We entered a brightly lit chamber with multiple torches on each wall. It was a large room, easily three or four times the size of the goblin rooms. Tattered banners festooned the walls, and on the far end of the room rested a black throne made of some kind of obsidian or other dark material. A man in armor was hunkered down on the throne.

The man wore chainmail, thick gauntlets of leather, and a metal helm that left a shriveled, unmoving face open to the world. Serrated vambraces protected his forearms, and a bare hand-and-a-half sword lay across his knees. He didn’t move.

“So...do I just go up and fight him?” I asked.

That’s likely the case. Sometimes dungeons can be tricky, with puzzles and traps, but this level is weak and seems fairly straightforward.

I edged forward carefully, sword drawn and in the en garde position. Levelling up affected a person in such odd ways. I could feel that I was stronger than before--Veritas swept more easily through the air now. My new agility made me feel lighter on my feet, though I still wouldn’t have had the confidence to walk a tightrope.

I looked down at Veritas, and it was as if I had never truly seen her before. A sudden and fierce appreciation for this magnificent weapon stirred within me. Strong without being brittle. Keen-edged. Perfectly balanced.

En garde position. I hadn’t even known that phrase before. How did I know that? In my mind I could feel myself holding a sword, whipping it through the air like a willow branch. I saw myself lunge fiercely, arm fully extended, pressure on my forward knee holding me perfectly balanced. I blinked and now I saw myself swinging a larger blade two-handed, batting aside a weakly raised shield before slicing back to drive at the vulnerable neck of a man without a gorget.

Was this knowledge of swordcraft being granted to me because I had leveled my skill? Or were they memories of things that I had done?

I watched the torchlight play over the runes engraved on Veritas’s shining blade. I recognized them now for what they were, though I still couldn't read them. Runes. Did they grant power to my sentient weapon? Or were they merely decoration? The light flickered up and down her edge, almost as if she was on fire. She was so beautiful.

I closed my eyes. I could hear the thunder of hooves. Barks of anger. Shouts of pain. Exultation and madness.

My breath came faster.

The coppery smell of blood filled the air around me. The stench of voided bowels assaulted my nose, and the groans of dying men merged with the clash of steel. Sweat dripped off my brow...down my neck...under my armor to soak my undershirt… Despite the horror around me, I felt a fierce satisfaction within my breast. We were winning. We were winning!

A sound drifted at the edge of my awareness. I tried to ignore it, awash in the frenetic sensations of battle and fury, but it wouldn’t go away. It echoed over and over, louder and louder.

Paol!

PAOL!

My eyes sprang open just in time to see the bastard sword about to chop through my face. With a gasp I leapt backwards, dragging my heel and almost falling down.

The man in armor gave me no respite. He immediately attacked again, this time stabbing for my chest. With an awkward twist, I just barely managed to brush his sword to the side, receiving a shallow slice on the arm instead of a crippling wound.

Zombie Knight strikes you for 15 damage.

I retreated as my opponent advanced, never giving me an opportunity to catch my breath. He was like a machine. His arm went up and down and side to side, constantly seeking a way through my defenses.

I stumbled around like a drunk man at first, just barely staying ahead of his attacks. Veritas had been right. This “boss” had no pattern. He simply came at me again and again. Attacking high then low then parrying then moving then attacking to the side. I had no idea what he was going to do next. I felt panic burbling in my chest, and I was on the verge of turning and fleeing the room when something inside me awoke.

I felt as if something clicked, and suddenly I found myself deftly shifting the zombie knight’s bastard sword to the side before wheeling back to slam the flat of my blade against his helmet, causing it to ring with a huge BONG!

My feet shifted automatically. Footwork was key. I leaned back from the zombie knight’s attack and then deflected his sword away from me with a slight push from my blade. With his weapon out of position, I thrust upward into his armpit where his chain mail was weak. I tore through the links, but he didn’t even flinch. When I ripped the sword out of his body, I was barely in time to deflect another attack. I had been expecting some response to the wound I had inflicted--a wince or a pause--but that was foolish. Zombies don’t feel pain.

You stab Zombie Knight for 18 damage.

We traded blows, going up and down the length of the throne room.

Zombie Knight hits you for 12 damage.

You strike Zombie Knight for 21 damage.

The cut on my arm was oozing blood. A slash on my leg slowed me, and I could feel my muscles begin to tremble from fatigue. I had penetrated his chain mail multiple times, but he seemed no slower than before. How was I supposed to stop this thing? I knew that I had damaged it, but it hardly seemed affected. Would I have to hack it to pieces? I didn’t have the strength for that. I glanced at my Status.

Stamina 18/60

“What do I do?” I shouted. “The damn thing won’t die!”

The head. The easiest way to destroy a zombie is to remove its head.

“Why didn’t you tell me that before?” I screamed.

You need the practice.

What? Fierce anger stirred within me. I need the practice? I need the practice? What kind of reason was that?

With a snarl I slammed Veritas over and over against the zombie knight’s sword, forcing it far to the side. Finally with a shout I grabbed Veritas with both hands and swept her down under my opponent’s helm to slice through the rotted flesh and bone that had once been its neck.

Veritas slid under the helmet and passed through to the other side with barely a pause, and the metal covered head rolled off the zombie knight. It immediately collapsed.

You decapitate Zombie Knight for 24 damage.

Zombie Knight has been defeated! You gain 1000 experience.

Congratulations! Your Swords skill has increased to Level 5.

Congratulations! Your Swords skill has increased to Level 6.

I dropped Veritas, leaned over with my hands on my knees, gasping for breath. My stamina was dangerously low at 14, and I was down to 51 hit points.

“Damn it! I need the practice? What the hell does that mean?” I bellowed angrily.

I waited, but no words came to me. What? Why was she quiet? Was she ashamed and tacitly admitting her error? Or had I been going crazy after all? Had I been talking to myself all this time, making up a friendly female voice to keep me company in my loneliness?

Veritas gleamed on the floor.

Oh. Right. I had to touch her.

I gripped her by the hilt and stood up straight.

See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?

“Wasn’t so hard? How long was I fighting that thing? I’m almost out of stamina! What would have happened then?”

Oh boo hoo. You have 51 hit points still. Just about the only way you would have lost to that thing was if you had tripped and fallen onto its weapon face first. Maybe you didn’t realize it, but you had already almost destroyed it by the time you cut off its head. It had taken too much damage. One or two more good hits would have done for it.

I glared at the blade in my hand. Then I felt kind of foolish. Who stands around staring angrily at a piece of metal? Argh! How frustrating!

Come on, Paol. It turned out all right in the end. And you even got two sword levels out of it! Check the body for loot!

With an annoyed grunt, I bent over to touch the zombie knight’s body, and it dissipated into sprinkles of light that faded almost immediately. All that was left in front of me was the knight’s helmet and three pieces of gold.

Gold! Not copper or even silver, but gold! I scooped them up quickly and dropped them into the Bag of Holding.

“I thought monsters’ equipment disappears with their bodies. Why is the helmet still here?” I asked, hefting it and carefully examining it.

Apparently, in this case the boss was wearing the loot. You’ll notice that nothing else remains of the zombie knight. Can you see what powers have been imbued on the helmet?

I tried to Identify it only to get:

Helm ???

“I can’t identify it. It must be too advanced for me.”

Unfortunately, I do not have the Identification skill. However, I do have a highly developed perception of mana, and I sense that there are no curses on this helm. While we may not know exactly what it does, we can be comforted in knowing that it will probably not harm the wearer.

"Probably?" I muttered in an unconvinced tone.

When you don't know all the capabilities of an object, there is always the chance that it will be misused. For example, if you unknowingly wore boots of jumping and accidentally activated them in a cavern with very sharp stalactites, you might find yourself hanging from the ceiling with a sharp rock spear in your brain.

I mulled over this unnerving scenario before shrugging and putting the helmet on my head. The protection it would give me was worth the risk. It was fairly weighty, and it made my head feel too heavy for my body. It would take time for me to get accustomed to wearing it.

Suddenly, the weight of the helm no longer bothered me. I couldn’t have explained why, but having it on my head just felt RIGHT to me. So strange. If I hadn’t been thinking about it, I could have forgotten it was even there.

After claiming and equipping the spoils of battle, I drifted over to the throne. I examined it carefully from every angle, but as far as I could tell it was exactly what it looked like from afar--a throne made of pitch-dark stone. Carved on its side was an image of a man sitting on the throne. A strange circle seemed to float in the air above him. I circled the throne. On the opposite side were some scratchings. I knelt and took a closer look, rubbing my hand over the marks. Strange. It looked as if there had been an image here, too, but someone had tried to destroy it. I couldn't be sure, but the image looked very similar to the one on the opposite side. However, something at the bottom of this image had been smashed so that it was impossible to make out.

Since this is the end of the level, there should be some way to trigger a Gate that will take us back to the entrance of the dungeon.

The image seemed to indicate what I needed to do, so I sat in the throne. Nothing happened. Wiggling my butt around had no effect. With my hands on the rough surface of the throne’s stone arms, I noticed that there was an odd bump atop the right arm. I pushed, and it depressed smoothly.

A shimmering circle appeared in the air ahead of me. Liquid light flowed in slow ripples within the circle, like brilliant waves in a tiny ocean.

Good job, Paol! You found the Gate. Just step through it, and we'll exit the dungeon.

I frowned. There had been two images engraved on the throne.

Paol, what are you doing?

I felt around the arms of the throne, rubbing my hands all up and down them. Wait. In one carving, the circle had been above the figure sitting on the throne. In the other carving, something had been scratched out below. I slid my right hand carefully along the underside of the throne's arm, and felt something. This time it wasn't a bump but more like a small hole. Hoping I wasn't being a fool, I pushed my finger into the hole.

A dark circle that seemed to absorb light expanded into existence next to the shimmering Gate.

"What is that?" I murmured.

Paol, be careful. That is another Gate but...it's not an exit Gate. I don't know where it might lead.

I walked over until I stood between both Gates. They were fascinating--like opposite sides of a coin. One shining with a pure and shimmering light that promised escape and the other a sinister dark void that reeked of mystery. I shook myself. My imagination was being overly dramatic. Obviously, I'd be a fool to enter there. This level had been frightening enough, and Veritas had claimed it was weak. I turned to leave and saw a flicker in the corner of my eye.

An inky pseudopod stretched out from the dark Gate towards me.

Paol! Look out!

I tried to dodge, but it suddenly whipped out as fast as a striking snake. As soon as it touched me I felt it stick and pull, attempting to yank me into the black void. I resisted, but a second pseudopod and then a third shot out and latched onto me. Together, they were too strong for me to resist. With a cry, I fell backwards into the darkness and knew nothing more.