The camp buzzed with activity as the Council reorganized. Claire stood at the head of a weathered table, her fingers tracing the edge of a dungeon schematic. "Melissa, —you’re on engineering. Take the Apostates and start reinforcing the eastern wall. Use whatever we have."

  Melissa smirked, grease smeared across her cheek. "There is much to be done, let’s see how our inventions will evolve."

  Baruch snorted, adjusting his goggles. "You? Last time you ‘melted’ something, you nearly set the Seminary on fire."

  "Only because you rigged the furnace wrong!"

  Claire silenced them with a raised hand. " Lissa, Dwang—stay on standby. If the scouts spot trouble, you’re our first response."

  Dwang, Georg’s burly disciple, cracked his knuckles. "And if the Monarch’s dogs show up, we’ll bury them."

  Claire turned to the others. "Veyra, Myrtle, Baruch—you’re with me. We’re testing the dungeon’s first level today."

  Veyra’s staff thumped against the ground. "The Void awaits."

  The dungeon’s obsidian arch loomed before them, its surface etched with faint, pulsing runes that glowed like trapped starlight. As Claire stepped through first, the air buzzed against her skin, a static charge raising the hairs on her arms. Golden light enveloped the group, warm and thick as honey, before dissolving into the familiar meadow. Sunlight filtered through a canopy of towering, ancient trees, dappling the grass where wildflowers swayed in a breeze that carried the crisp scent of pine and damp soil. A stream cut through the field, its water so clear they could see smooth pebbles glinting on its bed.

  Myrtle shouldered her rifle, her boots crunching on gravel as she scanned the tree line. "Looks peaceful. Too peaceful. Where’s the ugly part?"

  Baruch adjusted his goggles, sniffing the air. "Smells like a damn perfume shop. Give it a minute—"

  A guttural screech erupted from the tall grass. Fifteen goblins surged forward, their leathery green skin slick with grime. Ragged cloth hung from their bodies, and their yellowed claws gripped jagged spears tipped with rusted iron. The largest one, a hunched brute with a necklace of rodent skulls, snarled, revealing rows of broken teeth.

  Claire snapped her buckler into place, the metal clang cutting through the chaos. "Form up! Baruch, left flank—channel them toward the stream! Myrtle, high ground on that boulder! Veyra—"

  "Already on it," Veyra interrupted, her voice calm as she raised her gnarled staff. Violet energy crackled at its tip, and she slammed the base into the earth. A ripple of mana exploded outward, tossing three goblins into the air. They splashed into the stream, screeching as the current dragged them downstream.

  Baruch lobbed a rune-etched sphere into the fray. It bounced once before detonating in a burst of blue lightning. Two goblins spasmed, their limbs locking rigid as they collapsed. "Never gets old!" he crowed, already priming another device.

  Claire’s rapier flashed, its blade slipping between a goblin’s ribs with surgical precision. She pivoted, buckler deflecting a wild spear thrust, and gutted a second attacker. "Myrtle! The shaman—eleven o’clock!"

  Near the tree line, a goblin clad in cracked bone armor chanted, its staff glowing venom-green. The air around it shimmered with gathering poison. Myrtle dropped to one knee atop a mossy boulder, her rifle steady. The crack of the shot echoed like thunder. The shaman’s skull snapped back, a dark hole between its eyes, and the half-formed spell fizzled into acrid smoke.

  "Scratch one ugly mage," Myrtle said, reloading with practiced ease. "Anyone want the rest?"

  The remaining goblins faltered, hissing and backing toward the forest. Baruch hurled another sphere, this one erupting in a cloud of choking ash. The creatures broke, scrambling over roots and rocks as they fled.

  Claire wiped her blade on the grass, her breathing steady. "Tidy work. Veyra—status?"

  The Apostate leader knelt, pressing a hand to the earth. "No lingering traps. The dungeon’s energy is… pleased."

  Baruch poked a goblin corpse with his boot. "These ones stink worse than the Sewer Queen’s hideout. Think they’ll respawn?"

  "Unlikely," Veyra said, standing. "The Void consumes failures. They were merely a test."

  Myrtle slid down from the boulder, her boots kicking up gravel. "Test? Felt like swatting gnats. Let’s hope the next floor’s got something that doesn’t die when I sneeze."

  Claire sheathed her rapier, eyeing the meadow. Sunlight glinted off the stream, and for a moment, the air hummed with something like approval. "Rewards first. Then we see what else this place thinks we’re ready for."

  [Rewards: 10 Seed Pouches. 10 Iron Ox Hide. 10 Berry Bushes. 5kg Copper Ore.]

  Baruch knelt, inspecting the shimmering hides. "This isn’t just leather—it’s reinforced. Thick enough to stop a crossbow bolt."

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Claire hefted a seed pouch. "If these grow, we won’t need to scavenge."

  Veyra plucked a berry, its juice staining her fingers crimson. "The Void provides. But the question remains—do we press onward?"

  A new prompt flashed:

  [Proceed to Level 2? Y/N]

  The air in the meadow thickened as the translucent prompt pulsed—[Proceed to Level 2? Y/N]. Claire’s knuckles whitened around her rapier hilt, her gaze flicking to Baruch’s ash-stained face and Myrtle’s narrowed eyes. The scent of charred goblin flesh still hung heavy.

  “If we die here,” Claire said, voice low, “the loot disappears with us. Everything we just earned—poof. Back to scavenging moldy rations.”

  Veyra stepped forward, her crow-feather cloak stirring in the unnatural breeze. “The Void rewards courage, not hesitation. These gifts are ours regardless of outcome.” Her milky eye glinted as she traced a glyph in the air, its violet light reflecting off Myrtle’s rifle barrel.

  Myrtle chambered a round with a snick that cut through the silence. “I didn’t stomach molded pemmican and other salvages for nothing, let’s hunt.”

  The forest ahead seemed to exhale, shadows deepening between ancient oaks. Baruch adjusted his goggles, their lenses whirring as he scanned the tree line. “Feels like a trap.”

  “Everything’s a trap,” Claire muttered. “Move.”

  The moment they crossed the tree line, daylight fractured. Thirty goblins materialized in a chorus of guttural shrieks, flanked by two hulking orcs whose tusks gleamed like sickle blades. The larger orc wore a patchwork breastplate of scrap metal, its eyes burning sulfur-yellow.

  Baruch whistled. “Well. That’s… festive.”

  Claire’s boot slid into a defensive stance. “Orcs crush, goblins swarm. Myrtle—weak points on the big ones. Baruch, bottleneck them at the stream. Now.”

  Baruch hurled a smoke grenade into the advancing horde. It detonated with a muffled thump, gray fog swallowing the battlefield. The orcs roared, swinging spiked clubs the size of tree trunks blindly. Myrtle vaulted onto a mossy boulder, her rifle’s report cracking the air. One orc staggered, clutching its ruined eye socket as black blood seeped through its fingers.

  “Eat iron, you overgrown goblin!” Myrtle reloaded, teeth bared.

  The second orc charged Claire, its stench of rot and wet fur overwhelming. She sidestepped, her rapier slashing a deep gash across its hamstring. The beast bellowed, its club smashing into the earth where she’d stood moments before. “Veyra! Now!”

  Veyra’s staff struck the ground, tendrils of void energy erupting like black vines. They coiled around the orc’s limbs, pinning it mid-swing. Claire lunged, driving her blade through its temple with a wet crunch.

  Meanwhile, Baruch backpedaled, lobbing explosive runes at the goblin swarm. “Little help?!”

  Myrtle’s next three shots dropped goblins in rapid succession—one through the throat, two through ragged hearts. “You owe me a drink, gearhead!”

  Claire plunged into the fray, her buckler deflecting spears as she carved a path toward Baruch. “Push them toward the stream! Let the current take the bodies!”

  The remaining goblins broke, screeching as they fled into the shadows. The meadow fell silent save for the drip of blood on leaves.

  [Art: Unbound Progress: Liberation Awaits. Classes Dissolved. Create Your Destiny.]

  Baruch stared at the glowing text hovering above his palm. “No classes? No tiers? What does that even mean? I spent twenty years going up the ranks of the class system—are you saying some farmer could pick this up now?”

  Claire wiped gore from her blade with a rag. “Under the Monarch, they branded us at birth. Soldier. Engineer. Laborer. This…” She gestured at the prompt, her voice taut. “This means a scout can learn smithing. A cook can wield a rifle. No more cages.”

  Veyra crouched, pressing her palm to the blood-soaked earth. “The Prophet foresaw this. The Void does not carve paths—it erases the cliffs.”

  Myrtle snorted, kicking a goblin corpse. “Devon’s a prophet now? Last week he couldn’t light a fire without setting his eyebrows ablaze.”

  “He walks where we cannot,” Veyra said, standing. “His purpose transcends matches and kindling.”

  [Rewards: 15 Seed Pouches. 15 Iron Ox Hide. 10kg Copper. 10kg Iron.]

  The materials shimmered into existence—seed pouches embroidered with celestial patterns, hides thicker than dragon scale, raw ore gleaming like captured sunlight. Baruch hefted a copper ingot, grinning. “Melissa’s going to kiss me. Or strangle me. Depends on whether her feeling of being left out is stronger than the joy of getting the resources.”

  Claire sheathed her rapier, eyeing the tree line where shadows twitched. “Regroup. We’ll send scavenger teams at first light. Myrtle, sweep the perimeter for stragglers.”

  Myrtle slung her rifle. “Still think this place reeks of trap.”

  “Everything’s a trap,” Claire said, turning toward the obsidian arch. “But now? We’re the teeth inside it.”

  The afternoon sun bathed the seminary in molten gold as the camp hummed like a well-oiled machine. Claire moved through her sword drills behind the crumbling chapel, muscles burning with unfamiliar precision. Her rapier carved arcs through the air, each thrust sharper than the last. When the chime echoed in her skull—[Swordsmanship +1. Strength +1. Dexterity +1]—she nearly stumbled mid-lunge.

  "Unbound… and uncharted," she murmured, flexing her calloused palm. The notification shimmered at the edge of her vision, translucent and insistent. Across the courtyard, a chorus of cheers erupted as Apostates hauled glistening Iron Ox hides into the newly reinforced storehouse.

  At the forge, Baruch’s hammer rang like a war bell. Sparks danced around him as he shaped a copper bracket, his goggles flecked with molten metal. [Blacksmithing +1. Dexterity +1]. He barked a laugh, holding the piece up to the light. "No tier restrictions! No damn guild licenses! Just skill!"

  The cellar door stood propped open, revealing shelves buckling under their new wealth—glistening copper ingots stacked like sacred texts, berry saplings in clay pots, Iron Ox hides rolled tighter than burial shrouds. Dwang hefted a hide onto his shoulder, whistling. "Thick enough to stop an Iron Verdict’s slash.."

  A young Apostate girl traced the celestial patterns on a seed pouch. "Do you think… do you think these’ll really grow without purification rites?"

  Melissa emerged from the shadows, her arms smeared with dungeon moss. "Kid, I’ve seen radishes sprout in chemical runoff. This?" She plucked a pouch, its embroidery shimmering faintly. "This’ll bloom so hard it’ll punch the Monarch in the teeth."

  On the rooftop, Myrtle tracked a shadowmoth’s erratic flight through her rifle scope. [Perception +1. Awareness +1].

  Below, the courtyard teemed with life. Rebels scrubbed Ox hides in the aquifer’s crystalline water, their laughter carrying over the splash of buckets. An old Stone Pelter turned farmer knelt beside Lissa, showing her how to nestle berry roots into freshly turned soil.

  "Thorns mean they’re strong," the man rasped, his hands trembling around a sapling. "Like us, eh?"

  Lissa’s silver-veined fingers brushed the glistening spikes. "Will they taste sweet?"

  "Sweet as vengeance, kid."

  In the chapel, Veyra sat cross-legged beneath fractured stained glass, violet mana swirling between her palms. Apostates chanted in low unison, their voices weaving with the dungeon’s distant hum. [Mana +1. Wisdom +1]. The energy coalesced into a shimmering orb before dissolving into motes of light.

  "The path is open," Veyra announced, rising. "Now we walk it."

  Her disciples scrambled to follow as she strode into the courtyard, where Baruch now argued with Trent over a vertical farm schematic nailed to the well.

  "—needs diagonal reinforcements here, unless you want six tons of plant crashing on your skull!"

  Claire approached, her buckler strapped tight. "Will it hold?"

  Baruch grinned, tapping the copper bracket on his belt. "Give me three days and that dungeon’s iron. We’ll have gardens in the sky."

  Myrtle dropped from the rooftop, landing cat-quiet beside them. "Just don’t get poetic. We’ve got orcs to gut tomorrow."

  Veyra’s voice cut through the chatter. "Rest well tonight. The Void’s trials have only begun."

  But no one moved.

  At night during a council meeting, Claire announced of their exploits to everyone. “ We will need to unlock your Unbound state with the Level 2 of the dungeon, slowly everyone will be free. Be careful, none of us died in the dungeon but dying in there might mean to die in real life, our injuries there are carried back. We will start preparing teams to fight in the dungeons with tactics and gadgets, everyone who wants to be included should show up in the training room after breakfast tomorrow.”

  Everyone was excited, whispers of how their Revolution may succeed echoed in their shouts.