Wales stood bloodied in the center of the gore-filled room. Corpses lay scattered around him, organs and bones littering the ground. His armor lay inconsistently dropped around the room: a product of his removing it to move uninhibited against the massive horde of weak monsters. And directly before him floated a cube, patterned in such a way that it seemed a small galaxy dwelled within, rotating slowly and giving off a pulsing aura containing flecks of silver light. This dungeon was famous for those lights, dancing like stars across the obsidian chamber, illuminating the blood-red river that flowed directly under the core.

"Dungeon Erasmus," Wales uttered coldly. "Consider this your eviction notice."

In a flash, Wales drew his sword, running his hand down the blade. It glowed with a scarlet aura. He dashed towards the speckled cube, and slashed down towards the solid hunk of rock.

A normal sword wouldn't have even scratched the shell of the dungeon core. A normal sword would've shattered. Wales didn't bring a normal sword.

With a sound akin to the roar of a lion, the shining blade bit deep into the thick casing of precious hematite which made up the dungeon core's outer layer. The sword cut deep, as though slicing through butter, before losing the aura surrounding it, and halting its progress.

The core pulsed with a nearly blinding light. Wales could read the pain in its rapid pulsing. He smiled.

This is what you deserve, you filthy dungeon.

The warrior withdrew his weapon, running his right hand down the blade once more. With another flurry of slices, Dungeon Erasmus' shell was cut up even more. Now it resembled a bronze buckler returning to the blacksmith after shielding against several strikes from a practiced soldier wielding a steel blade.

The shell was no longer a perfect cube. Instead, sharp points of hematite poked outwards, as though it were a pincushion filled with needles. Blighting Sting had sufficiently torn apart the outer shell.

Wales stepped back, breathing heavily. He felt as though he'd been chopping wood for hours. Both the magic he imbued into the sword as well as the resistance the core put up had drained him.

"You're tougher than you look, Erasmus."

With a deep breath, Wales ran his hand down his blade one final time.

"Blighted Sting!" he shouted, slamming the weapon downwards in an overhead chop. It arced towards the shining cube, lights dancing furiously across the walls.

A thunderous clap echoed throughout the dungeon, an unholy scream immediately following it. It was as though a banshee had crawled into Wales' head, crying with the fury of a thousand maidens slain. Wales heard glass shatter, and the scarlet blade obliterated the dungeon core's shell, shards of hematite shrapnel exploding outwards in every direction.

Having covered his eyes, Wales could only dimly hear a splash in the silence after his attack. He moved his arm away, grinning downwards at the bloody river that washed over and around a spherical gem, dimly glowing with the same light that had previously danced throughout the room.

The blonde man crouched, grasping the sphere that now pulsed weakly in his hand.

“Don’t worry, Erasmus,” Wales said coldly. “You won’t be dying any time soon.”

He spun on his heel, sheathing the sword swiftly, and tossing the orb into a thick, black leather bag, pulling the cords around the top tight, before tossing that bag into another, larger one upside-down. He pulled the new bag tightly shut as well, and slung it over his shoulder, making his way to the dungeon exit.

Bloody monster corpses littered the hallways, their innards scattered across the walls.

The man that had traversed this dungeon was aptly described in one word. Barbaric.

A savage grin pushed its way up the sides of his face as he admired his work on his way out. Sure, most adventurers came here to get stronger, and Wales had certainly done so by slaying every living thing inside, but the effect wasn’t as strong as it might’ve been had somebody of the appropriate strength challenged the dungeon.

The light led Wales to the exit, and he stepped out of the dank cave, into the fresh air, inhaling with a grin.

“Ah! It’s far nicer out here!” He descended the stairs that led up to the cave’s entrance, passing the two guards posted by the gate at the bottom.

“Wales!” the larger guard, Lando, said jovially. “How was your dive?”

“Probably quite simple for our hero here,” said the other guard, chuckling as he nudged Lando.

Wales clapped the second man on the shoulder.

“You’re right about that!” He said, laughing. “But I can’t say I didn’t get anything out of it.”

The guards looked disbelieving towards the blonde man.

“You managed to get something out of a low-level training dungeon?” Lando asked.

“Doubt it!” the other guard heckled.

“No really!” Wales said as he stroked the bag over his shoulder with a finger. “I’m absolutely serious when I say that reaching the heart of the dungeon was rewarding.”

The guards shook their heads as he passed, heading through the gateway.

“Hey, wait!” called the other guard. “Shouldn’t you verify anything you took out of the dungeon with us?”

Lando elbowed him. “Come on, Therius, he’s the hydra-killer. There’s nothing in this dungeon worth his time.” He turned back to the blonde man, who’d paused at the gate, looking back. “Sorry, Wales. Therius is new. Have a good one!”

Wales threw a hand up in farewell as he headed down the path back to the city.

Had there been anybody watching, they’d have seen the sadistic smile that spread itself across his face, never touching his cold eyes.

An hour later, Wales arrived at the city gates. His shock of blonde hair was enough for them to recognize the hero, and they opened the gates without pause.

Wales strolled into the city, calling his thanks to the two, and flicking a golden coin, a Fakar, up to one of them.

“Buy yourselves some drinks when you’re off duty!”

The gruff laughter indicated that they were already planning on it.

For a few minutes, Wales strolled through the city, gazing into shops and seeing if anything would catch his gaze. As he stared at the wares of Horden’s Horde, the “shop for those who know they’re seeking but not what for”, he slammed into another person walking the other way, sending his bag flying. He dove for it, making sure the top hadn’t opened before sighing.

“Oh! Wales!” The short red-headed girl squeaked, dropping the books she’d been holding close. “I’m so sorry!”

The blonde man turned around, slightly angry. But his anger vanished when he saw who he’d collided with.

“Reina…” he said sadly, reaching for the books she’d dropped. She slapped his hand away.

“Oh!” Reina exclaimed as she gathered her books, holding them against her chest securely. “I’m so sorry! I don’t know what’s come over me lately…”

Wales looked down at her morosely.

“That’s okay. I’m so sorry for your loss.”

She rubbed an eye, wiping away the moisture that had gathered there.

“It’s… fine, Wales. Really fine.” She turned to continue down the road, when he called out.

“Hey, Reina! Meet me at the usual place later?”

He couldn’t tell if she heard him, but resolved to be there anyway, and wait for her until they closed.

The warrior moved away from Horden’s Horde, towards his original destination. The temple.

The priests moved to the sides as he climbed the steps, entering into the holy place. They didn’t even tell him to wipe off his boots.

That was the kind of respect being a national hero earned.

“So?” asked the purple-robed head priest, wielding the ornate staff encircled by the carved red dragon that bit down onto the emerald sphere atop it.

“I’ve got it,” Wales said with a savage smile, as he dumped out Dungeon Erasmus’ heart onto the dais.

“Now,” he said to the magic caster. “How exactly do we go about implanting it?”