Chapter 17: Cave of Cold Part 2

There were many gods dwelling within the dungeon.

Among them, some extended their influence beyond the dungeon, while others, weakened over time, could only exert their power within its confines.

As faith faded and followers scattered, those gods bound to the dungeon alone came to be known as the “Old Gods.”

“This is a shrine of an Old God.”

Soren stepped beside Moss, who was inspecting the altar.

The walls of the room were carved with fascinating murals, but most were too ancient and obscure to decipher.

“Which god is it?” Loreia asked.

Moss, still examining the altar, slowly stood up.

His heavy eyes swept across the chamber.

“This is the Cave of Frost. The dungeon of Uth Kalden, the God of Descended Frost.”

“Then this is Uth Kalden’s shrine,” Bork said as he approached, having confirmed the room was safe.

But Moss shook his head.

He looked troubled, his gaze fixed uneasily on the altar.

“Uth Kalden is the brother of Batar Khan, the god of festivals and the hunt. It’s not strange for a shrine to Batar Khan to appear here as well.”

“Is that a problem?” Loreia asked.

“It is. Batar Khan doesn’t allow anyone to leave without offering a proper hunting tribute.”

Bork’s expression turned serious.

Soren understood exactly what that meant.

‘What, does he want us to offer a kobold or something?’

Each god had their own preferred offering.

‘If this was Batar Khan’s shrine, they would have to provide something that matched his tastes.’

Moss carefully placed his hand on the altar.

Even though he was hounded by gambling debt, he was still a priest.

“There’s an inscription here… in an ancient language. Let me try to translate…”

[Hunt the children of fire.]

It was a cryptic phrase.

Moss brushed the surface of the altar and continued.

“I’m sure of it. This is Uth Kalden’s shrine.”

“How can you tell?” Loreia asked.

“Uth Kalden has a bad relationship with Kobanye, the god of fire and forge. If the writing commands us to hunt his children, then—”

“This must be Uth Kalden’s shrine,” Soren nodded, approaching the altar.

The altar was etched with various engravings—grotesquely distorted faces, for one.

Soren ran his hand over one of the faces, and Moss came over to inspect it.

“If this is Uth Kalden’s shrine, then this face likely belongs to a frost giant.”

“A frost giant…”

“One of Uth Kalden’s creations. And also the boss of this dungeon.”

The boss monster of the Cave of Frost: the frost giant.

Soren wasn’t ready to face an opponent of that level just yet.

He pulled his hand away from the altar without hesitation.

The identity of the shrine was confirmed.

Now only one matter remained.

“So, are we moving on?”

“Uth Kalden doesn’t demand offerings by force, so we could move past it, but…”

Offerings are made to the gods for a simple reason: to receive their blessings.

Each god’s blessing is different, but if the god is the ruler of the dungeon, their blessing is usually useful for exploration.

Moss turned to Soren.

In his eyes was the question: “Can you do anything?”

A shaman borrowing the power of a higher being wasn’t something to hide.

Unlike priests who must be devout to their own god, shamans can offer tribute and receive blessings without any religious loyalty.

In the end, Soren knelt before the altar.

The rest of the party stepped back a few paces.

“O Lord of Descended Frost. Master of the Frozen Lands…”

Soren placed one hand on the altar.

With the other, he rummaged through his bag and pulled something out.

It was a bell made of brass.

He gave it a gentle shake.

The bell rang, its clear tone echoing through the chamber.

“Grant me the merciless frost that not even fire can melt. Uth Kalden, Lord of Frost.”

***

Ding—

The sound of the bell faded.

Soren slowly opened his eyes.

“Did it work?” Moss asked anxiously, approaching.

Soren didn’t answer.

His complicated gaze remained fixed on the altar.

He ran his hand across the smooth surface, noting how not a speck of dust marred its cleanliness.

His fingers traced the small monster carvings around the altar’s edge.

A cold chill crept up his fingers.

The icy sensation was enough to send a shiver down his spine—that was Uth Kalden’s power.

“…It seems the Lord of Descended Frost is not satisfied.”

But that power did not come to Soren.

It merely shimmered over the altar, like heat haze, with no sign it would approach him or his companions.

“Should we offer something?”

“We don’t have an offering worthy of pleasing the Lord of Frost.”

“I see. Then we have no choice.”

Moss gave up on the shrine without hesitation.

As he signaled the group to resume the expedition, Soren brushed stone dust from his knees and stared silently at the altar.

‘I definitely felt something.’

The sensation of Uth Kalden’s power piercing his mind had been unmistakable.

Yet the power had not become his.

For whatever reason, Uth Kalden had refused to bestow his blessing.

The reason was clear.

To receive the blessing of frost, an offering was needed.

Soren didn’t know what the proper offering was.

Uth Kalden had refused to share what he desired.

He had merely withheld his power.

‘The children of fire, huh…’

Soren’s hand moved to the center of the altar, to the inscribed phrase.

Hunt the children of fire.

If he truly wanted Uth Kalden’s blessing, he would have to delve deeper into the meaning of those words.

***

“Soren, shall we keep moving?”

“…Yeah. Let’s go.”

Now wasn’t the time to stand around.

Soren slung his bag over his shoulder.

As before, Loreia took the lead, and Moss brought up the rear.

“Let’s move.”

“Yes, Loreia. Be careful of traps.”

“No problem.”

The path from the altar chamber was a single corridor.

Thanks to that, the party didn’t have to spend time deciding which way to go.

They moved straight through the exit.

Even as they left the shrine behind, Soren glanced back several times.

“Soren?”

“…It’s nothing. Let’s keep going.”

Before long, Soren pulled out his map and began scrawling with a charcoal stick.

Uth Kalden’s Shrine.

He marked the chamber, then tucked the map away and looked forward.

For a dungeon exploration map, every place had to be recorded—even empty rooms.

He pushed aside the lingering unease in his heart.

Knowing where the shrine was would be enough to return later if needed.

Not that he planned on coming back.

***

The Cave of Frost exploration continued without major problems.

Other than the occasional clumsy trap, it was mostly just walking—and occasionally recording signs of kobold presence.

After leaving the shrine chamber, the party encountered more and more scrap-filled rooms.

Thanks to that, Soren’s bag became noticeably heavier on the very first day.

After walking for a while without incident, clusters of frost moonflowers began to bloom along the dungeon path.

As they raised their heads, the flowers emitted a soft glow—like moonlight in the darkness.

The frost moonflowers lifted their heads and glowed.

Night had fallen in the Cave of Frost.

“Let’s rest here.”

“Night’s coming. That sounds wise.”

Just then, the party reached a ruined chamber that looked suitable for a campsite.

They quickly cleared a space for a campfire and laid out leather blankets nearby.

In the Cave of Frost, staying warm was a top priority.

Sleeping unprepared was a good way to freeze your face off.

“Good thing there’s plenty of firewood.”

“Yeah, really.”

One fortunate detail: the ruined room they camped in had lots of broken wooden planks and shattered shields—plenty of dry kindling.

They wouldn’t have to worry about the fire going out during the night.

“Then let’s assign the watch shifts,” Moss said as he knocked the embers loose from the firewood, his face smudged with soot.

“Because of the kobold packs in the Cave of Frost, standing watch is crucial. But we also need to rest enough for tomorrow’s exploration.”

That was certainly a tricky balance.

Standing night watch duty had to be done thoroughly, but at the same time, they also had to get proper rest.

Still, unavoidable tasks couldn’t simply be skipped, and at least they were able to sleep—that was a relief.

‘Better than not being able to sleep at all, a hundred times over.’

Soren recalled a bad memory from the time they were banned from bringing dreams into the camp and instinctively grimaced.

It had been an absolutely shitty experience.

Even a little sleep would’ve been preferable to that.

“Well, at least there are four of us now. That’s more reassuring than before.”

“How should we decide the night watch order?”

“We’ll draw lots.”

Moss brought over four wooden sticks and hid them under his hand.

“Whoever draws the shorter ones stands watch first.”

It was a method left completely up to chance.

Soren didn’t mind that, so he picked a stick without hesitation.

“I’m second.”

“I’m first, then.”

“I’m third.”

Everyone compared the lengths of their sticks.

Soren silently examined the one in his hand.

It was clearly longer than the other three—by far.

That meant he was last.

“Then Soren, you’ll take the fourth and eighth turns.”

“Understood.”

After the night watch order was decided, Moss thoroughly inspected the surroundings, making sure everything was safe.

Loreia sat blankly in front of the campfire, while Bork gnawed on jerky as he stared silently into the flames.

Soren had only one thing to do: read through the strategy guide he still hadn’t fully memorized.

It was a bit awkward, but no one seemed particularly curious about what Soren was reading.

“Is that… a book?”

“Oh, it’s a keepsake left behind.”

“From your father… I see. A precious item.”

Only light, polite interest was shown.

That suited Soren just fine.

‘No need to attract unnecessary attention.’

He didn’t want anyone to know about the strategy guide.

Any adventurer would covet it.

It was valuable enough that someone might bash in his skull just to steal it.

Of course, even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to read it unless they understood the script Soren’s father had taught him.

As he sat by the fire, reading the strategy guide, the others finished preparing for sleep—except for Moss, who had the first watch.

“Kid, time for bed. Sleep early so you can grow.”

“Shorties don’t need to grow.”

“I wish I could go to a party instead.”

Despite the words, Soren was also ready to sleep.

His body ached from walking all day.

He crawled under his blanket and robe, slowly closing his eyes.

‘Let tomorrow pass without trouble…’

It didn’t take long for Soren to drift off.

The last thing he heard was the crackling of the fire.

***

“…”

“Wake up.”

Shake, shake. Someone was gently shaking Soren back and forth.

Thanks to that, Soren’s eyes snapped open from a deep sleep.

As his heavy eyelids lifted, he found himself face-to-face with Loreia’s emotionless expression.

“Loreia?”

“Your watch.”

“Oh, right…”

It felt like he had just closed his eyes, but when he opened them, it was already his turn.

He grumbled at the strange magic of time passing, but only briefly.

Soon, he stretched out his stiff limbs and plopped down in front of the fire.

“You should get some sleep now.”

“Okay. Thanks, shortie.”

“No, seriously—can you just call me by my name?”

Loreia disappeared under her blanket, and her shoulders began to rise and fall rhythmically as she quickly fell asleep.

She had led the way all day.

Though she hadn’t shown it, she must have been utterly exhausted.

With her quiet breathing, silence once again settled over the ruined room they were camping in.

“Haaaahm…”

Soren let out a long yawn and opened the strategy guide.

It was too dark to read unless he stayed near the campfire anyway, and as long as he kept his ears open, it was basically the same as keeping watch.

As the pages turned with soft rustles, other faint noises began to mix in, tickling Soren’s ears.

The crackle of the fire, the wood he had hastily thrown in being eaten by the flames, the sound of pebbles falling somewhere nearby…

All those things made up the soundscape of the dungeon at night.

It felt peaceful and uneventful.

Tap, tap.

If only there weren’t the sound of footsteps.

Soren’s eyes snapped toward the direction of the noise.

From beyond the passageway shrouded in darkness, he heard stones shifting and falling.

‘What is that?’

The footsteps clearly came from that direction.

Soren closed the strategy guide, eyes narrowing.

He quietly gripped his staff and slung his bag diagonally across his shoulder.

He filled his lantern with oil and lit it.

The darkness ahead receded just a little.

Holding his breath, Soren stood still.

Even with the lantern, the darkness beyond didn’t yield much.

Still, faint sounds pierced the silence.

The soft padding of bare feet, metal scraping against stone, and now and then, the sound of crumbling rocks.

They were getting closer.

Soren immediately reached for Loreia.

The moment he grabbed her foot, she sat bolt upright.

“…What is it?”

“Loreia, I hear something strange from that direction.”

That explanation was all she needed.

Loreia instantly loaded her hand crossbow and approached Moss, who was furthest away.

Soren didn’t waste time either.

He tiptoed over to Bork, who was lying among pebbles like he’d rolled around in them, and gently shook his shoulder.

“Bork. Bork.”

“Mmm… Ancestors, please—”

“Bork. Please wake up.”

“Nngh… shortie?”

“I think something’s coming.”

Bork’s eyes shot open.

He shoved Soren aside and rose with a grunt.

Two hand axes were now gripped in his hands.

“Where?”

“That way.”

Just then, Loreia returned after waking Moss and pointed down the dark corridor.

From there, the sound grew louder.

Thud, thud. Rumble—

“What… what is that noise?”

Moss’s question went unanswered.

Because by the time they realized just how loud the mysterious noise had become, the only thing to do was pack up the camp.

While Loreia and Moss quickly dismantled the camp, Soren, who had already folded his blanket, stood beside Bork and stared into the corridor.

“Kid.”

“Yeah?”

“I saw the ancestors in a dream just now.”

Soren blinked at him. “So what?”

“And?”

“They told me… it’s time for blood.”

Bork tightened his grip on his axes.

His wild, battle-hungry eyes showed he was ready to rip apart whatever came their way.

But when the creatures finally emerged from the darkness…

Soren and Bork turned around and ran without a word.

Moss and Loreia, having just finished packing, followed without hesitation.

“Damn it! So it was time for blood!”

“What—what are those?!”

As they ran frantically, Soren glanced over his shoulder.

“Ruff! Ruff ruff!”

“Grrrgh!”

They weren’t quite dogs, nor were they lizards—they were covered in shaggy gray fur.

Creatures vaguely dog-like, but not quite—so many of them that they covered the walls and ceiling in black.

“A pack of kobolds!”

A frenzied horde of kobolds, drooling and brandishing crude pickaxes and swords, charged at them like maniacs.

This was their Nest.

And Soren’s party were nothing more than intruders.

Kobolds didn’t forgive intruders.

They wouldn’t rest until they tore off their skin and feasted on their entrails.

“They’re coming! Aaagh!”

“Run! Faster!”

Soren had no intention of becoming some meat skewer.

If he wanted to live, he had to run.