petunia waved to one of the guards, and he waved back. The two of us walked over to him.

“Hello, Petunia. New Apprentice?” the guard said.

“Naw, Crumb he’s just taking lessons. Paying me to learn, so I thought I would show him the plants.”

Crumb nodded. “Did you think about my offer. I wouldn’t mind taking you out to dinner. I know a very good restaurant, low lights, nice music, lovely view of the park. We should go before the city gets crowded next week. It is already getting crowded.”

“Maybe after the Solstice celebrations. It sounds enchanting, but I have just so much work to do right now.”

“I understand Petunia. I can wait. You can’t keep putting me off forever.”

“Lovely man, I have no intention of putting you off forever. If I wasn’t interested I would tell you. I really am swamped with work. The mercenary guild constantly needs more healing potions than I can supply, and sometimes I have to go out and find the ingredients myself.”

“You Petunia, need an apprentice. Not one who is just paying. But a real honest to good source of free labor. Oh by the way, speaking of the mercenary guild, did you hear… the city watch found two dead bodies in the poor area of the city. Someone had driven spikes into their hands and feet and then slowly tortured them to death. There is a rumor going around that there is a necromancer somewhere in the town. Some of the Lords are talking about hiring the mercenaries to increase the number of guards on patrol at night.

“This couldn’t come at a worse time. When the solstice is in full swing this city will be full of hundreds if not thousands of young boys and girls ready to get their status and become young men and women. Think of all the damage a necromancer running amock could do.”

Petunia thought about it. “You know what I think. It probably is one of those young men or women. Think about it. The time is just right. They come into the town to get their status. They have to be careful in their podunk little village but here in the big city, they can let loose.

Then she said “The status will find them. Then the inquisitors can burn them as they should. Necromancers, Witches, Wrights, Ghouls, Twice-Lived, there are some things that the inquisitors do that scare me but dealing with the truly horrible things in this world. Ughhh. Just burn them…Burn them good.”

The guard Crumb nodded, “Burn them hot and burn them good.”

“Anyway, we should get going. We have a lot of work to do.”

“Well, you get in free like always, but it will be a silver for your apprentice. Bye, Petunia. See you next time.”

“Goodbye Crumb. See you next time.”

Petunia and I walked into the mountain. The interior had a manufactured look. This wasn’t some cave that had been found or some dungeon that had been conquered. Instead a very powerful earth mage or group of earth mages must have spent decades building and hollowing the facility out.

We walked forward and branches started to shoot off the main hallway. The whole interior was well illuminated and there was a constant circulation of air from unknown vents. Periodically there were even places set aside to for bathrooms and when I went in one the room was impeccably clean with flowing water and even a space set aside for a shower should I need one.

“Let’s go up to the third floor. I haven’t harvested up there in a while.” Petunia said.

While there were several places where there were stairs going up and down, closer to the center of the mountain was an actual elevator.

“Mages have somehow hyper-concentrated the water from the spring. I don’t know how they did it. They may even have used an elemental. But near the top of the mountain, the water comes out like it is bursting. That water turns a wheel which moves this contraption up. Otherwise, we would have a lot of walking.” Petunia said.

“And the excess water goes tumbling down the side of the mountain in that beautiful waterfall, into that little pond?” I said.

“Yup.”

We stepped into the box, and Petunia pulled a lever indicating the third floor. And another indicating that we wanted to go up. There seemed to be 53 floors in total. Twenty-three more above us, and thirty more below us.

Slowly the box we were standing in moved upwards. We passed two doors that were presumably the first and second floor given that Petunia indicated we’d been standing on floor zero. Each floor had about 25 feet of sheer rock between them.

When we got to the third floor Petunia got out of the elevator she walked down the central hallway for a bit and then down an offshoot. Laid out every 200 yards, on both sides of the hallway were barred gates. In front of the barred gates were planters filled with dirt and there was a water supply nearby.

And I recognized many of the plants growing in the planters. They were the most common dungeon plants. Valuable for healing and recovery, for spell casting and of course mana recovery. There was nothing truly powerful growing anywhere that I could see, but what was missing in potency was made up in quantity.

This mountain was a farm for valuable plants.

“I think I’ve been patient enough up until now. What’s up? What is all of this? Is this a dungeon?” I said gesturing around me.

“No,” said Petunia. “This is not a dungeon. This is over 10,000 dungeons.”

“Holy shit,” I said. “How can that be?’

“I don’t know the entire process,” said Petunia. “The city elders keep a lot really secret. Only knowledge passed from one trusted family member to another.

“It is believed that when a core matures to a certain age it an be cut into pieces like a gemstone. And each piece can be used as a seed for a new core. But that’s just gossip.”

“I’ve spoken to people who’ve been inside the mini labyrinths. Supposedly there is a really fancy pedestal in the center that is all done up in gold and jewels. Maybe all that fanciness helps the spark of life ignite in the core seed. Or maybe the growing core just needs bling to feed its ego.”

“The core is then allowed to grow for ten years before it is harvested. Then the labyrinth is cleaned out, and a new seed is put in.”

“Why so young,” I asked.

“They are harmless when they are that size. At 15 years they start forming a boss monster. And then it can get dangerous. At least that is what most people think. Ten years I’m told is the perfect age to be ground up into a powder, or used as jewelry.

“Every month we feed them livestock. Rabbits, chickens, goats, occasionally a cow for the older cores. These things don’t have time to grow a boss monster, and the puny monsters these cores do manage to create, are locked behind the grate and are mostly pretty funny. On par with ferocious chickens and rabbits — good eating really.”

Petunia looked through the plot of earth and plants in front of her. She pulled back leaves and even dug down into the soil a bit.

“Well, shall we get started. The city keeps common medicinal herbs in here. I like to come through every once in a while and make sure everything is growing well and there are no parasites. Can’t have parasites. A seven-year-old core, about 20 years ago managed to get ahold of a moth and evolve the caterpillar. Those were some very hungry caterpillars.”

Petunia and I spent the rest of the afternoon digging in the dirt on the third floor of mountain that was devoted to growing domesticated dungeon cores.

It was a good experience. It was one thing to read about the plants I was studying, and it was another thing altogether to work with them in a controlled environment.

Every once in a while a chicken would rush the bars of the cage. Ferocious glowing eyes, and horns growing out of the side of their heads, at less than a foot tall they clucked and scratched for grubs, and were anything but a horrifying monster.

Another thing I noticed were traps, like oversized spring loaded mouse traps, baited with brightly colored bits of yarn and sparkly bits of metal. I pointed one of them out to Petunia.

“Gnome Traps,” she said. “Sometimes they try to abduct baby cores.”

I nodded, not knowing what to say.

We made our way down the hallway checking on the plants as we went. It was great getting first-hand experience learning to sort and dig up and root around for the very types of plants I would be, in theory looking for if — when — I went dungeon hopping in the future.

The thing was, apparently, these were all tiny cores. Suitable to be ground into a powder for enchanting, or because they were slightly sentient and empathic, trained to respond to emotions and used as jewelry, or simply as a place to store a tiny bit of mana.

Eventually, we finished the hallway and then instead of taking the elevator back down, we took the stairs. It was dark I walked Petunia back to her shop, and then made my way to a dark alley near the main gate to the town.

I had been running nearly empty for the past few days. Oh, I had my normal amount of mana. The amount that came from resting and not casting many spells. But if I got into a fight I needed to be overcharged to be able to fight at my best. I needed more mana.

It wasn’t as hard to be unobserved as it had been even a week ago. The city was filling up with young people from the countryside. This was the only city in nearly a 500 mile diameter where sixteen year olds could get their status magic and according to the traditions of the empire legally become adults. Since I was over-muscled and big for my age, I looked like a short young adult rather than the child that I happened to be.

As day embraced twilight and frolicked and reveled into the evening, groups of young adults wandered the streets. It had started a few days ago, but as more and more people, teenagers, alone and with their families poured into the city, whole neighborhoods took on a festive spirit.

This was the prelude to the upcoming festival. Roving bands of 16-year-olds — in from the country and off the farm had come to the city for this rite of passage — here to get their status magic during this week of the solstice — wandered and reveled, intermingling with townsfolk without any care.

They sang, they danced in the middle of the streets. They kissed complete strangers and public nudity wasn’t frowned upon. Even the most staid citizens handed out alcohol, tobacco, and marijuana to kids as they passed by their doors. And the full festivities hadn’t even started yet.

In the city’s main park, where most of the teenagers were camped out, I saw legs entwined under blankets, in bushes, or even right out in the open; young couples, having just met or have known each other forever; the first time away from the watchful eyes of their parents, or even with parental blessing. They met; boys kissed girls, girls kissed boys, boys kissed boys, girls kissed girls, excitement was in the air, and people were hooking up, screwing, and doing what the young do best with a zeal that I envied.

I made my way through the city towards the gate. The idea of pushing some teenager in from the countryside into an alleyway and draining the life force out of them seemed repulsive. Despicable. Though, I admit, it would have been easy.

Instead, I figured that my best chance to fill up with mana would be to leave the city altogether and find a deer or a bear out in the wilderness. I didn’t need much. Just enough to get into that mysterious dark place of shadows where time seemed to slow down and mana seemed to flow into me like streams pouring into a river.

When I got to the city gates, I cast my “don’t look at me spell” and then faded into the regular darkness while slowly, cautiously moving past the guards, silently weaving my way past the merchants and a long winding line of hundreds if not thousands of young people patiently waiting to get into the town.

It was only when I was well past the city walls and into some shrubbery that I lowered my guard. Then I set out walking, trying to make as much distance between the city and myself before it was too dark to see properly.

In the distance I saw a group of trees. In the faded light they stood out as grey. A dark grey silhouetted against blue-black sky. I started to move in that direction and promptly tripped over the furrow in some farmer’s field.

Mage sight was better but not by much. Through mage sight I could see the life and the streams of mana flowing all around me, but couldn’t tell me if there as a giant pitchfork to trip over right in front of me.

I didn’t want to light a torch or cast some sort of light spell since the last thing I wanted was company. Why I wanted to kill a deer would have been easy to explain. Though the term “poacher” would have then become the problem. Why I wanted to stare at a deer until it fell over dead, drained of its essence, would have been much harder.

The forest was astir with the sounds of the night as I made my way silently through its branches. Frogs chirped in a nearby pool of water, and crickets sang midnight minuettos. In the distance, I felt the beatings of feathers against the air and then a small furry animal began to scream as it was slowly eaten alive.

I looked for something substantial to kill and could find no big game.

I must have looked for nearly two hours. There were no deer here. No elk. No bears. No cougars; not even a lonely lady in search of young male companionship. Not even a stray cow. The most active life source was a young fox cub that was carefully eyeing a new clutch of ducklings, a very full owl that had just finished eating a squirrel, and a weasel sleeping in a hole under a log.

Instead, I decided to change focus. Witches were supposed to kill crops, so what if I tried to drain a tree?

Extending the tentacle of life that I associated with witchcraft outward away from me. Briefly, I worried about that tentacle as it wrapped around the tree. Hopefully nobody from earth would ever catch me doing this. The similarity to some form of extreme etherial hentai was too obvious. No best to think of it as a hose, not a tentacle. Too many unpleasant associations there. Goblins, yuck.

The hose (or straw!) that I sent out struck the tree. The feeling of nature and life mixed, of the wildness and the untamed with a more controlled kind of wildness and untamed. Life magic and nature magic were very closely linked. Very similar in shape and function. Humans were nature and animals and plants were full of life.

I could feel the tree, and I drunk deeply, the roots, down in the earth carried life from all around me. Roots touching roots, insects burrowing in the loam, birds foraging after insects, that was the nature of nature magic, and as I drew it in, I got lost in it.

Until I could draw no more. I had sunk into the process of drawing the mana in, and the only thing that stopped me was a feeling of bloating that I had begun to associate with the point where I would explode in a fleshy bomb of pulverized guts.

Looking around I was standing in a circle, no a sphere of devastation. Everything around me. One hundred yards in every direction was dead. Not just dead. Sucked dry of the very essence of life. Unable to sustain the fertility of nature. Even a desert had more growing in it than the place I stood.

The trees and grass wasn’t simply dead, it had become either ash or petrified stone. Corpses of tiny animals and insects were fossilized, or withered away. There were no birds chirping or squawking in the trees. No insects buzzing in the air. Only silence and stone.

I turned and made my way from that place. My only hope right now was that nobody would find this place while I was near to the city. They were already worried about a necromancer in town, hunting and on the look out. The last thing I wanted was for the alarm to go out that a witch was running rampant too.

It was almost dawn when I entered the city the same way that I left, furtively and hidden from sight. There was a long line of teenagers making their way into the town; it looked like the guards had been ushering them in all night long.

I stumbled into the inn with the dawn. Too filled with energy to sleep, too tired to study. Instead, I sat in the common room with a cup of weak watery beer (this inn seemed to have a version of Amstel Light) and a plate of eggs and kicked back to watch the world go by for a while.

Elenn Nightingale Winterberry showed up eventually, and we spent a productive two hours going over a humorous story in Cretan about a doomed love affair between a gnome and a troll. When she left, I still wasn’t tired, so I got up and left the inn.

If anything the city had taken even more of a Dionysian level of frantic energy today. More and more people were pouring into the city for the status day solstice week ceremony. Now strings of beads were being passed around, and some people had stopped bothering to even flashing for the cheap necklaces and were instead simply walking around in nothing but brightly colored strategically located greasepaint.

Alcohol and weak narcotics were readily available. They were sold on street corners, bars and taverns were open 24 hours a day. Impromptu open-air kitchens had started to appear serving inexpensive food.

Crime had also risen. Not only did I hear about “the necromancer” in whispered tones of fear. But there were hushed stories of families who had been robbed, youngsters just off the farm for their status ceremony, drugged, beaten and worse in back alleys. Crooked gambling, deaths, and blindness from contaminated food and drink. There was even talk of a slaver being at work in the city, though I disregarded that since there were no nations that dealt in that revolting practice nearby.

There was also the stuff that wasn’t whispered about. Was there this world’s equivalent to an H.H. Holmes at work somewhere in this town. Who would know? More importantly, who would care? The city watch was stretched thin as it was, and the Inquisition had its own issues.

I stepped into the sword maker’s workshop. He was busy at work pounding out a dagger blade. Like I had before, I found a place out of the way to watch him work. Despite the stolen energy coursing through my system I was in no hurry.

He finished quickly and efficiently, the strokes from his hammer shaping the bright orange metal before quenching it in a barrel of oil beside his forge. When he was done, he put the metal piece down on a work table and looked over at me.

“Ah Elm, ya here. I finished ya blade just last night.”

He walked over to a table and motioned that I follow him. On a sword, display stand made of oak there lay a blade that even sheathed looked about perfect for me. The bladesmith picked it up and handed it's over to me.

I unsheathed the sword. Felt it in my hands. There were tiny flecks of glitter in the metal which I assumed was the ground up dungeon core he said he would blend into the metal. So I took a few practice swings. The sword glided through the air. It felt like it wasn’t even there, or rather like it was an extension of my arm, of my hand.

“This is incredible,” I said.

“Ya not done. Two hundred years ago a great weaponsmith created two tests for all honorable buyers. Stories say he was born into a high noble family but chose ta ignore a life of wealth and luxury ta become a simple maker of weapons. Now ya must follow our craft’s ancient traditions and do ‘Sharpness Test’ and ‘Kill Test’ known to us all as holy ‘Forged in Fire Tests.’ Only then can ya know it is a sword good.”

I groaned having watched the show in a previous life but followed the sword-smith into a back room. There, a pig carcass hung from the ceiling. There was also some bamboo laying horizontally on some bricks.

Standing in front of the bamboo, I lifted the sword and with precision and control began to wail on the hollow wood. The edge of the blade cut into the canes, not like an ax cut into wood, but more like a knife cut into bread. There was resistance, but it was nothing.

I turned to the bladesmith “This sword will cut.”

He looked at me, then clasped his hands in homage, and bowed. Then we moved over to the pig carcass.

Again I raised the sword and began slashing at the dangling meat. It was as if the porcine flesh wasn’t even there and after two lacerations, separated into three portions, chunks of ham fell to the ground.

Again turning to the bladesmith, I spoke the sacred words of their craft. “This sword will kill.”

Looking at the blade, there was barely any sign of a nick or groove in the iron. From the looks of things, it was still as sharp as it had been when I first walked into the shop.

“Feed ya sword mana. The core dust canna store it but for a few hours. Mana will seep into the metal. Day after day, year after year, the sword will grow harder, sharper, lighter. S’long as ya keep feeding her mana. It be a slow process. Years of work. Core dust is not powerful on its own, but over time, with patience, can make something powerful. Ya understand?”

I was so happy with the results I overpaid him again and handed the master craftsman another gold coin on top of the three I owed him. He shook his head but pocketed the money. “Come back any time, ya hear.”