The massive red crystal hanging above the floor burned like a false sun.
Its light was not just illumination but weight. Heat pressed down on the expedition, baking the endless dunes until the desert stretched ahead like a sea of molten gold. Even the air shimmered, warped by the intensity.
Damien squinted, lifting a hand to shield his eyes as he stared up at it. "You sure we can't shoot that thing? I've got this really strong urge to destroy it."
Gareth laughed, the sound booming despite the oppressive heat. "Ahahaha, I thought the same, kid. Trust me, I've dreamed about smashing that thing more than once. But it's way too far."
Riveria did not laugh. Her eyes followed the crystal, calculating, measuring, dissecting. "It is also far too risky," she said calmly. "If you destroy it, what happens next? Does it summon a Juggernaut? Does this floor collapse into darkness? Do the monsters adapt? Does it regenerate? There are far too many unknown variables."
She stopped walking without realizing it, still staring upward, thoughts spiraling deeper and deeper.
Damien noticed and waited, watching her with quiet amusement. After a moment, he spoke lightly. "You look pretty when you think too much."
Riveria's gaze snapped to him. She narrowed her eyes. "Is that the sort of line you use on women to get into their pants? Apologies, but I am not so easily swayed."
Damien burst out laughing. "No. That was just me stating the obvious." He scratched the back of his head, then sighed. "Do I really give off that kind of energy? Like I'm always trying to get into a girl's pants? I'm genuinely not. I mean, yeah, I get involved with people, but I try to be respectful. Caring. Not a creep."
Riveria stepped closer and, to his surprise, placed her hand gently against his cheek. A small smile curved her lips. "You look beautiful when you think too much."
She turned and resumed walking as if nothing unusual had happened.
Damien froze for half a second, then exhaled. "Oh. Oh, you got me."
He hurried after her. "So… I have a question."
"Yes?" Riveria replied, her tone returning to its usual composure.
"Do you use ice magic?"
"Not as my primary affinity," she answered. "But I am extremely proficient with it. Why?"
Damien's smile shifted, becoming subtle, almost conspiratorial. "Well… I might have a gift for you. One I think you'll like. A lot."
Riveria glanced at him. "Oh? And what would that be?"
Without another word, Damien reached into his storage and pulled out the staff.
It was pure white, elegant and cold even at a glance. A flawless jewel gleamed at its tip, set into a shaft that looked as though it had been carved from an ancient ice tree. The mana flowing from it was quiet but overwhelming, refined to a terrifying degree.
"I know you wondered where I went," Damien said softly. "I said it was a secret. This is why. I saw this and thought… knowing you, it felt like it was made to shine in your hands."
Riveria's breath caught.
Her eyes lit up, truly lit up, glowing with a rare, unguarded brilliance. She took the staff carefully, almost reverently, as though afraid it might vanish if she handled it too roughly. She examined every inch of it, fingers trembling slightly.
"Damien…" Her voice faltered. "This is not a gift. This is far beyond that. I cannot…"
He raised a hand to stop her. "Hey. It's a gift. You don't get to refuse. I have no use for it. It'll just rot in my storage. It deserves someone who actually knows what they're doing."
"You do not understand," Riveria said, still staring at the staff. "This is a world class weapon. Unique. Something only the gods themselves, or perhaps one or two legendary blacksmiths in all of history, could ever create." She swallowed. "This is a masterpiece."
Damien chuckled. "Good. So you like it?"
"Like it?" She looked at him sharply. "Damien, this could increase my combat power by at least fifty percent. It allows me to cast high tier ice magic without chanting. It is, quite literally, the most powerful staff I have ever seen. In my eyes, it is second only to the Yggdrasil staff of my homeland."
"Oh," Damien said, genuinely surprised. "That strong, huh? Guess I picked well. So… does it at least earn me a kiss?"
Riveria answered without looking up from the staff. "A kiss? At our next stop, I might fuck you."
Damien's eyebrows shot up in pure shock.
Riveria froze.
A beat passed.
She closed her eyes, took a breath, and turned to him. "Apologies. I became… excited."
She leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. "I am truly grateful, Damien. This is something I will never forget."
He smiled warmly. "Don't worry about it. You saved my life once. This is the least I could do."
Riveria nodded, gripping the staff just a little tighter, and the two of them continued onward with the expedition beneath the burning red sun.
...
The journey toward the White Palace was nothing short of punishing.
Unlike other layers of the Dungeon, the desert floors offered no guidance, no mercy, and no clear route forward. There were no natural corridors or predictable descents. The Dungeon did not lead adventurers here. It watched them struggle and expected them to find their own way.
Sand stretched endlessly in every direction, dunes rising and collapsing like slow waves. Monsters hid beneath the surface, patient and vicious, waiting for footsteps before erupting upward in ambush. Others used the heat itself, twisting light into mirages that lured careless adventurers into walking in circles until exhaustion claimed them.
The expedition was prepared for most of it.
Veterans reacted the instant the sand shifted. Spells detonated beneath the surface, blades struck before monsters could fully emerge, and formations adjusted seamlessly. Even the infamous mirages, illusions that had ended entire parties in the past, were rendered almost harmless.
The true difference, however, was Damien.
His System map hovered at the edge of his perception, cold and precise, cutting through the chaos of the desert. It marked the correct path every time, highlighting subtle deviations in terrain that no natural sense could detect. Paths that looked identical to the naked eye were exposed as dead ends or traps, while the true descent revealed itself only to him.
Each time it guided them correctly, Damien felt a quiet unease.
This was not guesswork. Not intuition. The accuracy was absolute.
More than once, he found himself wondering where the map was getting its information from, and why the Dungeon itself seemed incapable of hiding anything from it.
Two days passed like this.
Two days of heat, sand, constant vigilance, and relentless pressure from the Dungeon itself. Then, at last, the desert opened.
The White Palace rose before them.
Its walls, its ground, even its towering ceiling were all the same pale white, unnaturally clean, as if carved from a single colossal block. The floor beneath their feet spread out into a massive labyrinth, its scale dwarfing anything they had encountered above. Hallways stretched endlessly, rooms were separated by vast distances, and the walls themselves felt impossibly thick.
This floor existed on a different scale altogether.
Everyone present knew the truth of this place.
The entrance to the thirty eighth floor lay at the very center of the labyrinth.
And standing there, unmoving, waiting exactly as legend described, was Udaeus.
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