Chapter 16: Cave of Cold Part 1

The Cave of Cold lived up to its name—an unforgiving cold had settled in the air.

Soren pulled his robe tight and stepped forward cautiously.

The place where the Starting Room had dropped them was a Ruined Room.

“There’s nothing here.”

“Good. Let’s move to the next room.”

That was all.

Thanks to that, the party moved forward smoothly right from the start.

Loreia took the lead with light steps, and the others followed in the predetermined order behind her.

“Soren, mind checking if the maps are synced?”

“Go ahead.”

It was Soren’s job to keep track of their route on the map.

Moss had to guard the rear, while Loreia explored the front, and Bork stood ready to fight at any moment.

Soren didn’t mind.

He didn’t have to draw four separate maps by himself.

Thanks to a technique known as “map linking,” drawing the route on Soren’s map would automatically sync it to everyone else’s.

He had been impressed by the convenience at first, but that was short-lived.

The next room was empty again.

Another dud.

“It’s better to have a quiet start anyway.”

“Yeah. Seeing blood right away is bad luck.”

Moss and Bork said that, but Soren thought differently.

Meeting something early on didn’t have to mean a fight.

A treasure room, for example, or even just a junk-filled Scrap Room would’ve been nice.

But there was no use complaining about everything.

Even though the dungeon’s entrance had yielded nothing so far, Soren kept silently marking their path and pressing forward.

Eventually, the hallway split—not a straight path anymore, but a crossroads branching in several directions.

Loreia, who had been walking ahead, came to a halt.

Soren stopped too and leaned forward slightly to look.

“Left, right, and straight.”

Three paths lay ahead.

Each tunnel faded into a blue-tinged Cold, cloaked in darkness, cold, and mystery.

Loreia inspected the tunnel entrances for traps, then returned to the party.

Soren glanced at Moss.

There wasn’t exactly a designated party leader, but if someone had to represent them, it would be Moss.

Not because Bork or Loreia were unfit—but simply because they couldn’t take that role.

Soren didn’t even have time to feel annoyed about following someone else.

It was just the way things were.

“We need to pick one of the three paths.”

Moss’s gaze grew serious.

Bork silently gripped his hand axe and readied himself.

Staying still inside a dungeon was dangerous.

Remaining motionless might reduce exposure to threats—but it also made you easy prey for monsters on the hunt.

While Bork and Loreia took up defensive stances, Soren and Moss opened the map and began a brief discussion.

“Which way should we go?”

“Hmm…”

When Soren had explored alone, he would just pick whichever path he felt like—but that had always been reckless.

Even when he was alone, he rarely turned back after choosing a path.

Sometimes, iron bars would block the way, forcing him to press forward regardless.

That kind of risk wasn’t acceptable when traveling with a party.

With four people in the group, turning back once a direction was chosen was highly unlikely.

“The left and right paths seem to curve, but the middle one looks like it goes straight ahead?”

“A straight path could mean traps or an unpleasant room. Not always—but the probability of danger can’t be ignored.”

“That makes sense.”

Moss’s reasoning—that simpler paths often led to more trouble—sounded convincing.

Soren withdrew his suggestion without argument.

They didn’t have a specific goal anyway; they just needed to find something profitable.

‘There’s no set pattern in the Cave of Cold anyway…’

As he tidied up the map, Soren recalled something he had read in the guidebook.

“The Cave of Cold is essentially a kobold nest. They steal explorers’ belongings and become violent at night, swarming in groups. Stay alert for night watch.”

There was only one real thing to watch out for in the Cave of Cold.

During the day, kobolds targeted explorers’ possessions.

At night, they moved in packs to hunt.

Their targets were especially nasty—they stole anything that burned, like firewood.

Even wooden items like the handle of Bork’s hand axe were fair game.

Stripping clothes was a given.

There were even gruesome stories of them cutting open corpses to extract fat for fuel.

So, even during the day, one couldn’t let their guard down.

That kept everyone in the party on high alert.

***

Soren knew the details from the guidebook, but the others seemed to know from experience or second-hand stories.

“I’m left-handed, so let’s go left.”

“Works for me.”

Moss ultimately chose the left path—just because he was left-handed.

It wasn’t the most convincing reasoning, but it was better than choosing based on which direction their pee flowed.

The left corridor curved to the right, and left-handed fighters did indeed have an advantage when fighting around right turns.

They walked down the frigid passage for a while.

As expected, the hallway curved right.

But the party had to stop again soon after.

“This is…”

Loreia tapped something with the tip of her boot.

Long, black, irregularly snapped pieces were frozen together in one spot.

“Kobold dung.”

“……Everyone stay alert. We’re within the nesting grounds now.”

It was clear evidence of kobolds.

‘Were kobolds truly dangerous? Not exactly. They weren’t unbeatable.’

‘They were about on par with goblins—or maybe just a little stronger.’

That made them a good match for beginner adventurers.

And for the experienced members of Moss’s party, they were hardly a concern.

“Kobolds are easy enough to deal with. At least during the day.”

“Then we’ll need to pay attention to when night falls.”

“It’s not hard to tell. Like other dungeons, it’s dark here even during the day—but at night, the Frost Moonflower begins to glow.”

Since the dungeon was a cave bathed in darkness, there was no open sky or warm sun to guide them.

But some dungeons were designed to show the passage of time in other ways.

The Cave of Cold was one of them.

Soren followed Moss’s gaze to a dim corner.

There bloomed a pale, almost white flower—its head drooping low toward the ground.

“The Frost Moonflower is a staple food of frost lizards. If you crush it and extract its juice, it’s a useful reagent for jungle-like dungeons in the mid-levels.”

Soren, recalling the guidebook, carefully reached out to the flower.

As soon as he touched the stem, he felt a sharp Cold.

His fingers nearly stuck to it.

He quickly plucked it off, calyx and all.

“Why the Frost Moonflower?”

“Looks like it’ll make a good reagent.”

Alchemy was usually an alchemist’s job, but that didn’t mean a shaman just stood around doing nothing.

Soren had made a few ritual reagents and offerings himself—boiling chicken blood, or snapping off insect legs to craft talismans.

“Anyway, back to the matter at hand.”

“Ah, right. The kobolds.”

But the most pressing issue wasn’t reagents or alchemy.

“Kobolds expand their territory by leaving droppings. It’s possible their markings might even attract stronger monsters. So they’re careful about where they mark their domain.”

“Then that means this entire area is definitely within the nest’s territory.”

“Exactly.”

“Let’s move carefully,” said Moss, gripping his flail and shield tightly.

Soren slipped a hand into his bag, checking the location of the offerings so he could pull them out quickly if needed.

“Don’t move.”

Bork exhaled a cloud of frosty breath as he spoke. Loreia silently resumed walking.

The corridor they rounded into was still as gloomy as ever.

It wasn’t damp and muggy like an overgrown den, but instead dry and cold—which made it unpleasant in a different way.

***

They had only been walking for a short while when Loreia, who was leading the group, suddenly crouched low.

“Trap!”

At her shout, the other three—including Soren—hurriedly ducked down.

Bork, due to his massive size, had to practically lay flat on the ground.

The moment they lowered themselves, three arrows shot through the air just above their heads.

Swoosh—!

Soren swallowed hard at the deadly sound.

He glanced behind them and saw arrows embedded deep in the frozen stone wall.

The force had even cracked the surrounding stone, causing small pieces of rock to crumble and fall.

A bead of cold sweat ran down Moss’s temple.

“A detection-based trap…?”

Soon after, they examined the trap Loreia had discovered—and it was vicious.

Just a little farther ahead, the passage curved left.

The trap had been set right on that corner wall.

It was clearly designed to target the head or neck of an average-height person.

“Do you think kobolds made this?”

“Doesn’t seem like it…” Soren replied with a sour look. Moss didn’t seem to expect a real answer to begin with.

“This thing is disarmed, right?”

“…Be careful,” Loreia said as she cautiously reached toward the trap.

There were three hastily assembled shortbows.

Loreia used her dagger to cut their bowstrings.

“Disarmed.”

Loreia gave a blank-faced thumbs-up.

Soren reflexively gave a thumbs-up back.

He didn’t know much, but he was certain that if Loreia hadn’t been there, he’d be seeing out of a third eye by now.

“A trap like that… What could be up ahead?”

“We’ll find out when we get there,” Bork said with a harsh chuckle as he strode forward.

Then, he completely smashed the already disarmed shortbows.

Apparently, the trap had really gotten on his nerves.

Considering he was a barbarian who treated duels as sacred, it made sense.

“Let’s keep going.”

Now that the trap was disabled, the only thing left to do was move forward.

Loreia once again took the lead.

***

It didn’t take long before the group came to another halt.

Soren furrowed his brows as he stared at Bork, who had stopped in his tracks.

It was great that Bork was concerned about safety, but his large frame completely blocked the view ahead, which was its own kind of problem.

‘What’s going on?’

No one else seemed to know why they had stopped either.

Moss looked around and called out, “Loreia? Is there another trap?”

“…No trap.”

“Did something appear?”

Moss asked again, but got no response.

Finally, Soren lost patience and poked Bork’s back.

“Hmm? What is it, kid?”

“Can you move aside? I can’t see a thing.”

“Alright. Up you go.”

Without warning, Bork lifted Soren off the ground.

Now sitting uneasily on Bork’s shoulders—an experience he hadn’t asked for—Soren let out a small yelp at the shaky height.

“Loreia. If there’s no one there, we might as well go in.”

“Okay.”

Thanks to that, Soren’s view opened up.

Loreia hopped forward out of the corridor, followed by Bork and Soren, and the three of them entered a new room.

“This place is…”

A wide chamber.

Even Soren’s small voice echoed, returning to him several times louder.

He looked up at the impossibly high ceiling.

A faint beam of light trickled down from a hole at the center.

Soren followed the beam with his eyes—and finally grasped what kind of place this was.

‘An altar?’

In the very center of the wide room, where the light fell, stood a crude-looking stone platform.

As Soren stood there in a daze, staring at it, Moss entered the room last and spoke in a slightly trembling voice.

“…An altar chamber.”

An altar chamber.

The evidence of the ancient god’s authority now stood directly before them.