Stepping out of the dungeon's blue exit gate and into the cacophony of the main plaza was like being born into a new, overly bright, and loud world.
Like a vampire being exposed to the sun, I almost felt like each cell inside my body was burning at the touch of actual sun.
The environmental difference after having spent almost two days inside the dark dungeon lit only by the magical lights and bioluminescence, the sun felt foreign to my body.
"Miss Aria?" It wasn't as bad for the others as it felt to me, so I guessed it was a result of my class that assimilated with the dungeon on a deeper scale than the rest.
The return to civilisation was brutal for a moment, but then my body and mind adapted to reality, stabilising quickly to a normal state.
"I'm fine, I'm fine... I guess my system will still need some more patches and driver updates before I get used to this sensation."
Explanation was tricky, but the party got the idea thanks to Qwy's empathic link that still connected us all.
The forty-plus hours we'd spent in the oppressive silence and latent danger of the labyrinth had tuned our senses to a different frequency.
The shouts of merchants, the clatter of carts, and the general hum of thousands of people felt like an assault.
By the time sensory adaptation finished for me, we were already standing before the association castle.
Captain Borin didn't let us play around either. "To the Corpse-Hall. Now. We finish the main work first, and then we will be free to play around."
The party also thought it would be better to finish the work instead of coming back here and wasting unnecessary, precious time.
He led the way, a mountain of stained plate armor cutting a path through the crowd, with the rest of us trailing in his wake like exhausted ducklings. ɴᴇᴡ ɴᴏᴠᴇʟ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs ᴀʀᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ ᴏɴ n0velfire.net
"What did you get today~?"
"The drinks are on you, right?"
"It's a failure, again."
The Adventurer's Association's main hall may be a good place to hang out, but the "Corpse-Hall" was not a place for the faint of heart.
It was a colossal, warehouse-like structure attached to the main building, built from stark, grey stone that did little to mask the pervasive, coppery-metallic scent of blood and the astringent tang of powerful preservative enchantments.
While my baby found the place fascinating, the air here was cold, unnaturally so, and the only sounds were the distant, rhythmic thwack of cleavers and the low hum of magic.
Rows upon rows of monster parts were neatly organized on massive stone slabs: bundles of Gnasher Rat tails, piles of Lupine Stalker fangs, carefully rolled hides of various creatures.
It was a macabre library of death, a testament to the city's endless war with the dungeon... or, as I'd call it, the office shredder that had seen countless unethical things.
'It's so cool, hehe.'
Presiding over this grim catalog was a single orc, the race of war, battle, and blood Force.
He was immense, even by orc standards, with a chest like a barrel and arms thick with corded muscle.
A pristine white apron was tied over his leather breeches, and a set of tools so clean they gleamed was holstered at his belt.
His face, a landscape of scars and stoic green features, was currently bent over the delicate task of separating the venom sac from a deceased Crystalback Scorpion with the precision of a master surgeon.
"Greetings, Sir." If even our captain showed utmost respect to him, his status here was obviously beyond our reach.
This was Gromm, the Association's head butcher and material appraiser.
From my knowledge, he had been the one in charge of this city's association's butchering section for over a century.
He was a master of his craft, so Borin approached the slab showing the respect that he needed to. "Sir Gromm. We have a submission."
The senior orc didn't look up, his focus absolute.
Each cut, each slash, each time he moved his finger across the next material in his hand was the same as what you'd see from a seven-decade-old master chef.
"Syze and specyes," he grunted, his voice a low rumble like stones grinding in a deep well.
Our captain took no offence from his behaviour, nodding in understanding with awe dripping from his glaring eyes.
"Ember-Maw Basilisk. A Sector Boss of the first floor," Borin replied with his hand on his burnt shield.
"Grrr?" The grand reveal got his attention.
Sir Gromm's head slowly looked up, his dark, intelligent eyes narrowing at the entire party. "Baysylisk? Hmph. In pieces it comes, murdered, ruyned, charred pieces. Where yis it?"
The criticism seemed personal, so Captain Borin simply jerked a thumb at me.
All eyes in the frigid hall turned my way.
Sir Gromm's gaze was especially a physical weight, one assessing the target, one skeptical about the results.
I stepped forward, feeling the curious stares of the other junior butchers who had paused their work, all looking at us with judgmental eyes of those who had seen countless atrocities when it came to dungeon bosses.
But I knew they were in for a big surprise this time.
"Where should I put it, if you please?" I asked, trying to sound more confident than I felt under those gazes.
Gromm the Orc gestured with his chin towards a massive, rune-inscribed circle etched into the floor at the center of the hall, large enough to accommodate a small house.
The place was big enough, so I nodded.
Then, taking a deep breath, I walked to the centre of the circle.
As I closed my eyes, I accessed the strange, boundless space within my soul where the dead leviathan slumbered.
I focused, not on a part, but on the whole.
The sheer mass of it, the lingering heat of its core, the immense density of its being, everything came alive before my mind.
-Oooooooooooooooong...!
The air in the hall grew heavy, thick with ozone as Mana filled the surroundings.
The runes on the floor flared with a blinding white light.
There was a sound like reality itself tearing— a deep, wrenching CRACK-THOOOM that shook the very foundations of the building.
And then... it was there.