Entering Floor Eighty-Two, Damien was hit by a wave of ice.
The cold was instant and absolute...a biting, piercing chill that sank into his bones and stole the breath from his lungs. The whiteness of the place was blinding, an endless expanse of frozen terrain that stretched in every direction. He immediately shifted his shadows, wrapping them around his entire body like a second skin, covering every inch of exposed flesh. Even his eyes were shielded, the darkness transforming into a visor-like layer that protected his vision from the glare.
The floor was massive.
Mountain ranges rose in the distance, their peaks lost in clouds of frost and snow. Glaciers carved through the landscape like frozen rivers, their surfaces gleaming with ancient ice. The air was so cold that every breath he took crystallized in front of his face, falling to the ground as tiny shards of ice.
But none of it compared to what lay at the center.
A castle.
It rose from the frozen wasteland like a monument to another age, its spires reaching toward the sky, its walls shimmering with an inner light. It was beautiful—impossibly, hauntingly beautiful—and Damien recognized it instantly.
"Thalia's Ice Garden," he breathed. "So this is its original location."
He could sense it now. The magic that had once saved Ais, that had protected her from the Corrupted Spirit, that had appeared on Floor Sixty and vanished without a trace...it had come from here. This was where it belonged.
His wings extended, and he flew toward the castle.
Last time, he had been weaker. Less experienced. Less powerful. But now, he was a god. He was the Shadow Monarch. He was confident that he could finally understand the Garden's secrets.
But when he arrived at the entrance, he stopped.
Two men stood before the gates.
They were human. Not monsters, not spirits, not shadows...actual humans. Damien could sense it clearly. And they were strong. Both of them radiated power that marked them as Level Nines, at the very least.
They were old...late thirties, perhaps...with weathered faces and eyes that had seen centuries of battle.
"Are you the one known as the Shadow Monarch?" the first one asked.
Damien landed, his shadows retracting slightly. "Yes. I am. And you two are?"
"We are guardians of the Garden," the second man said. "Please, come inside. The Lords are waiting for you."
Damien considered this for a moment. One should be careful around strangers in the dungeon...especially strangers who claimed to serve ancient powers. But something inside him...his godly sense, perhaps...told him that these were good people. Honest people.
"Suppose so," he said. "Let's go in, then."
The interior of the castle was warm.
The contrast was jarring....from the frozen wasteland outside to the gentle, golden warmth within. The halls were filled with people. Not frozen statues, not corpses, but living, breathing people. They moved through the corridors, speaking in low voices, their faces peaceful.
Damien remembered this place. When he had first entered the Ice Garden on Floor Sixty, it had been filled with frozen figures. He had assumed they were dead, or preserved, or something similar.
They had been released. Awakened.
Finally, he reached the open garden at the heart of the castle.
It was beautiful...a vast space filled with trees and flowers that should not have been able to survive in this frozen hell, yet thrived. At its center stood a man.
He had black hair. Golden eyes. He wore armor that was beautiful and organized, and his silver sword was planted in the ground before him. To his left stood a gorgeous Pallum with auburn hair, a spear in her hand, and behind her a group of Pallums armed with various weapons. To his right stood a high elf, her eyes assessing Damien with cool intelligence.
"Shadow Monarch. Damien Ardent. Correct?" the man in the middle asked.
Damien met his gaze. "I am indeed. May I know who speaks to me?"
The man smiled—a warm, genuine expression. "Ah, how rude of me. I was excited to meet you, and I forgot myself." He inclined his head. "My name is Albert. Albert Waldstein."
Damien's eyes widened.
The black hair. The golden eyes. It all fit.
"Wait... Albert Waldstein? Ais's father? The Legendary Hero? The Mercenary King and Sword Champion?"
Albert laughed...a deep, rich sound. "You speak highly of me, Damien Ardent. But my most honorable title must be Ais's father." He paused, his golden eyes warm. "The woman who is to become the wife of the God King. The Shadow Monarch. God of the Shadows. The greatest adventurer of all time. The one-man expedition. The Black Dragon Slayer."
He stepped forward, his presence radiating respect.
"Damien Ardent... to me, you are much more of a legend than I am to you."
Damien felt heat rise to his cheeks. He was not used to being praised like this...especially not by one of his girlfriend's fathers. Especially not by a man considered the most legendary hero in history.
He cleared his throat and looked at the others. "Then all of you must be...?"
The Pallum stepped forward. "I am Fianna. Leader of the Knights of Fianna." She smiled, and Damien nodded. The Goddess Fianna was the patron of the Pallum race...but this was not a goddess. This was a Pallum named after her, who had taken her title and led her knights just as Finn did now.
He turned to the elf. "I am Celdia. You are in my Garden." She smiled.
Around him, more faces emerged from the crowd. Heroes. Legends. Figures he had only read about in stories.
"I am Fulland Howls," a knight with white hair said. "It is an honor to meet you, sir."
A floating spirit with blue hair hovered beside him. "Hello, sir! I am Dine! The water spirit who serves Fulland!"
Damien looked at them all. There were around a hundred of them, each radiating power that would mark them as Level Eight at the very least. But Albert, Fianna, Fulland, and Celdia were different. Their power was beyond measurement....beyond Level Ten, perhaps, but not quite godhood. They lacked something, some essential quality that Damien possessed.
"Am I glad to see all of you are alive and well," Damien said. "But the last of you was considered dead over a thousand years ago. Forgive my curiosity, but how are you all alive? Did the Garden preserve you?"
Albert shook his head. "No. Unfortunately, it is not that simple." He paused, his expression shifting to something more somber. "We technically all did die. But we have been revived."
He met Damien's eyes.
"To become the ones known as the Third Dungeon Rex. The Legion of Heroes."
The words hung in the air.
"I suppose you could say..." Albert paused. "We are your enemies."
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